I got the wristwatch info from a piece of advice posted by a user called bigTagFan at a site called FixYa—I didn't know it and couldn't make it up (and related it closely, because it's technical)—I DID have to research! Thanks for the reviews, as always! Keep them up! :)
Part Eight
Year One
Snapshots
"Peter? Have you read this one?" Sylar strode into the alley without his coat, holding a leather-bound book out in his left hand.
"Where have you been? I've been working for half an hour already," Peter switched his hammer to the other hand and swung.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"But have you read it?" Sylar pressed, coming up next to him. Peter sighed and pulled the hammer down, turning to him.
"Lemme think, Sylar—if you haven't read it, it stands to reason—"
"I know, I know," Sylar's brow was stormy, his gaze downcast. Peter frowned at him.
"Is something wrong?"
"No," Sylar dismissed it. "Obviously you read it if it's here, but did you read the whole thing?" "What is it?" Peter asked, holding out a hand. Sylar let out half a breath, then handed it to him.
It was a heavy book, black leather, with gold lettering on the front and side that said HOLY BIBLE. Peter nodded.
"Yeah, I've read it. Not straight through all at once, but at different times I've gotten through most of it. But you might find some blank spots in Leviticus." Peter handed it back to him, picked up his hammer and turned his back on Sylar. "I used to read that section to make me go to sleep."
"How does it end?"
Peter stopped. Sylar's voice had sounded like a little boy who had awaked from a bad dream, searching for reassurance from a parent. Peter stared at him, and Sylar's gaze opened up with a vulnerability that perplexed him.
"It ends good," Peter nodded.
"It has a good ending?" Sylar pressed.
"Yeah," Peter assured him, shifting his grip on his hammer. "The good guys win."
Sylar's gaze flickered, and half a smile crossed his mouth. Peter landed another blow against the Wall.
"You can read that tonight," Peter said. "Come help with this first."
"Right," Sylar said quickly, ducking toward the stack of hammers. "Right."
VVV
"You've been reading that for a week now," Peter observed from his seat by the window as he watched the always-full moon rise. "Where are you?"
"Leviticus," Sylar replied, hunched over the big book on his desk, reading by his work light. "I cannot believe you fell asleep during this—it's fascinating."
"Whatever you say," Peter grunted. "I liked the later books—you know, David and Goliath, and that stuff."
Sylar's eyes narrowed.
"I've heard of that, of course," he said. "The boy who kills a giant with a slingshot—"
"And grows up into a king," Peter finished. Sylar met his gaze and grinned like a kid. Peter shook his head in amazement, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
"Are you going to be done soon?" he asked. "I'd like to sleep."
"You don't need to sleep," Sylar said absently. "You're not real."
Peter chuckled, and tried to ignore the light, which stayed on well into the night.
VVV
"We can hit up this grocery store down here, at least," Sylar said, pointing, as the two of them strode down the middle of the street at midday. "It had bottled water last time."
Peter rammed his hands in his pockets, wanting to kick a rock along, but finding none.
"So when are you going to tell me the name of your girl?"
"Never," Sylar said, lifting his face to the sun.
"Come on," Peter protested. "You can't get all that stuff from me about Emma and then not say a word about yours for I don't know how long."
Sylar grinned.
"Oh, but it's so fun to torment you about your girlfriend. I doubt you'd find any material for teasing me in my story."
"Then what are you afraid of?"
Sylar reached up and felt the bridge of his nose with both hands.
"Yep, still a little crooked."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter demanded.
"I like my face. I like it best when it isn't black and blue," Sylar answered. Peter raised his eyebrows.
"So you think I'd beat you up?"
Sylar shrugged.
"I don't know—you might use it as an excuse."
"Sylar—"
"Hope you brought your credit card. I forgot my wallet back at the clock room," Sylar said lightly, stepping up the curb and into the empty grocery store. Growling in his throat, Peter followed him.
VVV
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
"Have you ever considered how incredible Moses was?"
"Dunno," Peter winced, giving an extra burst to his muscles to keep up with Sylar. They hammered alternately, like a machine.
"Almost got killed as a baby," Sylar went on, never breaking rhythm. "But happened to land in the lap of Pharaoh's daughter. Grew up as an Egyptian royal, and then turned completely around and led his people out of slavery. Not to mention talking face-to-face with God."
"I know. Pretty awesome," Peter agreed.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
"I didn't find any missing spots in Leviticus," Sylar said.
"That's good," Peter chuckled. "My mind must have recorded it even if I wasn't paying attention."
Sylar shook his head once.
"You should read it again when I'm done."
"You've already been reading for more than a month. I think you've re-read a bunch of it. We'll be out of here before you're done."
"I would assume there are copies out there, too," Sylar countered. Peter flawlessly switched his grip and stepped left as Sylar fluidly stepped to the right—they traded places without a hitch and Peter struck first.
"Yeah, you're right," Peter admitted. "I probably should."
VVV
"Okay, I can't tell the difference," Peter huffed.
"What? It's deafening," Sylar said. "Listen harder—push it up against your ear."
Peter let out a long, exasperated sigh and pressed his wristwatch harder to his right ear. Sylar waited, watching him expectantly from the other side of the desk. Peter closed his eyes, concentrating, then shook his head.
"No, I don't hear it."
"Here, put this one to your other ear," Sylar handed him another, older watch. Peter took it from him and pushed it to his left ear. The two pairs of ticking smacked against each other inside his head, and as Peter squeezed his eyes shut and his brow furrowed, he now realized there was a definite difference in the right hand watch.
"This one's fast—mine is fast," he shook it.
"Bingo," Sylar snapped his fingers. "Now, most of the time, when a watch with a mechanical movement is running fast, it's because the adjustment on the hairspring has advanced too far. Since it wasn't running fast to begin with, I assume it's because something knocked loose recently. Now, it's possible that a drop of oil was on the hairspring, and by knocking the watch, two coils are now stuck together by the oil. This usually only happens if it has been over oiled by an amateur watch repairer, of course," Sylar rolled his eyes, amused. "Magnetization is possible, but unlikely, since it hasn't been around big coils of wire that are carrying a huge current."
Peter held both watches in front of him.
"Wow. That's really a science."
"It is indeed," Sylar nodded. "And, if you're intrigued, I'll show you how to fix it."
Peter shrugged, put the watches down and got up out of Sylar's desk chair. Sylar seated himself there, pulled the lamp closer and began digging out his tools. Peter snagged his chair by the window, dragged it over and sat in front of the desk. He propped his elbows on the desk as Sylar bent over the watch.
"Now, the trick is to have a small enough screwdriver, and to get the back off without scratching it," Sylar said, twirling a tiny screwdriver in his hand. "Which, fortunately, I do…and I've done millions of times. Watch this, Pete."
VVV
"Hey, what are you doing out here?" Peter rubbed his face as he squinted down the dark alley. He could see nothing except that which the moonlight illuminated—which was the dark form of Sylar, hammering unevenly against the Wall with more fury than was necessary. Peter strode forward, Sylar seemingly oblivious to his presence, until Peter grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey!" he shouted. Sylar stopped and dropped the hammer, panting hard and sweating. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.
"What is going on?" Peter demanded.
"Beginning of Job," Sylar said, his voice shaking and hoarse.
"What about it?" Peter wondered.
"The man lost everything. His livestock, all his possessions, and a house fell down and crushed all his children just because the devil thought it would be interesting," Sylar said in a rush. "And it wasn't like he got to take time to recover in between—no, that all happened to him at once." Sylar lifted his head and his eyes frantically searched Peter's. "How could he live, how could he go on after that?"
Peter studied him, pieces of a puzzle slowly coming together as he realized that this was about more than just Job, or Moses—or Captain Ahab or Sydney Carton, for that matter. Peter hesitated, then put a hand on Sylar's shoulder.
"I know you don't want to," Peter said. "But that's a story you really do need to finish. Right now."
Sylar looked at him through the haze. Peter slapped his arm and turned back toward the building.
"It'll make you feel better so you can quit bashing this wall and I can rest."
"Thank you, Peter," Sylar said faintly from behind him. "I will if you say so."
VVV
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
"Do you know how long it's been since I started reading that Bible?"
"Do not tell me, okay?" Peter gritted. "I told you, we've got a rule about that."
"I'm in the New Testament now."
"What book?"
"Timothy."
"What do you think of it?"
"Amazing," Sylar marveled. "There are things all over the place in the New Testament that refer to prophecies in the Old Testament. It's a fascinating thing to read all the way through. I don't know why you never did."
"Not many people do. Probably don't have the time," Peter supposed. He hefted his hammer, and they swiftly changed places.
"It's interesting to see how like your namesake you are."
Peter stopped hammering and looked at him. Sylar struck one more time before slipping his hammer into one hand and rubbing a brick with his thumb.
"My namesake?" Peter repeated, breathing hard.
"Yes, Simon Peter," Sylar smiled. "The fisher of men."
Peter frowned.
"I'm like him?"
Sylar shrugged with one shoulder and nodded.
"Impetuous, stubborn, hot-tempered, brash, quick to the fight—"
Peter folded his arms. Sylar looked at him frankly.
"Good-hearted and determined."
Peter's irritation deflated. Sylar flashed his eyebrows, gave another crooked smile and swung his hammer underhanded to strike the base of the Wall.
"He was married too, come to think of it."
"Oh, gaaah!" Peter groaned, leaning his head back. "Do not start picking on me about Emma again, okay? Not unless you're gonna tell me who your girl is."
Sylar just kept chuckling, moved to the side and picked up a water. Peter watched him, deciding to gamble—to maybe plant a seed on a long shot, if it was possible.
"You know, you kinda remind me of Biblical guy, too."
"Who? Lucifer?" Sylar canted his head.
"Don't flatter yourself," Peter answered, putting his hammer across his shoulders and resting his wrists over it. "You're not scary enough."
"Oh ho!" Sylar crowed. "Great, thanks." He took a drink.
"You're like Saul."
Sylar cocked an eyebrow.
"Saul the king who started out good and then lost his mind and got himself and his son killed in battle?"
"No," Peter shook his head. "Saul the Pharisee who ordered the arrests and okayed the killings of Christians—and then he changed his name to Paul when he repented."
Sylar stared at him, the bottle halfway to his mouth. Peter whipped his hammer around and braced himself to strike the Wall again.
"'course, he didn't get locked in his own brain—he got blinded on the road—but hey."
Sylar did not move for a long while. And when he finally picked up his hammer and returned to work, he did not speak for the rest of the day.
And as he and Peter sat in the clock room, Peter in his chair by the window and Sylar at his desk, fixing watches, Sylar quoted one phrase, to which Peter did not reply—but he was quoting Paul.
"'Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance," he murmured, almost no louder than the ticking clocks. "'Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.'"
TO BE CONTINUED
