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Peter glanced up at the clock on the wall. 9:45. He sighed. Lessons would begin soon, and there was still no sign of Eleven. She'd always been a sleepyhead, he knew that. It didn't stop him from being worried she'd miss her lessons entirely.
Not that Peter cared about her, or any of the kids here. He always told himself his making sure Eleven never missed her lessons, was because it was his responsibility, his job, to make sure of that, as an orderly. Nothing more. He hadn't gone soft. He only tried to stay out of getting into trouble with Pa -- no, with Doctor Brenner.
Until he could get revenge, until he could twist Doctor Brenner's neck after he made him watch as he slaughtered all these pests, Peter had to be very good, be on his best behavior. So Doctor Brenner trusted him, so the old man believed he'd successfully declawed him.
Peter definitely hadn't gone soft.
Keep telling yourself that, son. Some day, it might just sound convincing. Peter shoved the voices away. It certainly didn't help that the voices sounded exactly like Doctor Brenner.
He glanced at the clock again. 4:47. Peter rolled his eyes. She usually was never this late. He took another look at the rest of the kids in the Rainbow Room. They were doing good. The younger kids were playing with their toys, and the older ones were chitchatting together. So far, it didn't look like anybody was going to cause any trouble, if Peter were to excuse himself from supervising them and go get Eleven.
So Peter did just that.
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Eleven's room was at the end of the corridor. Peter knocked a few times, hoping for a response. There was none.
"Eleven?" He said, knocking again. "You're gonna be late."
His brows furrowed when silence on the other side was all that he got from her.
"Eleven?" He knocked again to the very same result. This was unlike her.
"Eleven, I'm coming in, if you're not answering me."
Still silence.
Peter murmured something under his breath as he pulled the master key out of his pocket. Opening the door as quietly as he could, just in case she was still asleep. The last thing Peter wanted, was to startle her. And he didn't even know why he cared.
She was, just like how he predicted, asleep, cocooned under a layer of blanket on her little bed.
Peter sighed softly. Always a sleepyhead. He kneeled down, gently touching her shoulder. "Eleven," he said, though his voice was soft, kind. "Eleven, it's time to get up now."
Though Peter was quick to notice the paleness of her skin, the sweat covering her forehead and the way her eyes sunken. Something was off.
Eleven whined in her sleep, before she pulled the blanket higher until it almost covered her face, as she pressed the side of her head deeper into the pillow. She still wouldn't open her eyes.
"Eleven?" Peter, after a moment's hesitation, touched her forehead with the back of his hand. "El, you're burning up." There was a hint of panic in his voice, an emotion Peter hadn't really felt before, and had thought he was simply incapable of feeling it altogether.
He wasn't... he wasn't outright panicking, but he was definitely worried, which was frustrating, because Peter shouldn't be worried for her wellbeing. Or for anybody else's.
But Eleven, Peter had always known, deep down, was different.
Peter was different, too, so they were, even if Peter didn't want to admit it at first, alike.
Eleven murmured something then. Her eyes started to open, and she looked confused to see him here. "Peter?"
"Good morning, sleepyhead." He offered her a smile, trying his best to hide the worries in his eyes.
Eleven blinked a few times, then, after a breath or two, there was a hint of panic on her face. "Papa's lessons. I'm gonna be late."
But she didn't make it off the bed when, the moment she tried to get up, her eyes shut tight and her hand quickly came squeezing her temples. Her face scrunched up.
"Eleven?"
"I... headache." She said, and Peter could hear pain in her voice, a clear evidence of discomfort, and it made something inside his chest hurt.
"Hush now." Before he knew what he was doing, Peter was gently guiding her back down to her bed. "Rest."
"But Papa's lessons."
"You don't have to worry about that," he gave her a reassuring smile. Doctor Brenner wouldn't be happy, if Eleven were to miss the practice lessons, but Peter knew she couldn't be in that room with the other kids -- with Two, who was ready to tear her apart -- vulnerable like this. She could hardly stand on her unsteady legs, let alone hold her position in the circle. Peter also knew he would be responsible for Eleven's absence.
He could... push her, tell her to get ready so she wouldn't be late, then he could go on with his day. How hard Eleven would have it, wouldn't be his problem. It wouldn't be his responsibility.
His responsibility was to get her ready for her lessons.
But he couldn't... do that. Peter didn't know why, but he couldn't let Eleven leave this room and be with those bullies, when she was so clearly unwell.
Eleven looked up at Peter from her pillow. "Papa is going to be mad," she said in her little voice, before she was interrupted by a cough. "If I'm not there."
"I will take care of it."
"You will?"
"Um hmm," Peter nodded, adjusting the blanket and making sure they reached her shoulders. "You just rest, and don't worry about anything."
"Peter," Eleven shot out an arm and grab his wrist, when Peter was about to stand back up. "Thank you," she said. There was so much innocent in her eyes, and for a moment Peter didn't know what to say.
He gave her a smile after a few seconds went by. "Sleep tight, sleepyhead."
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He knew it was his neck on the line the moment he left Eleven's room without her that morning. Knew exactly what was about to come when Doctor Brenner called for him after the practice lessons were over and Eleven wasn't there.
"She isn't feeling well," Peter said with his hands behind his back, when Doctor Brenner asked him for her whereabouts.
"Oh, she isn't? So you took it upon yourself to tell her she could stay in bed all day?"
"She needed to rest --" Peter didn't really get to finish that when a closed fist made contact with his face and he stumbled to the side, nearly lost his footing and fell to the floor, but he found his balance soon enough. Though by the time he turned his head to look back at Doctor Brenner, Peter could already taste blood on his tongue, from the cut on his lips.
"You keep crossing the line, and one day, I'm gonna make sure you regret it." Doctor Brenner said, and there was no anger in his voice. There was, however, a hint of warning.
(Doctor Brenner never really showed anger, but Peter knew him well enough to know he didn't have to display the emotion in order for him to order Peter to be put through a round of electroshock punishment. After all, Peter had grown accustomed to the treatment. If his giving Eleven a green light to stay in bed today were to land him back in that room, where he was once again forced down on his knees as two guards shocked him, it wouldn't be the first time. But Doctor Brenner only gave him a cold gaze for another while, before he walked away. So that could've been worse, Peter thought, wiping the blood off of his face with the back of his hand.)
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He visited Eleven again after his shift was over. This time, Eleven responded when he knocked on her door.
"How was your sleep today, sleepyhead?" Peter peeked his head inside first, before his body followed. He had a glass of water and a pill in a cup with him.
Eleven sat on her bed. She looked better. That was good. She gave him a smile and scooted over, so he could take a seat on the edge of the bed next to her, after placing the glass and the cup on the floor. But then her smile wavered when she noticed the cut on his lips. "Did Papa... hurt you?"
"This?" Peter touched his lips as he sat next to her. "This is nothing you need to worry about." He smiled.
"But you were in trouble, because of me." It wasn't a question. Eleven was a smart girl. She knew exactly what happened.
"You don't need to worry about me, Eleven." Peter took her hand in his. It was his way of comforting her, how she needed to be comforted. "I'm okay. Promise."
Maybe the words did the trick, too, because Eleven could smile again. It was a soft smile, but still a smile.
"That's better. How are you feeling?"
"Better now,"
"Good. Here," Peter handed her a pill and a glass of water. "For your headache," he said, and Eleven took it without any complaint, before handing the glass back to him once it was half empty, so Peter could place it back on the floor. (There wasn't a nightstand in her room, a cell, to be precise. Just a bed and four walls.)
Then Peter pulled something out of his pocket. It was wrapped in a plastic bag. There was curiosity on Eleven's face as Peter handed it to her, then the curiosity became another smile on her face, a bigger one.
"For you," Peter said. He always knew she liked cookies.
He'd get into trouble again, if Doctor Brenner found out he sneaked food out of the cafeteria and gave it to one of the kids, but as surprising as it was, even for Peter himself, he thought he might even find it all worth it, as long as he got to see a bright, genuine smile on Eleven's face.
No, he hadn't gone soft. Peter needed to mentally remind himself that again.
But when Eleven rested her head against his shoulder with a soft thank you, as she snuggled close to him, Peter thought to himself, yes, this is, at least for the moment, worth it.
And nothing else really matters.