He accepted what she was throwing at him. It was as though she was desperate to convince him - convince herself - that Aidan was no monster.
Monsters didn't feel regret. Monsters didn't feel remorse. Monsters didn't love. These were the things he told her in return, as her thoughts screamed against him. Every shriek was a wave in his mind, crashing against the stony calm he had wrapped around them. He let it come, let each one crash and wash over him, and then be swept back out.
He could just about feel the blood on his own skin, so vivid was her memory of it. Peter let himself sink deep into his memory, into the well of power within his mind, to draw up a very dear, very special ability. Slowly, softly, he began to hum.
His voice was soft, but the hum rose to an ululation, wordless but melodic. It took her pain and drew the poison from the wounds. It was calming, cleansing. The song swept away the sensation of blood, carried away the heavy copper scent and replaced it with something clean and soft. He couldn't, wouldn't negate her feelings, but the song seemed to weave the chaos into something more manageable, taking discord and offering calm.
He mourned for the lives lost. He ached for the souls of the departed, grieved for the shattered lives that remained without their loved ones. Peter had shouldered such grief before, multiplied exponentially. The vampire struggled with darkness, that Peter had known. How could he condemn the man? Had Peter himself not slaughtered millions? How many had he killed in the fight against the Company, Homeland, the fight to survive?
He couldn't condemn. But he grieved. He grieved as well for Aidan himself, who would have to carry those departed souls on his conscience. More scars upon his soul.
He held onto Evey, willing himself to be strong for her, to be the pillar she needed right now. He would endure, so that she could break, could mourn, could heal.