Archive of Our Own

Art Link: Gorgeous banner, wallpaper and trailer by the awesome rtwofan. There are spoilers in the trailer for the story, so be warned if you go look at it first.

Prologue

“You flew! That wasn’t me; that was you!”

Peter flinched away from the fury in Nathan’s voice. His own anger had seeped away and the only feeling holding any power over him was exhaustion. He’d been moving non-stop for how long now? Weeks? And now Nathan was yelling and pushing and demanding answers.

“Because you’re my brother and I love you.”

Peter just wanted to sleep.

“That’s not what I would have done.”

A kick to the guts would have hurt less than those words. Peter watched Nathan disappear into the ebony sky and sank wearily to his knees. The woods smelt pleasant, cold and clean with leaves crunching under his hands. Just a few minutes rest and then he’d go…where? Peter hadn’t been home in months. Was his apartment even his own anymore?

Too many questions. He’d rest, go to his mother’s house and find some clothes then…

Leaves crushed by approaching feet. Peter raised his head dazedly, the world not quite in focus.

“Nathan…?”

But then a sickening wrench of power and Peter was somewhere else completely.

Chapter 1

Nimble fingers dipped the greying cloth into the cracked cup of water and soaked up a bare thimbleful. With trained care the cloth was applied to the rough grazes and scratches that encircled Peter’s ankle. He’d shifted the thick chain loop along his calf to reveal the wounds and was now completing his daily ritual of cleaning and treatment. It could almost be a fruitless gesture. He had managed to get the cuts to scab over half a dozen times in the last few weeks, but without fail something would cause Peter to move in just the wrong way to re-open the injuries.

Two days ago it had been another fight.

Difficult to defend yourself without moving your feet. Particularly when one of them was chained to the ground.

Placing the cloth back into the plastic dish that kept it relatively germ-free, Peter looked up through his fringe and made note of the other men’s locations.

There were sixty-seven inmates in the facility. As anonymous as possible in black cotton sleep pants and long-sleeved t-shirts, the prisoners had attempted individuality through hair and body art. Peter hadn’t needed to do anything to stand out; the fact that he was chained to the fucking ground kept him well-known. And easy to identify.

No-one was close enough to worry about, so Peter checked his other bruises to make sure everything was getting better and not worse. He’d tended a man dying from wounds gone sceptic not six days after he’d been brought here. It hadn’t really made much difference, probably only prolonged the poor bastard’s life by a few days. But Peter had held his hand and been witness to the death. That much he could still do chained and impoverished.

“Pretty Pretty! I’ve got somethin’ for ya...wanna see it?” The guttural voice taunted from across the yard. Peter didn’t look up. He didn’t need to see the other prisoner, likely jacking off seventeen feet from where Peter sat. Other voices joined in, yelling crude suggestions or calls to ‘shut the fuck up and put it away’.

Choosing three pieces of gravel from the small pile near his bare toes, Peter weighed them thoughtfully in his hand.

“C’mon Pretty Pretty! I’m watchin’ ya while I’m fucking my hand Pretty Pretty. Thinking of ya on ya knees for me.” The commentary was punctuated by grunts and the too-familiar sound of flesh on flesh. “Bring me that mouth of yours and I’ll give ya me rations tonight.” The request garnered several supporting votes from the masses.

Peter stood up.

Silence descended from all but the main orator.

“Yeah Pretty, that’s it. Come here Pretty…”

Shoulder muscled into fluid obedience by necessity; Peter pulled his arm back with startling speed and aimed at just below waist height. Dead on.

“Arghh…fuckin’ sonofabitch!! Shit me, shit me!” The words issued in a hoarse voice from the ball of misery now lying on the ground. “You’ll get yours Fucker. You’ll get yours.”

Peter looked around the compound to see if anyone was going to try anything. No. They knew better. Shaking his head wearily he also saw that no-one was moving to help the distressed man. Even had he been inclined Peter couldn’t do anything. The man had been careful not to come closer than seventeen feet.

The length of Peter’s chain.

*****

The grinding of gears woke Peter from a cautious slumber. Sunlight crawled gently across the compound as the great roof retracted. Once a sports stadium, the building now housed the most dangerous threats to humanity. A single, massive prison cell and exercise yard rolled into one. Turning to lie on his back, Peter squinted into a cool fall sky and wished for the ninety-eighth time that he could fly away from this hell.

A small movement to his left. Reflexes honed by weeks of living under direct threat had Peter rolling quickly to his feet, an edged piece of rock he’d painstakingly unearthed in hand.

It was just a kid. Maybe thirteen or so, crouched near the iron stake pinning Peter’s chain, arms wrapped around his knees and a face showing nothing but desperation. How the hell he’d managed to get inside Peter’s perimeter without him waking was terrifying, but for the moment the youth looked harmless. Pivoting, Peter scanned the compound for any of his usual antagonists, but they were all still asleep or grumbling at the sudden glare of sunlight.

Weapon at the ready, Peter stalked towards the boy with a clink of metal and revised his estimate. More like sixteen, the faintest of fair stubble on unmarked cheeks, large feet and hands, long limbs that had yet to be grown into. He’d be a tall, well-built man by the time he reached twenty…if he lived that long.

“You’re new.” Surprised at the scratchy sound his voice had become in three months, Peter swallowed and tried again. “What’s your name?”

The youth tried to shrink further down into his shoulders. “Ethan…I…they…they killed my mom and dad. It’s all my fault they’re dead.”

Oh Jesus.

Peter could just imagine the heart-breaking story. The son demonstrates some fantastic ability; the parents try to conceal him from the government, maybe plan to escape to Europe. They get caught. The parents die protecting their son; the kid is sent to the internment station with dozens of other super-powered humans. Many of the prisoners, locked together in this bastardised arena, were slowly spiralling into inhumanity and madness.

Except Peter. Holding onto his sanity the main focus of existence in recent times.

Dropping down to the patchy grass beside the boy, Peter hid his shiv under some debris and wondered what he was supposed to say to a young man whose life had been destroyed all because he could understand his dog or something.

“I’m so sorry Ethan. I really am.” His voice not so raw now, it was getting a small work-out. “You’re wrong though. None of this is because of you. In fact, I don’t think anyone deserves to be here.”

Ethan’s eyes lost some of his horror and took on a whirl of surprise.

“But everyone knows they’re all terrorists! It’s on the broadcasts all the time, how the specials destroyed the cities and killed the President. How they’re kept locked away to keep us all safe.” Soft blue eyes looked around the arena at the clusters of black-clad forms. “...how we’re locked away.” He corrected.

“When did you come in? Last night?” Peter asked gently.

Ethan nodded into his knees. “I could barely see, but I didn’t want to go anywhere near them.” His chin pushed in the direction of the other prisoners.

Peter let the silence ask his question.

A shrug. “They were all sleeping away from you, so I figured you were either a mass murderer they were scared of and I could run away fast enough. Or you were the only safe place in the area.” Another adolescent shrug. “Are you?”

Peter’s lips quirked at the stone-like feel in his gut at that question. Was Peter Petrelli safe to be around? God knows. He stood again to the gentle clink that filled his waking and sleeping hours.

“Well, I won’t kill or rape you so that’s a start. But you might want to move somewhere else even then.” Peter spotted the main door open and the four-wheel motorbike began to putter through. “I’m sort of a target here; you might get caught in the crossfire.”

“How?” Ethan stood up and yeah, well over six feet in the next year or so. Peter resisted the urge to stand on tip-toe. “They inject us every day to suppress our powers, how can there be a fight?”

Peter smiled grimly as he took up his place at the edge of his perimeter.

“We don’t need powers to fight, Ethan.” Watching a FedMarshal lift a plastic box from the pile on his trailer and approach them, Peter folded his arms and asked. “So, what ability did you have anyway?”

Ethan hunched his shoulders and looked curiously at the white box placed just out of the chain’s reach. “I can spit acid. It melted my dad’s car door. Doesn’t hurt my mouth though….” The youth’s words tumbled into nothing as Peter spun sharply and seized his elbow in a firm grip.

Peter looked long into the boy’s eyes to make sure there was no deceit, before looking behind them. Looking along the length of chain tethering Peter to the ground.

Chain made of steel.

*****

He had to pick his moment. After three months of survival and waiting Peter had found a chance. But he couldn’t be too impatient to escape or he’d make a critical error and be shot down in seconds. Determinedly ignoring the chain, Peter looked at the two plastic boxes five feet away and tried not to grind his teeth. Beside him Ethan looked confused, glancing at the chain and then back to Peter’s face with a questioning expression.

“Why…?” the youth began to ask.

“Ethan, could you please get the boxes?” Peter interrupted in a low voice.

The boy’s soft blue eyes now slid from the boxes to Peter and back. Good. The chain was being ignored.

“Err, sure.” Taking those three steps beyond Peter’s circle of protection, the young man collected up the boxes and turned back. Unfortunately the movement was unusual enough to garner the attention of their fellow inmates. Drawing in a deep breath Peter guided Ethan to the wall at their left. Sitting he opened a box and began eating the food within.

“Found a friend Fly-boy?” Peter ignored the drawling suggestion and spoke quietly to Ethan between bites.

“I can get us out of here.”

Blue eyed widened. “How?”

Peter looked anywhere but at his ankle. “Why do you think they have me chained to the ground?

“Um...I dunno.” Connections made between the catcalls now floating towards them and the chain. “You can fly? They chained you down so you can’t escape. But, they give us the shots, to stop abilities.” Ethan stared now at the chain in serious doubt. “Why would they chain you if you get the shots?”

Peter finished his food and carefully collected together everything of value he possessed.

“Because the serum doesn’t work on me. I took a similar drug a while ago and now I’ve developed immunity.” Standing again Peter did some quick stretches and looked around the compound. He’d have maybe a five second window to get out of gun range. Plenty of time even with a passenger. It would be getting past the roof without too many inmates noticing that would be the challenge.

He’d need a distraction.

“So you have your power…you can fly?”

“Hmmmm…yeah.” Peter watched his most vile antagonist look over at them, curiosity and twisted lust colouring the gaunt features. Averting his gaze, the former nurse waited until the inevitable fight began. It would be over food as always. One man taking another’s apple could lead to death in the North Internment Station.

“But I don’t. I can’t melt the chain without my power.” Ethan stood at Peter’s side.

“You don’t need to Ethan. The serum is only active for twenty-four hours, and then it starts to break down. That’s why you’re due another injection soon. They come at the same time every day. Right.” Peter’s words slowed as he watched a punch get thrown on the far side of the arena. “After.” Four prisoners waded into the fray. “Breakfast.”

Looking up into the boy’s worried gaze, Peter smiled for what felt like the first time in months. No, years.

“You can’t use your power Ethan,” he acknowledged. “But I can.”

Peter took Ethan’s wrist and felt once again the brilliant rush of an ability flowing into him.

Crouching quickly, Peter lifted the chain until it was bare inches from his lips. He softly kissed the link and let the saliva on his tongue coat the cool metal. A faint puff of sour eggs and then Peter could see the acid begin to work. Inexorably the steel dissolved, bubbling and steaming until the link was completely gone.

Only a foot of chain now trailed from Peter’s wounded ankle.

He wasn’t tethered anymore.

“Hold onto me.” Peter ordered. Ethan complied immediately, arms circling his waist and chest in a reverse bear hug.

‘Hey Pretty!!” The hated voice called too close for comfort. “You letting that string-bean have ya?  He’s just a fuckin’ kid, ya wanna see what a man can do for ya?”

Wishing he had the time to absorb a destructive power and fry the bastard with it, Peter sent his enemy a crooked grin and committed to memory the look of absolute shock that flowed over his face.

Looking into the sky Peter called up his memories of Nathan, the great and the terrible.

Then he flew again.

*****

Ethan wouldn’t let Peter take him home. With his parents gone there was only his little sister staying with their grandparents and the boy was loath to bring any danger to his surviving family. Peter couldn’t help but agree, unfortunately that left him with a sixteen year old passenger that he had little doubt he’d be able to protect if the FedMarshals managed to corner them. Fortunately, Ethan demonstrated his immediate usefulness by stealing some food and showing Peter how to shop-lift new clothes.

Obviously Peter had a far more sheltered upbringing than he’d thought.

It took them three days flying due east with stops for sleep and for Peter to rest. Flying wasn’t tiring at all; carrying a human weighing half again his body weight was going to dislocate Peter’s shoulders if he didn’t land every few hours.

It was near ten at night when they arrived in New York, the remains of the once glittering city still under marshal law. They would be shot on sight if spotted out after curfew. Keeping as much in the dark as possible, Peter led Ethan on foot through the deserted streets feeling his heart sink at the sight of burned-out cars and the litter-strewn side walk. This city was a duplicate of another horror New York he’d once seen. Only minutes to see it before he’d been stolen away and smothered with words like Shanti, Nathan, virus and ninety-three-percent-dead. That world had faded into nothing, along with a lilt-voiced girl and the possibility of another Peter.

There was now only his broken city, the catastrophe that had caused it and Peter; once again, trying to stop something before it even began.

Ethan stayed quiet as they stopped in front of large, imposing gates. The massive fence hadn’t been here the last time he’d seen it, or the barbed wire. Peter took a deep steadying breath and stiffened his shoulders before opening the gate. In the eerie gloom of a silent New York, the gate shrieked from its un-oiled hinges and allowed them to enter. The front gardens were overgrown, abundant roses gone as wild as their blackberry cousins. Dodging vicious thorns, they approached the front doors, Peter breathing a sigh of either relief or fear at the lights he could spot upstairs.

Someone lived here.

Shuffling his hands into the pocket of his stolen coat, Peter found one of the few items he’d managed to hold onto the last three months.

Fitting his key into the lock, Peter pushed open the door and walked into the house he’d grown up in.

It felt a little like watching Dorothy open her door onto the technicolour glory of Oz. The shabby, dilapidated outside a mask over the gleaming excellence of the Petrelli mansion. A foyer empty save for the marble statues his mother had gamely protected from two young sons and the warm glow of the ostentatious chandelier two floors above.

Breathing in the scent of wood polish and roses, Peter tensed as he heard footsteps along the upper landing and Ethan’s awestruck gasp behind him.

He looked up into the astonished face of his niece.

“Peter?” Almost silently Claire mouthed his name before she visibly inhaled and then, “PETER!”

Quiet thumps as she belted down the stairs and he was moving too, unconsciously getting closer to this beloved girl, his friend and family all wrapped up together in the sweet-faced young woman in his arms. Claire was crying and laughing and saying his name over and over like a mantra.

“You’re alive, you’re alive…Peter, Peter, Peter…”

The smell of her hair, tiny form bouncing and hugging and the wet salt of tears on his neck had Peter feeling like he could wake up now because he was home and Claire was here. Familiar face in a world gone mad for three months.

God, he’d missed her.

Small fists bunched into the lapels of Peter’s coat as Claire pulled away to look up at him with eyes drowning green in her lovely face. Other sounds penetrated Peter’s relief; footfalls clinking on marble, doors opening and a slow-rising babble of voices.

“Where have you been?” she asked, but before he could answer…

“Peter! Peter…” He looked over to see his mother push past people he knows and loves, her hair liberally streaked with grey, her face wearing the same expression she’d worn when he had just woken from a coma all those long months ago. The desperate love he saw there had him gently pulling away from Claire and accepting another much-longed for embrace.

Hands rose furiously to push through his hair as Angela reassured herself that her youngest son was really there. Kisses rained across his cheeks and touched his eyelids like a prayer. A smothered sob escaped Peter at the care inherent in her touch. Then other arms around him, across his shoulders and lips against his temple.

“Pete.” Breathed into his hair, the anger and hurt forgotten or forgiven in that moment as Nathan pulled him and their mother tighter together. Dainty fingers thread through his, others held his upper arm where it lay around Angela’s waist.

Words echoed around them, questions and exclamation. His name repeated a dozen times in shock and speculation.

“How do we know that’s really him?” The voice was deep and rich as velvet, unmistakable and unbelievable to Peter’s ears. It dominated the other sounds in the foyer until silence won the battle.

Nathan pulled back sharply from the hug and looked angrily across at the tall figure on the stairs.

“I know my brother.” Confident voice that swayed millions to his cause.

“How do we know Nathan? It could be a shape-shifter sent by the Spider to finally flush us out.” Arms crossed, broad shoulders leaned nonchalantly against the wall. “He knows someone with that face could walk right in and kill us while we sleep.”

Peter stared with furious eyes at his questioner.

“Sylar.” He snarled into the bitter chocolate gaze. “I’m Peter and you can…”

“It’s him, it’s Peter.” Matt Parkman reached the bottom of the other stairs, white irises focused unseeingly on Peter’s face; hand on the shoulder of a young woman with straight brown hair. Peter felt polite mental fingers filter through his thoughts and responded to the familiar touch with his own greeting. “Definitely Peter….but there’s something…”

Nathan’s hand, still resting on Peter’s lower back went still.

“He’s not from now…” Matt frowned. “You’re too young to be our Peter…where are you from?”

Knowing all eyes were on him, Peter looked at the long-sought faces of his family and friends, hoping he didn’t have to brace himself for disappointment.

“From what I can tell,” for some reason Peter shot his gaze to the man still lingering above them all on the far stairs. “I’m from five years in the past.”

A stunned silence once again seeped into the foyer.

“Oh shit,” Hiro Nakamura said with a wince.

Chapter 2.

There were fine lines bracketing Nathan’s eyes, furrowed there by time and weariness. Claire was twenty-one with a full, lush figure that pulled a red-faced stare from Ethan and a sharp glare from her hovering father Noah. Matt Parkman looked to have aged a decade rather than half that, while Mohinder was barely different. Only his eyes show the reality of the world they live in.

They were the same people he left behind, yet the differences were stark and painful. Very few have improved over the past five years, only Claire and maybe Hiro seem to be more than they were in Peter’s time.

Ushered into the comfortable lounge that his father once used as an office, Peter was quickly pressed into a chair and on the receiving end of so many demanding looks that he closed his eyes against them.

Ethan had been ready to run from the confronting mass of people in the Petrelli mansion, but fortunately Sandra Bennet had stepped in. Taking one look at the emotional wreck of a sixteen year old boy, she had unleashed her substantial mothering instincts and taken the youth directly to the kitchen. A clear yell had stirred her own son Lyle and another sullen faced young man Peter didn’t know to go with her.

Relief at having Ethan’s trauma momentarily removed from his mind, Peter accepted the hot coffee Sandra sent in via the youth named Luke and sat back to organise his thoughts.

In the past three months he had never let himself hope that any of his loved-ones had survived the government purges. Every inmate in the compound had a story of a ‘special’ dying spectacularly in a hail of FedMarshal gunfire and Peter knew that his people would have been fighting in that war. Over four years since the last battles took place, rarely had new ‘specials’ appeared. Peter being the most recent before Ethan had been discovered.

And now this. An enclave of people with abilities run from his childhood home and led, apparently, by his mother and Noah Bennet.

“Peter?” Nathan’s voice. Peter heard the strain his brother was experiencing keeping his impatience in check.

Opening his eyes, the nurse finds his gaze not on Nathan, but on Sylar. The killer rests easily in a large leather chair on the far side of the room, booted feet on a small end table. His midnight eyes fixed on Peter’s face. Sending him an angry disbelieving glare, Peter turns to Angela and takes a deep breath.

“Last thing I remember from 2007 was the explosion at Pinehearst. I destroyed the formula and got Nathan to safety when Flint set the fire. He flew away, then…” Peter frowned and tried once again to catch the elusive memory. “…I heard something…someone…but I can’t…” Shaking his head to clear the fog, Peter jumped ahead. “I was suddenly somewhere in Arizona, at an old town I think,” Peter saw shock enter his mother’s eyes and wondered at it.

“You travelled in time?” Hiro asked keenly.

“Yeah, must have. But it didn’t feel the same as when you and I did it, more painful for one.” He grimaced. “I started to fly east, but some helicopters decided to chase me and I got shot down.” Looking over at Nathan, Peter shook his head, “Not something I would recommend. I was tranquilised and transported to the Northern Internment Station where they kept me for three months till Ethan arrived and we escaped. Then I came here.”

Looking at the assembled faces, Peter could see something hidden amongst them. “What?”

“Peter,” Angela took his hand and placed it on her knee, patting it compulsively as she spoke. “You vanished five years ago. Nathan looked everywhere but you were just gone. When the President announced our existence and the restrictions that we’d be placed under, some fought back and the wars began. We thought…” His mother’s eyes became suspiciously wet.

“We concluded you’d died in the wars Pete.” Nathan said grimly.

Peter nodded his understanding, but was distracted from answering by the derisive snort from the leather arm-chair. Sylar was looking at the ceiling now, but his jaw and throat exuded contempt at them all.

“You don’t have to be here Gabriel.” Nathan said with a hard familiarity.

An elegant wave of the hand. “Wouldn’t miss it Nathan.” An emphasis on his brother’s name that had little to do with manners and more with scorn.

Knowing that the multitude of questions he wanted answered would have to wait until they could talk at length, Peter looked to Hiro.

“What’s stopping you from going back and fixing all this Hiro? You’ve done it before.”

The small Japanese man stood quickly and made a neat, formal bow. “Peter Petrelli, I have made a vow never to tamper with the past. Nothing good can come of it.” Ando, sitting in the next chair rolled his eyes at the statement.

“Also, he can’t.” Sylar drawled.

Peter kept his eyes on Hiro. “Why not?”

Deflating his proud stance, Hiro sighed. “Despite my vow I tried to go back. To stop the President of America from telling the world about us. But my power does not work, something is stopping it. I cannot travel back in time.” Sitting down again he looked so dejected that Peter leaned forward in sympathy.

“It’s not your fault Hiro. Your power is very difficult to use…I remember.” Smiling to show he understood, Peter was pleased to see the other man brighten a little and accept the small comfort.

“Well, it’ll be useful to have everyone feel better about themselves. I can’t believe we went so long without that talent in our arsenal.” The sarcasm dripped viciously from every word Sylar spoke.

Peter slowly stood up. He’d dealt with any number of aggressive, murderous felons in the compound. Sylar couldn’t generate fear in him anymore, no matter the gleam in his dark eyes. Remaining seated the killer raised his eyes to Peter’s face and grinned.

“Gabriel, go away,” Claire ordered from the doorway.

Sylar didn’t move. “Oh no Darlin.” Faked Texas honey infused the velvet voice. “I’m all astir to see what the brat prince can do these days. Ain’t you curious too?”

“He’s only been home for an hour Gabriel. Give Peter a chance...” Claire didn’t bat an eyelid at the mockery.

“Its fine Claire,” Peter interrupted gently. “At first I thought I could only fly because Nathan was the last person I was near. But then I touched one of the other prisoners and copied her ability to decompose paper. I thought I’d lost the flight for a while till old techniques came back to me and I used it again.” Peter resolutely did not think about seventeen feet of chain. He walked right up to Sylar’s chair and leaned forward. “So your answer Sylar, is I can do anything you can do…” dropping his hand to the killer’s, Peter felt the warm rush of his ability manifesting before the brief contact was harshly ended by the other man. “…better.”

Looking into furious dark eyes, Peter called his coffee cup to hand with telekinesis and took a sip.

Sylar rose sharply and loomed over him with a thunderous expression on his face. Peter, his confidence faded somewhat, backed away as he remembered the nature of the man he had just baited.

“Then given how very gifted you are Petrelli, why don’t you take Nakamura’s power and go back to save us all from this terrible place.” The challenge was unmistakable.

Claire stepped between them with Nathan just behind her. “No!”

But Peter couldn’t give in now. He had no excuse, no reason to linger when he could do what Sylar suggested and make things right at long last. Avoiding Claire’s desperate grip he moved to Hiro and touched his hand. Feeling another ability curl into his being, Peter concentrated on the smell and sounds of the woods at night.

The power rose like wave and came crashing down like a battering ram.

Agony split Peter’s brain and stopped his heart, something wet on his lip and chaos all around. Shouting and fear and if they could all be quiet he might be able to…

Peter only just felt the strong arms that caught him before he tumbled head-first into darkness.

*****

The persistent throb of a headache was too painful to avoid anymore. Peter rolled to his side and contemplated being violently ill for several long minutes.

“There’s a basin on the floor if you think your innards are about to have a bit o’ song and dance.” The accent was English, the words a taunt.

Peter cracked open one eye.

“Of the nine most idiotic things you could have chosen to do Poodle, that was number three.”

Peter wondered if opening his other eye would put a beard back where it was supposed to be.

“Claude.” Well, that had been what Peter intended to say, instead the name had issued from his raw, strained throat as something closer to a wheeze. A raised eyebrow was all he received in response as his mentor and not-quite friend pointed at a glass of water on the nightstand.

“You’ve just learned the hard way why time travel is impossible, it’s being blocked but no-one knows why.” Claude’s lecturer tone hadn’t changed, even if his facial hair had. “Oh…and the Justice League is downstairs having lunch and a conversation about their prodigal son.” Standing from his position lounging on the side of Peter’s bed, Claude tugged his coat into place (a different one, it had to be, because no-one could have kept the remains of that other tattered garment together for five years) and disappeared.

Peter looked longingly at the glass and had almost mustered the energy to move when he felt gentle fingers riffle through his hair.

“Glad you showed your face at last, Pup.”

The door opened and closed.

Groaning, Peter rolled to a sitting position and inhaled the water. The throbbing in his head marginally reduced, he staggered to the bathroom and under the hottest water his skin could tolerate. In the compound they’d been allowed access to a shower three times a week. Due to his chain, Peter had been given sole admittance with a phalanx of guards after all the other inmates had bathed.

He hadn’t had a shower hotter than lukewarm in ninety-two, no...ninety-seven days. God what a luxury he once took for granted.

Scrubbing what felt like an epidermis of dust and sweat from his skin, Peter took in his surroundings and realised that nothing had changed. Nothing. In five years of war and oppression, his bedroom in the family mansion was exactly as he’d last seen it. Wondering at his mother’s mental state that she would keep everything so exact, Peter searched his wardrobe for clothing. Simple dark pants and a grey cotton Henley - that felt a little tight but at least fit - had Peter feeling about a million times more human.

The only thing left to find was food. Claude had said lunch, hadn’t he?

*****

Peter had seen the wreck that was left of North America when flying with Ethan. The ravaged countryside, devastated communities and broken lives. But if the lunch on the patio was any indication, Peter wouldn’t have believed his own eyes. After being greeted by his mother who almost wanted to envelope him in her tiny frame and his brother looking like he wanted to order Peter back to his room, he’d finally snagged a seat and a plate of food. While the ingredients were basic, the cooking was excellent and Peter made note to seek Sandra out and thank her for her mad cooking skills.

Finishing his meal, Peter sipped from a glass of ice tea while he watched the people scattered around the patio and wondered how they had all come to be here. He had so many questions.

Why were Matt’s eyes permanently like Isaac’s had been and was he as completely blind as he seemed? Who was the young woman sitting so attentively at his right hand and what did the presence of the blonde speed-woman mean?

Mohinder looked like his soul had been torn out even as his devastated gaze watched over several small children cavorting around the back garden. A beautiful dark-haired youth spoke gently with a woman who had to be Tracy Strauss but lacked her hard-edged expressions and sad mouth.

It was when Peter’s gaze came to rest on the lounge near the wall that his heart leapt into his throat. Claire had just sat down with a baby in her arms. Guessing the age at about sixth months from the way the boy was snarling her long hair in his chubby fist, Peter saw the instant resemblance to his parents. Sandy blond hair and green eyes under striking brows and a jaw that would be compelling when the softness gave way.

He’d seen this child before. In another future that smelled of fresh orange juice and contained the words ‘Uncle Peter’ and ‘my son Noah’.

Claire and Sylar?

Swallowing hard around the obstruction in his throat, Peter made the necessary mental leaps and came to the conclusion that he really, really didn’t want to think about it. He rested his aching forehead on the cool chill of the glass and took a deep breath.

Wrenching his mind from the wrongness of that situation, Peter asked quietly, “Who is the Spider?”

Conversation stuttered to a halt.

Nathan, the natural speaker, answered. “When the President declared a state of emergency and issued warrants of arrest for everyone with the ‘special’ genetic code, he placed a military assassin called Danko in charge of the Federal Marshals. He’s responsible for nearly fifty deaths during those first weeks.” A roughness coloured Nathan’s voice, but Peter couldn’t decipher its cause.

Noah Bennet stepped in, his hand stroking gently over his namesake’s forehead as the baby was freed to crawl across the rug. “Danko made a deal with one of the ‘specials’ and used that individual’s abilities to hunt down and recruit or murder anyone else on their list. Now that almost everyone is dead or in hiding, he and Danko run things in what’s left of Washington.” Bennet took off his glasses and began to polish them on a handkerchief. “The President rules the Americas in name only. The Spider is the true power now. We believe even Danko is his pawn and not the other way around.”

Peter gave that some thought. “You haven’t been able to stop him.” With that truth obvious he looked directly at Sylar for the first time since realising Noah’s parentage. “You haven’t killed him.”

“We’ve tried,” Nathan gritted out. “Every damn week Gabriel leads a team out to put an end to him or one of his followers…”

“But he’s never there when we arrive.” Sylar finished, anger scouring the deep voice in red fury.

A small hand to the killer’s arm and the rage subsided slightly, although it glittered in the brilliant eyes as they glared at Peter.

“Gabriel, Luke and Monica were imprisoned by the Spider for months before we could rescue anyone. All of them have tried to kill him, but we can’t ever get there in time. He must have a pre-cog in his group of toadies.” Claire’s eyes softened at they looked at her husband? Partner? “We don’t even know what he looks like or what his power is.”

From his silent seat at the far end of the table Claude made a ‘you are all stupid’ face.

Peter narrowed his eyes at his mentor. “Why haven’t you gone to find him Claude?”

All air in the garden was suddenly inhaled into astonished lungs.

Sylar was instantly on his feet, lightening curling around his hand as Peter heard the metallic slide of a katana being drawn to his left.

All for nought as Noah Bennet pulled the safety on a gun aimed directly at Claude’s invisible head.

Of course, up until that moment Peter hadn’t realised Claude was invisible to everyone but him.

“Thanks a bunch Poodle, now I’ll miss all the good gossip.” The soft gasp from Claire and the black-haired youth meant that his mentor must now be visible.

“How long have you been spying on us Raines?” Bennet looked ready to fire no matter what the answer.

Peter rose to his feet and slowly edged forward.

Claude looked totally unconcerned by the three certain deaths hovering around him.

“’Bout six months give or take a week. Since you found that girl with the nails and her demented mother.” Claude’s still strangely beardless face grinned recklessly up at his adversary. “You really should learn to close those lorry doors a bit quicker yeah? I taught you better than that Yank. Anyone coulda’ snuck aboard and you’d be none the wiser.”

Keeping the two power-houses at his back, Peter placed an extremely cautious hand on Bennet’s forearm. “I don’t think he means anyone harm Noah,” he said soothingly. A flicked glance from beneath the horn-rimmed glasses, then the blue gaze was back on target. “Claude stayed knowing I could see him. He isn’t hiding from you any more.” Calm and gentle voiced, Peter coaxed the dangerously lethal man to lower his gun.

The invisible asshat snorted in contempt. “Wasn’t hidin’ in the first place Pup, just loitering to get the skinny on where the next mission is.”

A strong arm suddenly encircled Peter’s waist as he was lifted bodily around and down next to Claire. Stunned, he looked at Sylar’s broad back.

“I don’t know you and Noah wants to shoot you, so…” Sylar flung a burst of electricity across the eight feet between them and narrowly missed as Claude threw himself from his soon-to-be smouldering rattan chair.

“Bloody hell, you psycho!” Raines moved to put Bennet between him and his attacker. ‘What the fuck…”

“Gabriel.” The name in that commanding voice was enough to prevent a second burst. Angela Petrelli walked slowly round the table to confront the intruder. “Matthew told me you visited on occasion. I allowed it because he says you were actually helping us. Is that true or should I ask Gabriel to continue what he started?”

He may have been an asshole and mostly a bastard, but Peter knew without a doubt Claude Raines wasn’t a fool. Straightening his coat, the tall man looked down at the indomitable woman before him for several long seconds. A glance at the still seated Parkman was decidedly pissed off.

“Daddy Long-Legs in Washington has sent Danko here to try and flush you out. I know the layout of the building he’s using as headquarters.” Something of the sarcasm slid back in.” That enough to keep me alive then?”

“No.” Angela turned on her heel.

“Mom!” Peter grabbed at Sylar’s arm, spinning the killer around and found himself engulfed in a heady pine-almond scent underlying a shiver of ozone. Looking up into burning dark eyes, Peter blamed the rush of blood through his system on fear of an impending fight.

A sudden wicked grin crossed the handsome features so close to his.

For a moment Peter was dazzled as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud and belted him in the eyes, but he was saved from further action by his mentor’s English-accented vowels.

“The drug!” Claude called, now sounding a fraction worried.

Angela stopped walking away. Sylar’s smile took on a lethal edge as he leaned fractionally closer to Peter, who held his ground.

Just.

“He’s at the lab.” This caught Mohinder’s attention, devastated eyes alight with interest, “The one where they’re making the drug that suppresses abilities.” The invisible man continued in a disgusted voice. “The brains think they’re ready to test a new batch. Think it’ll keep powers down for weeks rather than hours, gonna try it on some test subjects they’re keeping under lock and key.”

Sylar’s smile vanished. “Subjects?” He growled at Claude, although his proximity to Peter didn’t change one iota.

“You can stay.” Angela allowed in the same cool tone she had used during the entire confrontation. Peter remembered that voice; it was often used on various house-staff and some of his tutors when they didn’t achieve his mother’s impossibly high standards.

“I know the security codes,” Claude bargained. “Your ‘path can’t go with you if I understand those eyes of his. So…”

Angela didn’t pause in her journey back into the house. “That is Gabriel’s decision; he leads our people out there.” A negligent hand wave towards the devastation beyond her high walls. “To join a mission you talk to him.”

Claude looked like he’d rather garrotte himself with a shoe-lace.

Peter gazed up into midnight eyes and took a deep breath of that delicious scent.

“No.” Sylar ground out with absolute conviction.

Chapter 3

Three days had passed since Peter found his family again. Three long days of recuperation and frustration as he failed to corner Sylar anywhere in the halls of the Petrelli mansion. In fact, had Peter not been regularly speaking with Claude about everything he’d missed in the last five years, he might have suspected the killer of murdering his mentor for his ability.  

He’d been nervous and jumpy that first twenty-four hours in the mansion. Convinced the FedMarshal’s had followed him to New York, were ready to storm the mansion any second and arrest his people. He’d woken from a nightmare of Claire and baby Noah in the compound that first night, sweaty and trembling at the possibility.

It had been Noah, the elder one, who’d realised Peter’s fear and explained that there really wasn’t any need. In the basement, now Mohinder’s research lab, laid an elderly woman with serene sleeping features.

“Nancy was with the Company for ten years. She is the only known occurrence of her talent we have ever seen.” Bennet explained with a fond expression.

“And what is that?” Peter asked, eyes professionally scanning Nancy’s monitors and the devices that kept her alive.

“Nancy can make people forget something existed by simply willing it to be so. She was a jewel thief when my predecessors discovered her and made her an agent. The entire building lasts no longer than two seconds in anyone’s memory. Nancy even learned to erase paper and electronic medium as well.” The former Company seemed quite proud of Nancy’s skill.

Relief tinged with concern, Peter wondered, “Why is she in a coma?”

“A battle with the Spider years ago left her like this. We suspect he has telepathy similar to Parkman and reduced Nancy to this while she was protecting the house. We can still come and go as we please, none of the residents are affected by her power. Even asleep she still keeps us safe.”

*****

Peter was more confident than ever that he needed to be on the mission to find this ‘Danko’ and the Spider who controlled him. Freeing Nancy was just one of the many reasons to end the tyranny they all lived under.

Still searching for a moment to try and talk Sylar into letting him join, Peter entered his father’s three car garage and watched a young woman beat the crap out of a punching bag.

No expensive vehicles now adorned this space; instead a fully-equipped gym and state of the art security and computer system. Beside a raised platform that served as a boxing ring a bank of massive flat-screen monitors played various movie fight scenes one after the other. From Bruce Lee to John Wayne with a touch of Tarantino, the endless images of physical violence were rather unsettling.

En more so to Peter was the woman watching the monitors with rapt attention. Toeing off his shoes, Peter dropped a towel and bottle of water on a nearby chair and cautiously approached the ring. A scene of Bruce Lee leaping and kicking finished as the woman stretched carefully then turned and attacked the punching bag.

It took him a couple of minutes to realise she was duplicating the fight she had just watched. Exactly. Not just copying the moves, but perfectly replicating every form and turn like she had been the actor in question.

Watching the impressive display, Peter began to notice the fatal flaw in her otherwise powerful ability. If she allowed him to use it, he would have to work on…

“Hey there.” If her ability was wonderful, her smile was just gorgeous. “I’m Monica, you’re the new guy huh?”

Returning the smile, Peter approached the ring. “Peter.”

“Yeah, the famous baby brother who can get chemistry going with any other ‘special’ on the planet.”

Peter’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Sorry?”

But the sweet expression on Monica’s face had already darkened with embarrassment before the word was completed.

“I mean your power! Your power.” She blushed even harder if possible. “Mohinder says you have a chemical reaction to other people with powers and can copy their abilities, so it’s chemistry, but not…you know…chemistry…although you are really…umm…” Her words trailed away into nothing.

Peter regathered his thoughts and decided once again that he had no idea what went on in women’s mind’s most of time. Dragging the conversation to something he could understand, Peter gestured to the ring.

“You’re really good. Care to show me a few moves?”

The woman paled a little, but caught her composure and bounced back from the single rope surrounding the canvas square. “Sure, c’mon in.”

Warming up quickly, Peter stripped down to his sweat pants and t-shirt and relaxed his body. He was barefoot, as he had been on the first day his life had been ripped askew once again.

“You’ll be dead in a week if you don’t learn something quick. I’ll show you, but it’s not on me if you mess up and die anyway.”

They engaged cautiously at first, working out boundaries, getting comfortable being in each other’s personal space. Minutes went by as Peter slowly delved into the training he’d been given and showed its edge in this non-deadly environment. Back and forth, punch and kick. Few blows landed, mostly just sparring. When Monica was put to the mats, Peter helped her up. When Peter lost balance, she ducked back to give him a moment.

Body warming to the exercise Peter began to enjoy himself in a way he could never have last time he used these skills.

“They don’t want to kill you straight up, just get you on your knees or on your face in the ground, so use that. Be prepared to kill them and they’ll stop trying to catch you out.”

It happened rather quickly. The fight escalated from friendly sparring to an actual test of skills and then to something else. Maybe it was Monica realising his head wasn’t all there, maybe Peter regressed back to the compound, but suddenly the punches weren’t being pulled.

“Everything else I teach you means nothing if you don’t keep moving. Best way to win a fight is to not be there.”

Ducking a high kick, Peter dropped to scoop her legs out from under and caught a hard foot on the shoulder. He nearly broke her ankle, but Monica flipped backwards just in time and spun back for his exposed head. He ducked again and caught her wrist a glancing blow, then her sternum a not-so glancing one. Breathe ‘oofed’ from her lungs, but didn’t stop a punch that missed his jaw by less than an inch.

“You’re fast enough to keep away from those kinds of swings, it’s the ones who’re just as fast and stronger that’ll be the problem.”

The battle was now in earnest, back and forth with no quarter asked or given. This woman had the moves of a hundred fights programmed into her body, every move perfectly replicated down to the last detail. If this went on much longer Monica would probably snap Peter’s neck, her repertoire was just that massive. She’d eventually find a style that would win.

He had to use the flaw he’d seen when he’s first observed her. Peter was a good fighter, he’d had to be. But this was a ‘power’ Monica was using, it was next to impossible to defeat.

So…

Peter dropped out of the sequence they were exchanging and slipped to her left; she turned then shot out a kick to counter the feint. He wasn’t there. Every time Monica tried to complete a move, Peter did something unexpected, like dropping to the floor or turning a martial art punch into a boxing uppercut. It was almost cheating, but Peter knew if it worked it meant her power had a limit. She’d need to know that if she was on the mission. Peter wouldn’t kill her. FedMarshal’s weren’t so kind.

His shoulders hit the canvas mat after a particularly nasty strike, so Peter tumbled back and tried a semi-circle kick. As expected, Monica ducked. She didn’t really have a choice; her body was running this battle, not her mind.

Monica ducked right into Peter’s elbow.

He pulled the blow at the last second, if he hadn’t it would have shattered her cheekbone. Instead she’d have a spectacular bruise and Peter a guilty knot to add to the ones already twisting his soul up.

“Sorry.” He dropped to his knees beside her prone form and gently checked her head and neck for any other injuries. God, he’d hit her so hard.

“Its fine,” Monica panted, hand to her face, looking up at the lights above them. “That was awesome.”

A laugh bubbled up from Peter’s throat. She wasn’t angry, she was happy.

“I have never…never…had it so good.” Monica looked into his eyes and winked at her own innuendo. Intended this time.

Continuing to chuckle, Peter’s head startled up as the dark youth he knew as Micah, the techno-sweet-talker who had rigged up the entire system, reached Monica’s other side.

“Are you okay? Can you feel your feet?” The sudden angry glare he received stole Peter’s laugh away.

“Stop it,” Monica slapped her cousin’s leg lightly. “Peter just showed me my ass for the first time in years. You should thank him for taking my ego down a notch or two.”

“Years?” Peter asked quietly.

“Oh yes,” a dense velvet voice confirmed. Peter looked over to see Sylar, Claire and a half-dozen other of the sanctuary’s younger residents standing just outside the ring. Most of the teenagers were talking and noisily laughing, pretending to mock punch one another in imitation of Peter and Monica.

“She’s undefeated champion,” Sylar continued. “Till now.”

Peter stood and offered a hand to Monica who accepted, groaning.

“A power?” Sylar asked, his eyes knowing the answer.

“No.” Perversely pleased at the shock on his antagonists face, Peter smiled with what he was sure were bloodied lips. “Prison.”

Eyes locked with bitter chocolate ones, Peter didn’t notice the young man offering him his towel and water, till he felt a nudge at his side. Breaking that heated gaze, Peter thanked the no-longer sour faced Luke for the courtesy and received an excited smile in return.

“No one can believe you took Monica down. That rocked so hard. I though she was going to kill you man, and then wham! She’s eating the mats.” About to call the boy on his enthusiasm for seeing an ally defeated, Peter didn’t get the chance.

“Shut the fuck up Luke.” The woman warrior shot in a friendly tone, “you didn’t have the guts to get in here with me because you know I’d splatter you all over the place.” Peter didn’t miss the almost divine desire for this to occur displayed on Micah’s face. “Peter did and he won, but that doesn’t mean balls make you better. Asshole.” She finished with a sweet giggle just to top off the obscenity.

“Yeah, well Ethan says Peter was like a ninja-god in that compound, every one of the prisoners was scared shitless of him so that means balls are better than tits any…”

Peter interrupted the bizarrely crude and sexist argument with the truth. “I was taught by a woman Luke.”

Betrayed, the youth stared in shock. “Dude, no.”

“Obviously,” Monica gloated, before leaving the ring to commiseration from the assembled onlookers.

Peter looked up to find Sylar still watching him, Claire nowhere to be seen. Dark eyes rested on the youth almost vibrating with excitement beside Peter and once again became filled with anger.

He hadn’t even touched the kid and Sylar wanted to tear Peter’s fingers off.

Pissed off and running on adrenalin, Peter jumped down to the floor. He put as much of the predator as he could into his walk towards the other man. A hush fell over the teenagers.

“Take me on the mission to get the serum.”

But Peter had forgotten in the rush of battle just who he was stalking. Death met him halfway and looked over his flushed, sweat-dewed form with something like hunger in his eyes.

There was no greater predator in the entire world than Gabriel Gray.

“Again. No.”

*****

Peter sunk to the ground beside Claire on the tennis court where the children where playing an impromptu game of touch football. Noah was clambering back and forth into and out of his mother’s lap. Peter smiled at the lovely scene and thought of all the paintings and statues he’d seen of the Madonna, with child. Claire was hardly the divine mother, instead she was earthy and gorgeous and real.

“Tell me about Sylar.” It sounded like a command, but Peter knew Claire would understand his tone. Her green eyes looked at him without surprise.

“Gabriel,” the correction was clear but not judgemental. “Gabriel was nearly dead when Nathan and Hiro found him. Danko had been trying to persuade him to join the FedMarshal’s ‘special’ unit. Gabriel declined and was repeatedly punished for it. Danko would almost kill him in some horrific way and then force the serum anti-viral through his system until my power returned and he healed.” Despite how Sylar had acquired it, Claire’s lips were tight with loathing and sorrow at her own ability being abused in such a way.

“When we got him here with Monica and Luke, Gabriel healed again and then…” A pause while she visibly collected her thoughts. “…he handed himself over to us for judgement.”

“Judgement?” Peter repeated, mind racing.

“He asked that twelve of his peers, those with abilities, stand in judgement on his crimes and decide his fate. He admitted every one of his murders.” Another pause, this one caused Claire’s voice to become tinged with anger. “Thirty-two people.” God, Peter couldn’t even comprehend and he’d suffered the hunger that Sylar’s ability fuelled. Thirty-two?

“Thirty-three if you include me, thirty-four if we include you.” Her hand reached over to lace fingers with his. “Sylar was found guilty on all counts.” This time the emphasis on the name was deliberate. “We couldn’t decide on his punishment. Mohinder, Dad and I voted immediate death, yeah,” Claire corrected at Peter’s surprised look. “Sylar asked for Dad to be on the jury even without a power. The plan was to stake his head and then burn him on a pyre where no-one would ever look again.”

A gruesome sentence that Peter could completely understand, he’d have voted with them had he been on the jury.

“It was Angela who offered an alternative. She argued that we had all committed crimes because of our abilities and that Sylar was the least responsible as his power is what urged him to murder. He had no choice.”

Peter forcibly shut away memory of cutting open his brother’s skull because he was so desperate to understand…to know.

“Matt said he could put a block in Sylar’s mind so that the hunger was suppressed. He could be allowed to live, to help in the war to…”

“Make amends?” Peter offered.

Green eyes looked at him with approval. “Exactly. We objected but…it was the only humane thing to do. We didn’t really have the right to put him down like a mad dog, particularly as Matt had suggested a cure of sorts. The problem was Sylar…well Gabriel after the block went in and the killer was tamed. Gabriel didn’t want to live; he’d hoped we’d find him guilty and kill him. The block also added to his…pain.”

The sorrow and care in Claire’s tone surprised him, although really, baby Noah was evidence that the affection between Peter’s niece and her arch-enemy had changed dramatically.

“His personality hadn’t changed, you’ve seen that.” Claire’s lips twitched. “But without the hunger Gabriel’s urge to kill was gone and he’s actually a pretty amazing human being. When you get to know him. That human being didn’t want to keep living after what he’d done. He begged me…” Tears stood suddenly in Claire’s eyes. “He begged me to kill him, but I couldn’t…not now he was a person. Do you know he used to fix watches? No-one did. So…so I made myself the keeper of his tally. Sort of a parole officer. For every life Gabriel saves, I forgive him a death that he caused.”

A small proud smile rose onto her lovely face. “He’s closed the tally ten times over in the last three years, but it’ll never be enough I know. He can barely bring himself to speak to Molly; her presence insures Gabriel will be punished for his crimes until the day he dies. I’ll see to it myself, I promised him I would.”

For several minutes Peter processed everything he had just heard while they watched the children get more and more amped up on adrenaline.

“I think my mother may have been the more harsh a judge,” he offered thoughtfully. “It would have been much kinder to just put him out of his misery.”

“Yes, you’re right there. Angela wasn’t being kind that day, not at all.” Claire agreed, wise beyond her years.

“When did you two fall in love?” Peter asked as casually as someone who was desperately trying to be casual.

Claire seemed to choke on her tongue. “What?! We aren’t. Not at all. Why would you think….?”

Peter couldn’t help the incredulous look he threw at the child in her lap. Dark winged brows frowning close in intense concentration as Noah tried to unzip his mother’s boots.

“Noah, but he’s…oh yes well. I guess there is a resemblance…a little,” Claire, composure reacquired, looked thoughtfully down at her baby. “His father’s name is Alex. I helped him escape the FedMarshal’s during the war and he found me again after a year or so in hiding.” Her smile became decidedly naughty. “He’s in Canada right now helping with the underground we’ve set up and he’ll kick your ass for suggesting I did it with Gabriel. Although…” Claire look towards Peter was assessing. “...maybe not, but he’d try.”

“Sorry,” Peter apologised his thoughts in a whirl. If Sylar wasn’t the baby’s father and wasn’t with Claire then…  “Noah just looks like you both.”

“Wait till you meet Alex,” Claire smiled. “He is very tall, dark hair with dark eyes and eyebrows. So yes, I can see where you might think Noah was Gabriel’s, but no. His attention has just about always been fixed elsewhere, it’s kinda cute actually.”

“Really?” Peter asked distractedly. His whole world view was completely upside down after this conversation. Sylar wasn’t really Sylar anymore? How weird and shattering that thought was. Because if Sylar wasn’t a psycho killer, wasn’t a bloodthirsty maniac that Peter was dedicated to stopping then…

If Gabriel Gray was the man everyone in the mansion thought he was then Peter needed to be very, very careful indeed.

That kind of man was more dangerous to Peter than a hundred Sylars.

Chapter 4.

Peter approached the picnic table with caution. Sylar was dressed in such a casual manner that the nurse knew he was intruding into ‘personal time’, but found no other option. The few times he had seen the other man had been during group meetings or at meals. Hardly the time to broach such a complicated subject. Even now it seemed impossible with Sylar barefoot in black jeans and a blue, long-sleeved t-shirt, the antique marble mantle clock from the dinning room spread across the fine linen tablecloth.

Why his mother used such niceties in the back garden was anyone’s guess.

Sitting across from the neatly ordered rows of parts, Peter watched quietly for several minutes.

“Claire told me why you’re here.” He kept his voice low and neutral. The clock had never kept correct time Peter’s entire life.

A sharp intake of breath. “Claire would give you Noah if you asked her.” Bitterness marred the deep voice, eyes on the task before them.

Peter caught the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue and reminded himself he was here to make peace.

“Why are you so angry with me?” He assured himself the question wasn’t really as pathetic as it sounded. But there was a little too much hurt in there he knew. Sylar was, if not friends, then at least allies with everyone in the house.

Except Peter.

Sylar placed the small tool he had been using neatly with its companions.

“You look at me with such hate in those eyes, how can I not retaliate?” For the first time since he had walked into the mansion, there was no hint of dislike or contempt in the velvet voice. Peter’s brain hiccuped at ‘those eyes’ and stalled as the truth smote him.

“I…I didn’t mean…” But he had, hadn’t he? The moment he’d seen the killer standing on the stairs Peter’s defences had gone into overdrive and they hadn’t slowed down since. He’d been reacting to threats for so very long. Primatech, Adam, Jesse, Pinehearst and finally the Internment Centre had all contributed to Peter’s empathy retreating so far inside him that he’d missed everyone’s emotional responses to Sylar. Claire was his parole officer for god’s sake, not his lover. When had Peter become so blind to the people around him?

Peter coughed to regain his voice.

“Her name was Shun-hua.” He volunteered out of no-where, eyes and the tips of his fingers on a small golden screw. From his view, Peter could just catch Sylar’s hands as they became suddenly still. “Her father could write just by thinking the words at the paper. She told me his calligraphy had sold for thousands before they were ‘detained’.”

Peter gently pushed the screw in small circles, the tip marking an almost imperceptible gouge in the white linen.

“My first night in the compound some of the long-timers, men who had been there longest and lost most of their humanity in the process, thought they’d initiate the new guy so to speak.”

A long hissing breath came to his ears, but Peter was too focussed on his memory to decipher it.

“Shun-hua saved me by breaking bones and scaring the living hell out of six men that would have been four times her body weight. I have no idea why she did it.”

A snort of disbelief had Peter glancing up briefly into a dark chocolate gaze that seemed to access Peter’s every word.

“Strength ability?” the question was a quiet diversion, almost a whisper.

Peter shook his head. “They were all drugged remember. Like you must have been in the ‘medical facility’.” An occasional prisoner had been removed to those places…they’d never come back. But Sylar didn’t need to be reminded of his own incarceration. “No, Shun-hua’s ability was to decompose paper, to break it down into its component parts…wood pulp, water, bleach etc.”

The screw continued its circular carnival ride.

“The reason she could beat the crap out of anyone she chose was a couple of black belts in some vicious martial arts her father and grandmother had taught her. She’d been a self-defence instructor and done some government work with the army before her DNA had sent up a flare in the system. Then they locked her and her dad in the compound with fifty odd hard-timers, some of whom decided that the women prisoners were there just for entertainment. Shun-hua proved them wrong.”

“How did she die?” The question in that velvet voice was so gently perceptive that it almost brought tears to Peter’s eyes.

“Her father died the first week I was there. I did everything I could but…he’d been shot during their arrest and the wound had festered….” Peter struggled to keep his voice even. “A month after he passed, Shun-hua was going to be shipped to a medical facility. She would never have let that happen. I think she only stayed around after her father died because of me.”

The screw came to a sudden halt as Peter pressed the pad of his finger hard into the edge of the head.

“Shun-hua killed four FedMarshals before they killed her, it caused a riot.”

His story told, Peter wondered why he’d even started the tale to begin with.

A long deep breath from the man on the other side of the table.

“Two conditions. You may be able to fight like a demon and have every power under the sun, but you have no experience with what we do. You will obey every one of my orders or I’ll have Hiro ‘port you into the basement.”

Peter looked up into midnight eyes in astonishment.

“And he’ll do it too because he’s more afraid of me than in love with you right now. Two,” Sylar’s lips took on a peeved twist. “You’ll get your invisible boyfriend to give us the exact location of the underground lab and the access codes.”

Peter blinked.

“Claude?” He knew he sounded about as intelligent as a windblown daisy but… ”Claude isn’t my…okay yes fine agreed.” Peter accepted before Sylar could change that mercurial mind of his. “I promise I’ll do everything you say and stay out of trouble, etcetera.”

“Good.” His former enemy’s expression became something that on anyone else Peter might have labelled a leer. Sylar stood and leaned a little so that delicious pine tinted almond scent washed over Peter. “We’re leaving tomorrow at six pm, wear something tight and black.” A flash of heat in the deadly gaze and then he was gone, the perfectly repaired mantle clock and tools with him.

Peter couldn’t even come up with an appropriate response to that last comment.

*****

Claude radiated ‘pissed off English guy’ but he’d agreed to give them the information. After Peter had threatened him with Angela’s disapproval, Sylar’s violence and a hug from Peter himself, the invisible man had caved.

“It’s one of them ‘medical clinics’ downtown. Empty now, but one of the lifts still working and will take ya down to the lowest level, sub5 I’m remembering. Danko has his office next to the computer room and there’ll be at least twenty FedMarshals on duty. Some lab technicians too but they don’t get guns. Or so the two blokes I stalked at the local pub seemed to think. Door code is 4667777. One plonker had it written on his hand so he wouldn’t forget. Idiot.”

*****

Peter took Hiro’s hand.

Then they were standing by a painted brick wall, graffiti scrawl and the smell of garbage an unpleasant contrast to the designer room they had just left.  Peter looked up at the building in front of them.

Hiro’s breath hissed through his teeth.

“Get Sylar.” Peter ordered without any authority. The other man has been doing this for how long? Years? While not quite the hardened veteran of battle that Peter once met on a train, Hiro was still a big game player while Peter just came off the bench so…

Hiro nodded once, and then disappeared.

He could imagine it, Hiro appearing alone in the den, the surprised looks at Peter’s absence, startled questions likely ignored as Hiro takes their leader by the shoulder and closes his eyes as if in pain.

The warm pine scent and the 6’1 of shade now protecting his cheek from the sun caused a responsive flare of heat in his middle but Peter kept his gaze where it has been since he and Hiro first arrived.

“It is a hospital.” Hiro stated the obvious. Peter mentally forgave him as he continued to count the number of patients being admitted to the emergency room in one of the few surviving major metropolitan hospitals.

“Fuck.” Sylar sounded like someone with a massive headache. “Fuck.”

“Change of plan,” Peter offered. “Destroying the building isn’t an option anymore so we need to get inside and…”

Sylar turned sharply and punched his fist into the nearby brick wall. A circle of spirals concertinaed out and several large chunks of brick hit the ground. It startled Peter into a shiver. Since arriving he’d only seen the low burn of the famous temper under a controlled exterior. This was something more than just a foiled plan.

“We’re not going anywhere. You…” A hard glance at Peter while the skin of Sylar’s hand changed from a marbled blue to flesh colour. “...are going home. We’re going to take a look then come back to prepare for another mission with the correct intel.”

Peter knew it was a jab at Claude, but refused to bristle on his friend’s behalf. He was too busy bristling for another reason.

“No, you can’t. Danko will only be here for another day at the most.” Looking up into Sylar’s furious eyes, he saw that arguing would achieve nothing. “Wait here, I have an idea.”

“Peter get your ass back…..” But Sylar’s harsh command was lost in the distance as Peter clothed himself in nothing and darted into the hospital. It took only a few minutes to navigate the semi-familiar layout and find the door he needed. Once inside he snatched the best sizes he could find and raced back out. They might have left already, thinking Peter would have no choice but to follow. In that case Peter would go back in himself. He was invisible, he had the code, and he could find the lab and destroy the serum. Danko would probably be able to escape, but Peter was going to destroy the poison they were making, even if he had to do it alone.

Fortunately he wouldn’t have to. Mohinder was arguing fiercely with Sylar who looked like he wanted to cut someone’s head open, while Monica nervously clutched her elbows and hid beside Hiro. Peter dropped the pile of clothing onto the ground amongst them.

“Medical scrubs,” he stated coming into the visible spectrum. “We can get down to the lab…”

The rest of his plan was cut off by a telekinetic grip at his throat and the brick wall digging needles into his shoulder blades. Feet suspended a foot off the ground, Peter willed himself not to fight back and glared at Sylar over the other’s raised hand.

“Don’t you ever…”

Like a similar situation from long ago, Mohinder stepped in to help Peter.

“It’s a good plan Gabriel. Peter is a nurse, I have some medical training. We can at least get past the innocent people and find the lab in the lower levels as Raines directed. Gabriel.” A hand the colour of scantily milked coffee came to tug at Sylar’s arm. “Gabriel, let Peter go.”

Thoughts whirled and connected behind Sylar’s eyes. Mohinder was relying on the fact that the watchmaker’s intelligence could overrule his rage at Peter. Not sure he could do the same; Peter dragged in a hard breath through his almost closed larynx and thought a small ‘push’ at Sylar’s chest.

Suddenly dropped to his feet, Peter decided that being smug about his apparent win would likely start something again and reached for a set of scrubs.

“No Petrelli, not you.” Sylar grabbed Peter’s coat and pulled him backwards. “You, go back to the mansion and let them know the change of plans.” Before he could even voice a protest, cool fingers jerked his chin up so that their faces were less than an inch apart. “You broke your promise.”

Thrown into turmoil by the sudden guilt that hit him and the sheer impact of Sylar’s nearness, Peter shut his eyes and teleported home.

Nathan looked up with concern.

“It’s fine.” Peter regained his equilibrium after a couple of even breathes and waved an unconcerned hand. “Change of plans, we’re going in undercover instead of seek and destroy. I’ll let you know.”

Nathan opened his mouth to ask something, but Peter ‘ported back to the street.

Snagging a set of scrubs he shrugged off his coat and pulled on a top before toeing off his shoes.

The ominous silence in the semi-alley was telling.

“Either I come with you now, or I follow you. Your choice,” he told the drawstring of his pants.

Warmth near his ear, but Peter kept his eyes down. “You stay with me Petrelli. Disobey again and I’ll break every bone in your body.” His breath chilled in his throat. “It’ll take at least an half an hour for you to heal every one and by then we’ll be gone so…”

Peter nodded his acquiesce and finished getting them ready.

A sudden punch from Monica to Hiro had the Japanese man dripping blood into a proffered handkerchief, while Sylar feigned a convincing stagger with an arm over Peter’s shoulders.

Desperately ignoring the long line of masculine beauty that was draped against him. Peter hooked a finger into his leader’s belt and walked them into emergency.

*****

Sitting cross-legged on one of the pristine steel lab tables, Peter saw passion infuse Mohinder Suresh for the first time since he’d landed in this god-forsaken future. Unlike his own rampage alongside Flint in the Primatech lab, the geneticist was methodical about the destruction of someone’s hard hours of labour. Methodical, precise and downright scary Peter amended.

It had seemed too easy. The trio involved in a domestic love spat accompanied by a couple of harried orderlies making their way through the overcrowded ER and into the lifts. At least Claude’s information had been correct in this instance. The government lab concealed three floors beneath the hospital morgue, the lift door refusing to open until Mohinder ripped it apart with his fingernails.

The codes for all the keypads were perfect. Not a single hitch.

Peter had been worried that Sylar would be the fanatic on this mission, what with the whole torture by the guy running the operation thing. But Danko wasn’t here, the FedMarshal leader having departed for Washington a day early according to a terrified guard. The rage had cooled from the killer’s demeanour, allowing Suresh’s enthusiasm to dominate the rest of the mission.

The devastation had left the geneticist’s eyes, to be relaced by grim satisfaction as Monica, Peter and Hiro subdued the guards and Sylar terrified the techs into submission with barely a raised eyebrow. With the staff locked away in a storage closet by a cheerful Hiro, the lab was now empty and vulnerable to Mohinder’s revenge.

Watching the geneticist bring another batch of test tubes to Sylar to have them irradiated, Peter waited until he’d moved off before asking sotto voce, “Having a little bit too much fun with this isn’t he?”

As promised Peter had stuck close to his leader, not exactly a hardship except for the ridiculously long legs that he had to race to keep up with, and was now at his current perch not four feet from where the killer was standing looking over some of the documents they’d recovered.

“The serum is based on one developed six years ago from a strain of the Shanti Virus.” Eyes still on the reports in his hands, Sylar answered just as quietly. “The drug that inhibits abilities and allows them to keep us prisoner…”

“…was invented by Mohinder.” Peter finished the sentence, a sudden wave of sympathy washing over him. Looking at his old friend with new eyes, the nurse now understood why the other man had forbidden Sylar from levelling the lab and gone for a more methodical approach.

“None of it survives,” Suresh had sworn. “No chance of a thumb-stick or print out with even the beginning of the formula.” Pointing at the refrigerators, he had nodded Monica forward. “Start there, everything exposed to radiation by Gabriel then we’ll get onto the computers.”

Twenty minutes later and Peter was now not only sympathetic but also impressed. Mohinder must have been planning this assault for a while given the thorough job he had just done of destroying even the theoretical concept of the serum.

“Finish all those please Gabriel; we’re going to the IT lab to meet Micah online.” The lab now forgotten for the rest of his victim, Suresh lead Monica down the hallway and into the last of half a dozen doors it contained.

Sylar waved a glowing red hand over another tray of ampoules and handed Peter the final few documents.

Peter thought for a second then watched the paper slowly decompose into its base elements.

“Thank you for letting me come.” His quiet words were clear in the silence of the stripped lab.

Fingers still faintly glowing red, Sylar turned on his heel to face Peter. Whatever he saw Peter couldn’t guess, but two long strides had Sylar within inches of him, causing the nurse to straighten his back and raise his chin to the taller man. Long-fingered hands came to rest on the bench by Peter’s knees and the alluring; pine almond scent of the killer began to flood his senses.

Handsome mouth only a small chasm away, Sylar smiled with a hint of the predator. “That is the nicest thing you’ve said to me since you arrived.”

True, but Peter hadn’t known that he was supposed to be nice to the other man till two days ago.

Licking his lips at the sudden parched air of the lab he answered, “Really? I’m sure I can do better than that…” words lingering flirtatiously. Part of Peter’s brain was screaming whatthefuckareyoudoing? While another part growled yesgrabhimgrabhimgrabhim.

Sudden heat flared in the midnight eyes and hands caught his calves, unlacing his ankles and drawing Peter’s backside closer to the edge of the lab table.

Closer to Sylar.

Lean hips now pressed to the length of Peter’s spread thighs, only a scant inch of steel bench keeping their groins from touching, Sylar returned his hands to the table palm down beside the seated man. Effectively trapping Peter in that position.

“Do better.” The velvet voice was infused with raw lust, causing an answering flare to race up Peter’s spine.

His mind spun. “You saved my life three times at Primatech. It might be years for you, but it’s only months for me. I never said thank you for those.” Peter leaned fractionally closer, his lips almost but not quite touching Sylar’s. In this position their height difference was almost negated and Peter revelled in looking directly into the now-burning gaze.

“The prisoners are resigned to their fate…oh…”

Peter snapped his head backwards at Hiro’s words, feeling his cheeks began to burn. The Japanese man stared at them with a dumbfounded expression. Sylar, with his fucking cool as ice face, didn’t even look surprised at the interruption.

“The others are in the last room on the right, when they’re done take them home. I’ll finish up here.” He left very little doubt what he was going to be finishing.

And Peter had thought that Sylar wasn’t all badass egomaniac.

Drawing back a fist to punch the arrogance out of that handsome face, Peter knew Hiro had left the room because Sylar crowded right back in to his personal space. Peter was forced to catch himself on his elbows with the other man nearly climbing over him. It was damn sexy. This unfairly gorgeous no-longer arch enemy, all broad shoulders and wicked expressions that curled Peter’s toes and made his cock hard.

Hard just like the one pressed against his thigh.

Fucking hell, they hadn’t even kissed and Peter was more turned on than he’d been in years. Particularly with Sylar avoiding his lips, choosing to breathe in a long slow intake of air beneath Peter’s ear.

“You were saying?”

Completely unable to stop the low moan that the contact summoned, Peter gave up any flimsy pretence of passivity and leaned his face over to nuzzle at the jaw so close to him. Like some feline offering affection up to the dominant animal, Peter indulged his addiction to skin contact by dragging his lips, cheekbone and forehead across Sylar’s light stubble.

God, Peter wanted to lick him, he smelled so good.

Long fingers curled at the back of Peter’s neck for a single, perfect moment. Then snarling a handful of hair Sylar pulled his head back so that they could once again lock eyes. Startled from his ardour, Peter saw the brilliant gaze now almost wild with need, the low panting breaths from Sylar forcing him to rock hardness and bringing forth another suppressed moan.

“Jesus.” The benediction was drenched with the unholy sin of lust. “Peter.”

Ready to move on to making that sin a reality, Peter’s skull thumped painfully back on the lab bench as the fingers supporting it disappeared and the body he was clinging to reared back to the floor.

Peter stared at the fluorescent lights overhead wondering if maybe that had just been an awesome wet dream he’d just been woken from. Still sprawled on his back, legs parted wantonly, Peter turned his head to see Sylar thirty feet across the room looking like he was one mad impulse away from doing Peter serious harm.

Or seriously doing something else to him, Peter wasn’t entirely sure which.

“No,” the velvet voice was cold despite the expression in the chameleon eyes. “No.”

Head cocked to one side like a bird, Sylar kept his eyes on Peter as the nurse sat up and adjusted his clothing.

Amongst other things.

“The others are done, take us home.” The mission leader was back, wiping away the lust-shrouded predator like he’d never been.

Peter walked over and carefully took Sylar’s coat-sleeve in his hand.

“Yes, Boss.” It was playful, sarcastic and if Peter read the look in the killer’s eyes correctly, the most dangerous thing he’d done all day.

Sylar didn’t get a chance to retaliate as the next thing they saw was the study at the mansion and Angela Petrelli’s formidable glare.

Chapter 5

Massively awkward was the only way Peter could describe the following nine hours. His mother had seemed to know what they had done which brought up the possibility that she dreamed him almost making out with Sylar in the lab. Gaining an instant headache from the idea, Peter smiled in a completely unconvincing way and prayed she hadn’t mentioned anything to Nathan.

Fortunately or unfortunately his brother had other concerns. Namely the intelligence Micah and the team had recovered indicated that Danko had been conducting human testing with the serum for the last three days and there were already several ‘terminations’ listed in the reports. This information caused such a look of ice-cold rage to become Sylar’s permanent expression and immediately doused any idea of resuming where they had left off on the mission.

Refusing to admit he was disappointed and telling himself to get in the right head space, it was Peter who discovered they’d lost some lambs.

Near midnight had Peter taking his turn to collect coffee for everyone in Nathan’s den. It was a war council of sorts, partly planning the mission to rescue the test subjects, partly a continuous argument with no end in sight. Peter had been playing mediator, alternatively calming angry voices and soothing jangled nerves. Personally he thought they should just ask Molly to find any of the special’s they knew had been taken and then go rescue them.

It was never that easy apparently. Like Maury Parkman before him, the Spider could tell when Molly used her ability and had almost found the sanctuary several times in recent years. Thus the young woman’s gift was used only in times of dire emergency. Matt and Sylar were in the midst of a verbal battle defining whether this was a ‘dire’ enough situation.

Watching the hideously expensive coffee machine begin to chug and burble, Peter wandered into the lower lounge and saw Monica absorbed in an action movie. Surprised at the lack of youthful testosterone that usually flowed in the beautiful woman’s wake, the nurse climbed the stairs to the boys’ bedroom.

Not there.

Nor were they in the games room, other bedrooms, backyard, and garage or on the tennis court.

Coming back into the den with his heart racing and no coffee, Peter interrupted Noah’s words by asking in a voice close to panic.

“Has anyone seen Ethan, Luke or Lyle? They’re not in the house.”

“Lyle?” Claire sounded frightened in a way the invulnerable woman never was for herself.

“They went for food hours ago.” Angela told them, standing with her hands clutching each other white knuckled. “Did they come back?”

“No-one has seen them since.” Peter looked to Noah with sympathy. Lyle was his youngest child. The man had used a lifetime of worry over his magnificent daughter. It was God’s cruel joke to threaten the one that should have been easier to keep safe.

“Ethan’s angry.” Matt’s voice brought them to silence. “He’s somewhere familiar, it scares him and he hates it.”

Peter felt nausea twist in his gut. “They’ve been caught. Ethan knows the FedMarshal holding cells.”

Matt stood sharply and looked directly at Sylar as if his eyes could perceive the man.

“It’s Danko.” Not a flicker of emotion touched the strong handsome face of the man before him. “They’re still in New York. Luke’s seen Danko, he’s… he’s screaming in his head for Gabriel to help him.”

Sylar closed his eyes and took one long deep breath.

Nathan threw open a folder on his desk. “They must be at the main facility on Ellis Island. It’s impenetrable even if Hiro teleported…” His words tailed off as Sylar opened his eyes.

Even Peter took a breath at what he saw there.

Taking all his courage, Peter walked forward and caught the killer’s attention with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

The dark eyes that looked down into his belonged to a murderer that had been dead for three years.

Blocking out the protestations around him, Peter concentrated on the times he’d seen Ellis from ferries and bridges.

Cool wind threw his hair into his eyes and raised a shiver down his spine. Sylar was unfazed by the chill, eyes on the buildings that covered the small island.

“Do you want me to get the others?” Peter raised his voice to be heard over the waves.

Sylar didn’t even glance at him, just started walking towards the high stone walls with determination a Sherman tank would envy.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Peter wrapped his arms around himself and trotted to keep up. He wanted to get Ethan out of this place. Away from the grey clinical walls, anonymous prison clothing and likely maiming by FedMarshal guards. The boys shouldn’t be here, they were too young to be part of the war yet. They should be at the mansion, eating Sandra’s cooking like they’re stomaches were bottomless pits and flirting badly with the woman.

Not subject to needles that could render them ‘terminated’ by their own fucking government.

Sylar’s plan seemed to be ‘destroy anything or anyone between them and the boys’. Peter was fine with that as long as no one got killed just for being there.

“I need you.” Sylar gritted out, the velvet voice almost ice-cold with rage.

Peter didn’t even think of misunderstanding that statement. He simply drew on his most powerful memories of Sylar, looked directly into the man’s handsome, determined face and joined his telekinesis to its true master.

Combined, their power was earth shattering.

An eight foot area of the concrete walls bowed out for a split second and then exploded. Within the resultant shower of dust, they could hear the beginning of an alarm that pierced their ears with its sharp call. Two guards fell from the nearest tower, their descent only slowed from deadly to fractures at the last moment by Peter’s quick reflexes. Making it his mission to shove away and knock out the guards that came near them so they wouldn’t be ripped apart or melted, Peter kept to Gabriel’s heels and hoped they’d get to the cells before they saw Danko.

No such luck.

They were all in the same place. A huge aircraft hanger of some kind with the left sectioned off into wire cells and the right a large medical area with gurneys and white coated technicians.

“They had already finished it.” Peter realised as he saw the vials of serum filling shelf after shelf of freezer units

Sylar suddenly grinned. “They kept the security with the serum. We were distracted by the lab so we wouldn’t notice they were rounding up even more people.” A wave of his hand and a dozen vials exploded.

Peter flinched, his eyes falling on the cells and the cowering people within.

“Get them out Peter, get them home.” Angry eyes found a figure at the centre of the massing guards. A short, slight man, balding with deep-set insomniac eyes. “I’m going to be having some Me time.”

Peter hesitated for a moment. Sylar had committed himself to his sentence with one hundred percent devotion. This would undo a lot of the ground he’d gained with the others. But some small part of Peter understood. The man ordering the hail of gunfire that showered them but failed to touch had imprisoned Gabriel in a facility just like this. Had tortured him until the killer had thrown himself on the dubious mercy of his enemies rather than go on living another day.

Justice might finally be served today.

Peter walked over to the cages. His telekinesis was so intertwined with Sylar’s that the few pushes he could manage wouldn’t be enough to free the prisoners. So with a combination of Mohinder’s strength and Ethan’s acid tongue Peter destroyed every door he could see.

“Fucking A, I knew you’d come!” Ethan yelled over the chaos shattering the building around them. “I told that asshole ‘Peter and Gabriel are going to fry this place when they get here.’ I knew you’d both come.”

Peter herded all the captives together and started to lead them in a group to the walls and beach beyond. He would likely sprain something teleporting them all to the mansion, and Sylar would loose the extra boost Peter was giving him, but at least they’d be….

“Dad!” Lyle yelled in exultation, eyes on a helicopter that roared over the shattered walls.

‘How in hell did Noah get a helicopter so fast?’ Peter wondered incredulously, before pushing the boys towards it.

Hiro was suddenly at his side, a warm smile on his kind face before he took the hands of two prisoners and vanished.

His mission now in the hands of others, Peter ran back towards the building where Sylar was making a mess of the military. It no longer had a roof and the walls were going to meet the earth in a matter of minutes.

Realising that he hadn’t seen Luke amongst the prisoners, Peter scanned the battlefield and found the boy, crouched behind Sylar. Completely protected by the strongest telekinetic on the planet. Continuing to merge that same power, although used with less finesse, with its owner’s, the nurse reached their side and grabbed Luke’s hand.

“We have to go!” he yelled over the conflagration around them.

Luke violently shook his head. “Not until that fucker is dead!” he screamed back.

Peter leaned around Sylar to see Danko, somehow still alive amidst the killer’s fury and wondered at the protections that layered the FedMarshal leader.

“This is boring.” Sylar said calmly, his voice audible amongst the din. “Time for you to die.”

With a suddenness that was likely planned, every man surrounding Danko dropped their guns and began writhing in pain at his feet. A raised weapon and several more rounds bounced off Sylar’s shield.

“You should have joined me Gray; we could have ruled the world by now.” The FedMarshal shouted unafraid.

Peter was impressed despite himself.

Sylar cocked his head to one side as if considering the proposal now.

“Not in this reality.” He answered before a line of blood appeared on the high forehead and Danko died.

“Rot in hell Mutherfucker.” Luke hissed as the man who’d murdered his mother and kept him prisoner for two years finally fell.

Only the three of them were left standing as the sound of the helicopter departed.

Sylar turned to Peter, the rage gone but also any passion he’d once shown now buried under the aftermath of what he’d done.

“Home,” Peter said before taking their hands and suiting action to words.

*****

They had the children back, but everything between Peter and Sylar had gone all difficult again. Peter mourned for those first tentative steps to friendship, let alone the insane chance of something sexual between them. He couldn’t tell if it had been the merging of their power or Danko’s death, but Sylar had turned into a first class bastard and this time, it wasn’t Peter’s fault.

The former killer snarled at everyone, even the protected Molly wasn’t immune to Sylar’s bad humour. During conversations where missions were discussed, he would disparage Nathan’s plans, insult Bennet until the man was ready empty a clip into his head and mock Hiro so much he’d leave shrouded in puzzled hurt. Peter suspected that Sylar was just pissed off with the world because they had all been played. Some of the most powerful and versatile ‘specials’ in existence and they had missed Danko’s sinister plan, the deaths of everyone in custody the result of their arrogance.

But still, it wasn’t really anyone’s fault, not Nathan’s, not Bennet’s and certainly not Sylar’s. Trying to break the icy disdain that now radiated from his almost-friend, Peter found himself becoming just as short of patience as the killer nearly two weeks after the rescue from Ellis Island.

It all came to a head when Sylar brought Monica to tears in the training ring. The critique was actually reasonable, their leader pointing out the flaw Peter himself had discovered in their first fight together. It was the vicious, clever turn of phrase that struck too close to the bone and placed a last straw on Peter’s back.

Sylar stood, arms folded, an elegant sneer in place. From his neat black shirt and dress trousers to his impeccable hair, the killer radiated confidence and a pitiless disappointment in everything around him...and everyone.

“…like a robot with bad programming. Do you think the FedMarshals haven’t run sims on battling you? They had you for ten months Monica, they know you better than you know yourself. You have to think to fight, not just go through the motions like a battle Barbie with an empty skull…”

“Hey, enough.” Peter was standing too close, the scent of the killer’s pine aftershave a memory of lust that was too distracting. Flicking a gaze at Monica’s dejected figure, Peter stoked his anger and forced out all what-might-have-beens.

The icy-dead glare turned its full power on the nurse. “As I’m leader of the combat team Petrelli, I decide when it’s enough.” The glare became dismissive. “You can fuck off.”

That’s it asshole. Peter came to a mental resolution. He was fitting in to this time, no longer a lost soul and he wouldn’t have his opinion disparaged. Not by anyone…certainly not by Sylar.

“You can leave her out of your bitch-fest Sylar.” Peter countered, voice becoming hotter in inversion to the ice in his adversary’s. “Monica did her job that day. Stop taking your anger out on everyone else.”

A brilliant gleam entered the dark gaze as the frozen anger finally began to thaw. “Maybe I should take it out on you Petrelli? As I remember you pushed to continue the hospital raid, all the while the boys were being tasered and loaded into vans…”

“I couldn’t have known,” Peter defended. He’d worked himself over for that decision enough times that Sylar couldn’t find a weakness there. “No-one could. The lab was the viable target, Claude was right…”

Strong fingers closed into a fist in Peter’s shirt. “When you see your invisible lover again, tell him he’s on my angry-list as well. The intelligence was so badly flawed we should never have trusted him to begin with. Something else you are responsible for I might add.” The threat against Claude was useless as Peter hadn’t had contact with his mentor in days. But it still served to pull Peter over the brink into fury.

“Stop saying he’s my lover. Stop blaming other people for the mistake,” pinching into the nerves in the killer’s wrist, Peter broke the hold on his shirt and pushed Sylar backwards with a hard, human-strength shove.

Catching himself easily, Sylar smiled a cruel mirthless grin. “Sorry Petrelli,” he said with no trace of regret. “I’m just having trouble keeping track of how many members of the house you are sleeping with. What did Raines do to get kicked out of your bed? Or hasn’t he left and is still hovering round like a…”

Peter’s fist connected with that gorgeous jaw. The sudden shock at his action couldn’t cover the satisfaction of shutting up the lewd accusations and the bloom of red on the fine, lightly tanned skin. Instant healing removed all trace of bruising, but that didn’t halt two long-fingered hands from catching Peter on the chest and shoving him out the door of the garage. A telekinetic burst causing Peter to land on his back by the tennis court.

Ribs clicking back into place, Peter stood quickly as Sylar stalked towards him like his rage-filled angelic namesake.

“Stop it guys. C’mon…” But Monica’s plea was lost in the rivalry of anger and power.

“You’re not really angry with anyone else,” Peter accused in a low, dark voice.

Sylar scoffed, his hands flickering to life with a current once belonging to a woman named Elle. “I’m pretty fucking angry with you right now Petrelli.”

“Ditto with you Sylar.” Dimly aware they had drawn a crowd from the mansion, Peter ignored the small shocks that reached him from the killer’s position less that a yard away and allowed his own hands to become blisteringly cold. A small puff of frigid breathe issued from his lips as Tracy’s power manifested. “But I meant, the man you are really pissed off at, the man you know fucked up and are punishing as much as you can is…”

The bolt of lightening caught Peter in the guts and pushed him once again to the ground.

“Enough, both of you!” Angela might well not have spoken for all the attention she was paid.

“Spare me the empathic psychoanalysis.” Sylar laughed without humour as Peter rose. “You have no idea what I’m feeling.”

“Most of the time, apart from anger,” Peter shot out as darts of ice sliced open the skin on Sylar’s high cheekbone and temple. A small private blizzard surrounded the taller man. “I don’t think you feel anything at all.”

Sudden hurt crossed the other’s face that had nothing to do with blood, but Peter was relentless in his rage. “Everyone here accepted you even after you were found guilty of all those murders.” Peter shot a meaningful glance at the blue-white electricity dancing in Sylar’s fingers.

The handsome face paled and the power vanished from sight.

“Peter, no.” Claire this time and Peter hesitated. Would have stopped if not for the sudden humanity he saw once again in the other’s face. “You’re so angry at yourself Sylar, but you’re taking it out on those that care about you now. Stop it before you do something they won’t forgive.”

Peter’s plea made an impact like his punch never had, but Gabriel Gray was never the kind of man who could easily accept his feelings. As Sylar his rage was manifest, no-one had ever shown him how to understand guilt.

“They barely forgive me as it is Petrelli, you should know that.” Sylar left himself powerless in the face of the ice storm around him, his words a weapon all on their own. “They never forgave you for destroying Pinehearst you know…”

“Gabriel!” Nathan’s voice held something like fear, but Peter was transfixed by his adversary’s words.

“You said you were kidnapped the night the building exploded?” Sylar asked as they were having a genteel conversation and not in the middle of a magnificent brawl.

“Yes.” Peter’s lips were going numb from the cold.

“Funny that your precious, loving family, the ones you say I should watch my tongue around,” Sylar stepped out of the dying ice storm and spoke clearly into Peter’s face. “Funny that they didn’t even wonder where you were.”

Peter couldn’t form a word, a cold that had nothing to do with Tracy taking his limbs in paralysis.

“They thought you’d simply run off in your typical adolescent way. No-one even looked for you…” the velvet voice rasped deep into Peter’s soul.

“No, don’t.”

Peter didn’t recognise the voice and didn’t really care.

“…it took them six months to realise you weren’t just hiding somewhere being a child. Six months. Such an impression you have on people, Peter, that they don’t even care whether you live or die.”

It was too much. Peter could fight with powers, could battle with words about anything else. But his own worth? For three long months he’d kept his inner self safe amongst the degradation and hate of the compound. Had staved off the hard skin and ruthlessness that threatened to overcome him.

This…this just wasn’t something Peter could deal with. God, they always found new ways to hurt him.

Stepping back, Peter easily avoided the hand that reached out to him and stared directly into his brother’s guilt-ridden eyes.

He shot into the air like a rocket.

For a long, long time he considered never coming down.

 Chapter 6

Peter hovered amongst the clouds, knees drawn up to his middle, arms across his chest. It was bitterly cold this late in the evening with only a t-shirt, but he had other things to think about than frostbite. The giant childish sulk he currently indulged in was one, the stupid hurt he felt at his family’s betrayal was another and finally the worst, the unmistakable truth behind Sylar’s words.

He wanted to go home. Pitiful and sad as it sounded, Peter desperately wanted to go back to his own time. Even if it was to the hatred in Nathan’s eyes, cool manipulation from his mother and Claire’s youthful innocence slowly being tarnished by darkness. It was a terrible thing that his family were more loving here in an apocalyptic future than they’d ever been when Peter was around.

But the one way he could go back and make everything right was currently unavailable to him. Because of the god-damned Spider and his FedMarshal drones, Peter couldn’t time travel, couldn’t go back and fix his family. With the knowledge he had now, Peter could forestall Nathan’s deal with Danko, could stop the President from declaring them all terrorists and he could save Sylar. He’d drag the killer to Matt by his hair if he had to, to get the hunger stopped and allow the human being within to see the light.

He had to get Hiro’s power back. Peter had to end the Spider and fix this fucked-up place once and for all.

After several hours in the air, Peter’s eyes were itchy dry despite the moisture around him. All the wounds from the fight with Sylar long healed, except for the ones on his heart. They might take longer than a sabbatical in the clouds. As the last of the daylight bled into darkness, Peter determined his course of action and descended towards the mansion. He wanted to talk to Claire. She, of all his family, would tell him the straight unvarnished truth. Peter had looked down the barrel of a gun in her small hand and still trusted her.

Peter glided easily through his open bedroom window and quickly pulled off his shoes. He needed a hot shower, a conversation with his niece, five hours of sleep and then he’d leave. The illuminated lamp by his bedside stilled the fingers on his belt. The man seated in the armchair caused Peter’s spine to stiffen in caution.

“They’re worried.” The velvet voice was neutral, free of the hate and scorn that had infused it earlier.

Peter concentrated. In his mental and audible voice he said,

‘Matt, I’m back and fine. Please tell them to stay away.’ "Matt, I’m back and fine. Please tell them to stay away.”

A pointed glare towards the seated man then the door while Peter pulled his black ‘mission’ clothes from his cupboard.

Chin cupped in his palm, long fingers curled up to his cheek, Sylar spoke casually, as if he hadn’t drilled an electric hole through Peter’s chest scant hours before.

“It’s been a hard lesson for me to understand how completely oblivious you actually are.” The velvet voice was oddly gentle, but Peter barely noticed it over the criticism. Peter hardly needed another set of insults to add to the damage his ego had already taken at this man’s hands.

“Sorry I’m such a failure.” He snarled.

Sylar seemed to repress an eye roll through sheer force of will.

“I meant, before you react like a snake and fang me to death, I realised today you don’t even have any kind of clue what you do to me.” A careless gesture with his free hand.

Blinking at the obscure statement, Peter shook his head to clear some emotional cobwebs.

“I didn’t do anything.” He responded quickly. “I just wanted you to stop being an asshole to the people who love you.”

A long-suffering sigh issued from that handsome mouth. Peter tried to divert himself from paying attention with his completely logical rage. It couldn’t quite take, what with Sylar rising to his feet and stalking over to Peter like a big, sexy hunting cat. Hands caught his shoulders, a strong grip that pulled them dangerously close together. A bump of groin to groin so Peter could feel the unmistakable evidence of the other’s arousal.

“This is what you do to me.” Lips lowered to hover light as gossamer just above his.

Peter was immediately torn. On one hand he wanted to punch the fucker in the face for all the emotional rings he’d been running Peter through, on the other hand Sylar was right there inches away, his body stealing the last of the night chill from Peter’s skin and those lips so very close…

“It doesn’t just fix everything between us by agreeing we want to fuck.” There was still an edge in Peter’s voice, one caused by the gutting pain he’d experienced at this man’s hands.

Lids lifted and the sudden heat in the midnight gaze almost stole the last of his resistance

“No, but it’ll stop me wanting to burn little holes in your skin just so I can keep your attention fixed completely…” again the wicked mouth made a gentle pass, “…on me.”

With herculean effort, Peter pulled his face back fractionally. “Apologise for being an asshole.” He ordered, suppressing a primal urge to just drop and bare his neck.

A slight smile. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to everyone and I’m sorry…” the whispering mouth moved closer and this time Peter couldn’t even form a thought of denial. “…I took it out on you.”

The intrinsic fairness that was welded to his DNA had Peter saying softly, “It was much my fault as…”

The kiss that stole his words shook Peter to his very core. Such an indecent, talented mouth Sylar possessed and one intent on addicting Peter to it’s every move and push.

Reaching up to lace his fingers through the thick hair, Peter pulled Sylar in closer, pressing them together full length and arching his chest against that delicious body. Sylar 's sudden deep growl sent shivers down Peter's spine despite the warmth of the room. The sensuous mouth locked on his was firm and wet, sliding along Peter's so perfectly.

Their tongues duelled for several seconds, before allowing exploration of teeth and lips. Peter now felt like he was burning from the inside, going up in Ted’s flames and Sylar a solid island of cool to drown in. Not only was he solid, but that iron erection from earlier had now an eager companion in Peter’s denim covered groin. He had been half hard already just from the other’s presence in his room and the smoky velvet voice curling around him. Now Peter’s cock was burning hot inside the prison of his clothes. On and on the kisses continued, dragging the breath out of him, turning his bones to jelly and opening a deep yawning pit of need inside his heart and his body.

Peter never wanted to fuck so badly in his life.

It seemed Sylar agreed because just as Peter pressed in, trying to force himself closer, the other man curved two hands under Peter’s ass and lifted like he was a lightweight. Wrapping his legs around Sylar’s hips, Peter groaned into their locked mouths at the almost painful press of his erection against another. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew Sylar didn’t have superior strength and felt a definite buzz of heat at the human muscle his soon-to-be lover had just displayed.

Using his weight and a little bit of power, Peter pushed them backwards until the back of Sylar’s knees hit the bed. Hmmm. Exactly where he wanted to be, sitting astride Sylar’s lap, tousling that perfect hair while kissing so deep and needy that he thought he never may stop.

A few quick acrobatic movements had Sylar coatless and pressed back into the headboard, while Peter dislodged their shoes and removed shirts as quickly as possible. Sylar was hardly passive, drawing a gasp as Peter’s jaw and throat were tormented with lips and tongue, long fingers pulling at the buttons of his jeans then delving inside to curl and stroke the satin flesh within.

Telekinesis wielded by either of them or both, helpfully removed at the last of their clothes; the power an eager manifestation of their mutual desire to be absolutely, completely naked. Glorious skin finally glided against skin, so wickedly warm together that Peter could see a full body massage in the future somewhere. Just those fingers on him was turning Peter on so completely, he wanted to flat out beg Sylar to take him any way he wanted. When his length was released he gave a great long shuddering sigh. One that quickly turned into a shudder of need as the hands crept around and delved gently at his ass. Their lips parted on a hiss of pleasure.

“Please…” the word was almost lost in Peter’s heightened breathing, but the want was plain and absolute.

He purred into that striking, handsome face, “If you don’t I may just have to force you.”

Sylar’s sudden sensual chuckle caused a new fizzle of arousal to hit Peter. He had never heard the man issue such a carefree and downright dirty sound before.

“One day.” The former killer vowed, passion laced through the dark promise of his voice.

With a clench of thigh muscles Peter sat higher, raking his hands once again through the thick chocolate hair that had flicked so teasingly at his skin during those bruise rending kisses. Smashing his lips almost clumsily against Sylar’s, Peter curled his hand around the length nudging at his buttocks, adoring its satin feel and size.

The first brush of Sylar's fingers across his opening sent tingles, like tiny electric shocks, up his spine from his ass to his skull. In retaliation Peter tightened his fingers around Sylar's sex and gently rubbed his palm across the silken head. He almost wanted to slide lower and swallow Sylar deep down into his throat, but another part of his body needed that hot hard shaft even more.

As Sylar's talented fingers moved and stretched him, Peter sunk his teeth into his lower lip to stifle the terribly uncontrolled moan threatening to escape him. Eventually the tormenting touches became too much and Peter pulled back and away from their sensual touch. He frankly didn't care if he was ready because he wanted Sylar in him. Right. Now.

Catching two handfuls of that thick hair, Peter pressed his body against Sylar’s in a blatant invitation.

“Now. Now. Inside me…” Peter didn't recognize the lust-filled burr that his voice had become.

Lips dropped light kisses across his jaw as if Peter’s erotic pleading never took place. But beneath his ragged begging, Peter heard the slight hitch in the other man’s breathing and knew that his soon-to-be lover was walking a knife edge of control even more volatile than his own. He wanted to look into those eyes as he came, watch the man's face when they made love for the first time.

The first press of Sylar's hardness inside him had Peter responding instinctively, exhaling and relaxing as he slowly surrendered his body. It burned a little and the ache was intense but Peter felt the friction turn to a riot of bliss as inch by solid inch pressed its way inside him. Peter arched his back and canted his hips to return the pressure. A hand tightened at the base of his skull and Peter could see the same fierce pleasure fill the midnight eyes that gazed with steady control into his own.

Letting gravity finally win, Peter sank all the way down, feeling Sylar slide in impossibly deeper. He gasped at the nascent burn, eyelids fluttering closed, biting his lip at the overwhelming pleasure. The flesh tormented by teeth only for a second as with a sharp pull forwards his lover broke the connection with his tongue, piercing Peter twice both ass and mouth, holding and owning.

Peter began a slow, sensual dance, the lift and pull of his hips drawing the hard flesh in and out of him. Rocking them together in a simply glide dictated by need and gasped murmurs of “yes…right there…you..”

Long seconds passed as Peter worked them closer to the edge, his gaze locked on the bitter chocolate ones that he’d never think of as cold again. Hands braced on Sylar’s shoulders for balance, Peter lost all thought to the pleasure beginning to course from his ass to his cock.

In one smooth motion his wrists were engulfed by Sylar’s longer hands. In a move reminiscent of battle, Peter saw the wall and ceiling spin by in a blur, then was bouncing slightly on the thick mattress, Sylar's taller, delicious body pressing him even deeper into the comfortable softness. Now Peter was caught between the hot, hard body of his lover, still buried deep inside him and the bed. Looking up into Sylar’s deep gaze, he couldn't help the challenge he threw up with only his eyes. Peter was in all kinds of luck as the challenge was answered, sweet, warm breath caressed his cheek and ear, sending wonderful shivers across the sensitive skin at his throat.

“You…are…” Sylar’s voice was like dark honey they way it curled and sashayed around them.

“Hmm...?” Peter’s gaze now as he looked at the handsome face, high cheekbones flushed, lips brilliant from desperate, needy kisses.

“Everything.” A single perfect thrust.

A full-body shudder had Peter’s eyes closing, his fingers scoring desperate nail marks down the smooth skin over Sylar’s back. When he had the breath to speak he rasped, “Please…” But the vital movements didn’t start, instead long fingers embedded in his hair and warm lips hovered butterfly soft over his own.

“Open your eyes.”

Peter looked into bitter chocolate touched by gold.

“Say my name.”

Lips moist from their duelling mouths, Peter tried to pull his brain online.

“Sy….”

A hard punishing kiss and the taste of copper on his tongue, fingers rough, collecting dark strands and small pulls of pain. Released after long seconds, Peter looked up again at saw the question repeated. For a foolish, lost moment he wondered at what he was supposed to say. But eventually he saw past the long, muscled form atop his own, past the handsome face, wicked mouth and beautiful hard cock pushed to the hilt in his body. A slow breath in and god help him, Peter had never been this obedient with anyone, not even his family, but…

Looking up through his lashes, he allowed the sheer eroticism of what they were doing, what was being done to him and by whom fill his gaze. A slow breath in and…

“Gabriel…” such a delicious name, “…Gabriel...” he played, changing the emphasis, “…Gabriel…” filling his voice with smoke and lust, “…Gab…”

This time the name cut off, not in anger, but in agonised, perfect worship.

Now Gabriel was fucking in and out of his body in a decadent wild rhythm. Nothing slow and sexy any more. All control lost, grasping hands, biting mouths, they pushed hard against each other in a desperate need to reach perfection.

Peter was burning up from inside and out. The fingers stroking his cock in time with the hard iron inside him, meant Peter was revelling in every single contact with Gabriel’s skin.  His orgasm was bubbling up to his knee caps right about the time his lover started chanting his name. A hot, feverish hum of want, want, want. Peter gave a moment's thought, a moment was about as much as he was capable of in this position, to trying to suppress the wild exhilaration about to blow his head off. But he couldn't and didn’t want to suppress anything around Gabriel, not anymore.

Peter wasn't coherent enough to wonder if Gabriel was encouraged by his desperate, needy moans, he was too busy feeling and dying and letting that burn run from his thighs to his brain. The hard length slid into him again and again, stretching him, sending his nerves alight; Gabriel's hand stroked and caressed his cock until Peter's eyes rolled back in his head.

Peter almost stopped breathing. The wildfire had taken him over, stealing his voice and rendering him a creature of sensation. Peter’s climax bolted out of him, causing the muscles in his body to spasm to an almost painful degree. Desperately he held onto Gabriel's hair, locking his gaze with dark eyes almost inhuman at the moment of ecstasy. The growling, broken voice in his ear sending him to a white-hot room of instant blistering pleasure.

He had no voice, but his lips shaped one word.

Gabriel.

*****

Peter was just drifting. Kind of like flying or floating down from a cliff, light as a feather. Muscles that were almost but not quite sore, the sweet, peaceful lassitude engulfing him was better than any drug. He'd just had the best orgasm of his adult life.

Reality eventually penetrated Peter’s happy little zone out. Gabriel's name still on his lips and his lover still buried deep inside him.

Blinking slowly, Peter looked into the handsome face pressed into the pillow and registered the magnificent satisfaction that radiated outwards and seemed to haze the room around them. Gabriel had graced his jaw and neck with awesome, possessive kisses just five seconds ago, but Peter had been so high, his body had acquiesced while his mind hadn't really noticed.

Reaching languid arms up to bury his fingers in thick dark hair, Peter tugged until he could kiss his new lover back. Softly blending drugged kisses with shifting limbs they arranged themselves into a more comfortable position, legs entangled, Peter’s cheek resting on one broad smooth shoulder.

‘You’re forgiven.” He murmured cheekily, thinking off the small lamp and plunging them into darkness.

A low rumble of laughter deep within the chest pressed close. “I see…so the next time we fight, we make up in the same way?”

Sudden sadness took Peter’s breath momentarily, but he forced it away, enveloping himself with the rightness of the moment.

“Hmmm…agreed.” Closing his eyes, he breathed in that deeply enticing scent of pine and almonds.

“Peter?”

But between one breath and the next, Peter fell asleep.

*****

Tying his shoes, Peter took one last longing glance around his room and stood up. The mild fall weather was slowly declining towards a chilly winter and he’d need more than just a sweater where he was going. Stalled on his way to the wardrobe, Peter’s heart gave a sudden lurch as he saw Gabriel shift in his sleep.

Like some kind of erotic photograph that Peter had hidden under this same bed during high school, his new lover was a studied contrast of darkness and light. The crisp white sheets lay lovingly along long muscled limbs, lean, tanned back just begging to be touched and a darkly stubbled handsome face pressed comfortably into the pillows.

Walking closer, Peter took a mental snapshot and re-organised the list of his most treasured memories in the back of his mind. Waking up warm and loved with Gabriel was now the flat out best thing that had ever happened to him, beyond even the power that had both enhanced and ruined his life.

So gently as to take no risk of waking the other man, Peter traced one fingertip along the knuckles of lightly curled fingers

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

The room didn’t answer as Peter leapt into the sky.

Chapter 7

Gabriel Gray woke to a cool breeze and the sense that he was alone. He’d been holding Peter tight against him as they fell asleep and the absence dug into him like an aching tooth. Abruptly sitting up, he scanned the room seeing the items taken by the nurse when he’d left. The dark grey pants that needed a belt or they’d sink sinfully low on sleek hips, black shoes, a cream wool sweater that would be too warm during the day for the hot-blooded Italians in the house and…

While dressing, a glance at the open window showed Gabriel it was well into the morning and Peter wasn’t in the room. Wasn’t with Gabriel where he could see him.

Long legs eating the stairs near three at a time had the killer striding into Nathan’s den projecting aggression that concealed something that was close to panic.

“Where’s Peter?” he asked the room at large. Several shocked expressions showed that those were the last words their owner’s had expected to hear after the fight on the tennis court. Gabriel ignored them for the sightless white orbs turned to him in worry.

“He was with you.” Angela pointed out in the coldest voice he had ever heard. Knowing that he’d likely never be forgiven for his heated words Gabriel forced away his emotional response to the loss of that relationship and continued to look at Parkman. Hiro moved into his eye line.

“Peter Petrelli is gone? When I went to his room to see if he was okay, I…” A glare that was all Sylar caused the smaller man’s explanation to trail off.

“I told them he was alright,” Parkman explained, still looking far into the distance. “Not in any danger and that you’d probably kill anyone who tried to open the door….or Peter might just collapse the house on us I wasn’t certain.”

Gabriel decided that he never, ever, wanted to discuss the act of nailing the youngest Petrelli heir with Angela in the room and grabbed a handful of Parkman’s shirt. “Where. Is. He?” 

The hackles in the room rose to a ridiculous level.

“I’m looking now,” Parkman answered with a worried frown, completely ignoring Gabriel’s menacing presence. “He’s not in the house, or even New York. Molly…?”

His daughter stood up and glided to her father’s side. “Yes?”

“Please get your atlas dear,” Angela asked with a smattering of warmth.

“And the red folder of drawings, I think he’s in them.” Parkman added.

For the tenth time that week, Gabriel forced down the urge to tear open their heads and take what he needed. Relying on others was so…slow. But he released Parkman’s clothing and directed a sneer at the various people who visibly relaxed. Like they could have stopped him anyway.

The red folder flew into his hands the moment Molly returned. The young woman took this in stride, quickly sitting with a map of the US in her lap and a drawing pin held in her delicate fingers.

“If he sees Molly…” Mohinder warned. Everyone knew to whom he was referring.

“I’ll rip his eyes out.” Rifling through the images, Gabriel noticed one coherent thing. They were all drawings of Peter. The moment the man had walked through their front door, the fight yesterday afternoon and god help them, an unfamiliar place where Peter stood barefoot, a chain at one slim ankle, surrounded by dark figures that exuded lust and fear. Relegating that image to be deciphered and avenged later, Gabriel’s eyes fell on something so familiar he knew it had to be what Parkman was looking for.

“This one.” He dropped the sketch into the blind man’s hands and waited for confirmation, eyes on the girl.

“How do you know?” Nathan asked voice tight with worry. “That could be anytime…anywhere.”

Parkman ran his fingertips over the Braille embedded at the corner. “This is the one, he’s here.”

The sketch showed Peter, bleeding and injured, standing in a luxurious hotel room. To his left were the crumpled forms of men in paramilitary clothes, to his right a dozen more all with laser sights targeting the slender man. Directly in front of the nurse a shadowy, monstrous figure lurked, eight long arms seeming to reach forward intent on smothering Peter.  

“That could be ten years from now. “ Nathan argued. Peter’s face wasn’t clear, only the hair and body giving away his unmistakable appearance

“It’s happening today, soon.” Parkman promised.

“It’s now.” Gabriel agreed, staring a line of fire through the girl’s head. For once he didn’t care if his rage and terror began to show.

Nathan was still unconvinced. “But how can…”

“That…” Gabriel looked again at the sketch and drew one long finger lovingly down the beautiful man it depicted. “…is my coat.”

The one he had left draped across the chair in Peter’s bedroom.

No one said a word until the young woman stabbed sharply into the paper and sighed

“He’s in Washington. The Clarion Hotel, Presidential Suite. 1654 Longreach. The Spider saw me and knows but he’s busy fighting…”

Gabriel’s fingers would leave marks on Hiro’s shoulder that would last for days.

“Can you?”

Hiro wouldn’t mind the bruise.

“Yes, as many as you want my friend.”

*****

Peter took a deep shuddering breath and forced open the door. All the damage his body had taken was starting to take a toll on him. Unlike his niece, Peter could still feel the pain of every wound inflicted upon him and the constant healing was exhausting. Not to mention the multiple use of his powers that up until now he hadn’t thought possible.

Two hours ago he’d landed in Washington. The Spider was based in the capital city, hidden in some clandestine place that was far removed from what was left of America’s government. Knowing where to start, Peter kept the warmth of Gabriel’s arms close to his heart and accosted the first FedMarshal he’d seen. Telekinesis had frozen the woman in the act of opening a door, telepathy had forced its way into her brain and sorted through her memories to see who her superior was. He’d been lucky. Davina Rourke was a senior Marshal and had made several direct reports to Danko at an office that looked somewhat like a library. Putting her to sleep in a comfortable chair, Peter had found the nearest trash can and was violently ill.

Now he could add mind-rape to the growing list of his sins.

Wiping his mouth, Peter had teleported to the library/office and faked his way to the commander’s presence. Another mental attack showed that the FedMarshals were in disarray after Gabriel’s killing of Danko and there were a dozen meetings and crisis talks scheduled for the rest of the week. One of them was with a man the commander only knew as Roberts. Roberts’ office was in Fairfax, less than ten minutes from the library.

Peter walked there to try and clear his head a little.

It didn’t work.

The delicious, needed, lustful passion he had left behind contrasted horribly with what he was doing and what he was planning to do. It bothered Peter so much that he hesitated out the front of Robert’s office. An old campaign building that reminded him of Nathan’s with such instant clarity that it felt like a punch to the gut. Swallowing hard Peter thought of Claire and baby Noah and Ethan and Luke and Lyle and Monica and Micah and Molly and….

Peter quietly opened the door and attacked the people within.

Roberts had never seen or met the Spider. But he’d once been in a FedMarshal car that dropped Danko off to high level talks. The limousine had rolled to halt in front of a hotel named The Clarion on Longreach Drive.

With a sorrowful glance at the sleeping forms around him, Peter concentrated on the image he’d stolen and ‘ported himself to the front door.

*****

The doorman had shot him three times with a hand gun. Cursing his own idiocy at appearing visibly, Peter had tossed the gun into the head of the first FedMarshal to burst into the street and tossed the doorman at the head of the second.

It had gone downhill from there.

The real problem was, Peter thought as he healed a hand shattered by a shotgun round, was that he didn’t want to kill anyone. Well. He wanted to kill the Spider, but the people who worked for him were meant for an all-but destroyed justice system and besides, Peter had enough blood on his conscience to last a lifetime.

None of it really mattered.

Keeping the humans alive was one thing, it was the bloody ‘specials’ that were really fucking up his plan. Had the Spider collected everyone with an energy power for god’s sake? Dodging and throwing most of it back at its sender was very risky. Most weren’t immune to their own powers and the look on that man’s face as poison gas surrounded him made Peter want to find a respirator and do what he’d been trained for all those years.

Stupid really, but then Peter had never stopped wanting to save people.

The hardest part was keeping track of the new abilities he was gaining. The gas was revolting and made his mouth taste like rotten eggs, while the fire reminded him too much of Ted Sprague and dying explosively at two thousand feet in the air.

In the end, none of it mattered.

Peter reached the thirtieth floor surrounded by red alarm klaxons and a sputtering electrical system, the tingle of the hard jolt he received still pinching his nerves like a bitch. He didn’t have time to put his shoulder back into its socket, but the ligaments weren’t screaming at him anymore. There was blood in his eyes, his mouth and he’d lost his shoes to that crazy superglue floor.

It didn’t matter.

Pulling the warm black coat tighter around him, Peter smiled at the feel of the rich red satin lining and threw Gabriel’s power at the door.

It shattered into a hundred pieces.

*****

“Ahhh, I knew it was you Peter.”

The voice that originated from the skeletal figure on the throne-like armchair brought bile to Peter’s throat.

‘Oh you bastard Claude’, he thought with a sick smile. ‘You knew all along.’ Daddy fucking long-legs indeed.

“Never could surprise you, could I Dad?” Peter asked Arthur Petrelli as he dropped three guards to the floor with a wave of Gabriel’s power.

Four bullets ripped into his back and buttocks, ruining the fine coat even more and drawing an involuntary grunt of agony from Peter. It was like a fucking Greek tragedy, his father for heaven’s sake. It all clicked into place, the footsteps in the woods, the power to force Peter forward in time, stolen from Hiro all those years ago. One of only three people in the world with multiple abilities plus a penchant for tyranny and destruction of his own kind.

It was his father. Angela and Nathan had been battling Arthur for five years and never even knew it was their own flesh and blood.

God, what a messed up family he had.

“I’d ask why, but you’d probably say it was for our own good and that’s bullshit.” Peter observed, no longer really feeling anything. He was too drained by the battles, the pain and the absolute shock of this last, awful revelation. Arthur, aged beyond human by death and madness raised a gnarled hand as if asking for Peter’s in friendship.

Elle’s electricity ripped into Peter, drawing a scream and forcing him to his knees.

Or it would have, but for the strong arm at his waist and the scent of pine and almonds that surrounded him.

“Gabriel.” Peter gasped into the warm skin at his lover’s neck.

“This is like the final battle in Star Wars.” Hiro Nakamura commented before vanishing to reappear with Monica and Mohinder at his side.

“Didn’t I kill you?” Gabriel accused. Bolts of raw energy spiralling towards the Spider as a telekinetic shield protected the couple from retaliation.

Peter could hear his friends engaging the rest of the FedMarshals in the room and as Hiro brought more and more heroes in, spectacular collisions began in the hallway between the renewed attacks of Arthur’s powered up followers.

“Yes, you did my traitorous Archangel. Fortunately Monroe’s power allowed me to heal the moment the bullet was removed.” The deep voice hadn’t changed at all, nor the spectacular control of abilities that Mohinder had likely only dreamed existed. It was taking everything in Gabriel and Peter combined to keep him at bay.

“God! Arthur.” Angela’s voice was stripped bare. Peter wondered at Hiro’s sanity for bringing her here, her power was to dream for fuck’s sake. But then the reason became obvious, the person who could affect his father the most, could throw him off his attacks for a critical moment was the small beautiful lady now walking towards the far end of the room.

“Ahh my love, you have come to join me at last.” The voice was that of a young suitor, not the undead dictator they all wanted destroyed. Peter glanced away from a sunburst of power, his eyes coming to rest on a slumped figure near Arthur’s chair.

“I thought my father was insane.” Gabriel muttered as he tossed a door at the mountain of a man who was trying to pound Monica into the floor.

“Get me closer,” Peter whispered into the warm skin at Gabriel’s throat. He was almost completely healed, the respite his friends had granted doing wonders. But the overtaxing of his powers was a wrenching drain that wouldn’t stop. Keeping a shield before Angela and throwing an occasional bolt to protect Claire as she bodily threw herself between gunfire and her grandmother was pulling at his dwindling reserves.

Drawing Peter closer to his lean, gorgeous form, Gabriel carefully walked them towards the armchair via the doorway to the now obliterated bathroom. Keeping his eyes on the body near the wall, Peter listened to his mother, listened to the battle and most of all listened to the pulse of the man at his side.

“You’ll have to let me go.” He instructed as they inched forward, hellfire and glory raging around them. Gabriel looked like he would object, but Peter cut him off. “Trust me?”

Long seconds as they reached the fallen ‘special’ Peter sought.

“Yeah.” It was a grudging sigh, but Peter would take what he could get.

“I love you.” He murmured into that magnificent hair, lips brushing against the stubbled skin.

Fingers grabbed at him, but for once, Peter was quicker, dropping sharply to press his hand to cooling dark skin. A power that wasn’t one flooded into him and he turned to look at the monster that had once been someone he loved.

Every single power that Arthur Petrelli had stolen over the years ceased to function.

Shock blossomed across the broken face before determination set in.

“Hurry,” Peter gasped. Oh yeah, the man at his feet had been dead on.

Arthur fought the Haitian’s ability like a shark pulling on a fishing line.

Gabriel had his hand raised but the pained expression he wore needed no explanation.

“Take it Gabriel,” Peter pleaded even though he knew it might kill off a little of his lover’s newly acquired soul. “Use it to free people from their powers, use it to make the world right. Please.”

But Gabriel Gray had stopped being a killer at a high price and this would dash all he had accomplished to dust,

Seeing the impasse, Hiro’s sword was drawn and Mohinder had broken off his current conflict to turn to the frozen tableau at the head of the room.

Arthur slipped the hook.

Three sharp shots rang out, taking Arthur through the forehead, throat and heart. Like pausing a film, everything in the room and hallway beyond came to a sudden standstill.

Pulling the trigger again, unloading the entire magazine, Nathan Petrelli obliterated his father’s face before he pulled a second clip from his pocket and reloaded.

“As next of kin and executor of his estate, I authorise you to harvest whatever parts of his body you require.” Nathan said to Gabriel in his senator’s voice. “For the greater good.”

Peter heart warmed to see his lover hesitate before giving a single nod.

Angela’s hands covered her mouth, Claire’s arm supporting her trembling shoulders.

“Stand down, stand down and you’ll be allowed to live!” Noah Bennet’s voice rang out in the shocked silence. The occasional rebellion instantly quashed. Arthur was dead and currently getting his brain adjusted. It made an impact on his followers.

Peter watched it all through a kind of haze. Nathan came to replace Gabriel in holding him upright and Peter rested his head on a shoulder at a now convenient height.

“Ma tried to kill him and you tried to kill him.” That unforgettable voice told him solemnly as they watched the world change around them. “I thought the third time would be the charm.”

Peter looked at Gabriel as the man wiped the faintest traces of red off his long fingers.

Finally it was all done, the reason he’d been brought here made plain and accomplished.

Now, finally, Peter could rest.

His brother’s sharp voice and the worry that crossed Gabriel’s face were the last things Peter saw as he succumbed to the warm embrace of darkness.

Chapter 8

Peter opened his eyes onto the truly lovely face of his niece. She lay beside him on his bed, her body a smaller mirror to his own, one arm tucked under her pillow, one curled over her chest. Deep green eyes that had mesmerized him the first time her ever saw them looked back into his with such relief that he almost wanted to weep.

Warmth surrounded Peter from the source at his back.

“Hey.” Claire’s voice was barely above a whisper in the quiet of the room.

“Hey.” A needle hurt as Peter’s voice rasped over a damaged throat.

The emerald gaze sharpened. “It’s been three days. We weren’t sure you were going to wake up.”

What could he answer to that? Apologize for worrying his family? The unconsciousness hadn’t been by choice.

“Is everyone okay?” Peter asked instead. He had to know what he’d done. They’d all come to his rescue, the people in the mansion. His family had led the cavalry but it had been all the heroes at that final battle.

Claire’s eyes dimmed. “Paolo and Regan were killed. There wasn’t much left of them. My blood brought back everyone else.”

Peter’s lids fell against the news. He’d spoken to both of them. Making lunch for everyone on Tuesday with Paolo, just chatting about nothing while they sliced and washed. The woman Regan he’d only encountered briefly, her viciously cropped red hair and angry mouth a reflection of damage Peter was out of his depth at healing.

Gentle fingers stroked his cheekbone.

“They would have wanted no other death. To have stopped…him…was all Regan wanted. All she really lived for at all. Paolo…” Claire hesitated.

“…shouldn’t have even been there.” Peter finished harshly. The man had been able to make plants do anything he asked them to. The magnificent Petrelli gardens had been his playground and a testament to his ability.

“He had as much right as Regan.” Claire countered voice still soft and made of compassion. “Everyone had the right to fight for our freedom Peter. You didn’t kill them; you gave them the chance to fight for themselves.”

Peter looked into the endless green and choked. “He talked to roses. Why did he…?”

The soft, comforting touches never ceased. “Because you were in trouble. You were his friend Peter.” Her voice hardened a little. “That monster murdered his son. Paolo, of all of us, needed to be there in the end.”

Unable to counter her logic. Peter relaxed into the comfort of the mattress and placed his hand over the arms encircling his waist.

The body behind him was a long warm line of pressure that secured Peter to this place and muffled the pain of death and loss.

Claire smiled again, this time with a flash of wickedness.

“How long?” Peter asked, careful not to awaken the other man.

Her eyebrow canted in a familiar borrowed gesture. “Three days on and off. Angela kept prying him away for food and showers, everyone else got snarled at if they even suggested he leave.”

Affection and awe tumbled through Peter’s aching limbs. The soft breath between his shoulder blades a small indication of the deep passion he was now a part of.

“I love him.” Because it was Claire and even with five years of changes Peter still wanted to tell her everything.

Delighted tears rose in her gaze. “Oh Peter…that’s good. That’s so good because Gabriel has been…”

Claire’s jaw snapped shut and she took on an affronted look.

“Telling secrets Shugar?” Gabriel’s voice was low and velvet deep against the delicate skin beneath Peter’s ear. A shiver of desire began to chase away the aching residue of exhaustion and pain.

Reaching forward the former cheerleader flicked her fingers at Gabriel’s ear.

A huff of laughter and the telekinesis was released. Claire tested her jaw for a few seconds. “As I was saying…” Peter could tell she was changing her intent given the wakefulness of her charge. “Gabriel has been worried sick about you, just like we all have.”

With a sly glance over Peter’s shoulder, Claire rose gracefully from the bed and walked to the door. “I’ll let everyone know you’re back. Nancy is awake and would like to meet you. Actually, be prepared for everyone to want a visit, starting with Nathan and Angela.”

The door closed quietly behind the blonde and they were alone in the soft stillness of Peter’s room.

“Last time you left without waking me.” The accusation wasn’t really as casual as it sounded.

Stilling in his lover’s arms, Peter wondered at that. After all the pain and betrayal, it was that one simple thing Gabriel chose to accuse him of.

“I couldn’t risk you.” He confessed to the empty room. This was easier when the midnight eyes didn’t sear into his soul. “You would have come with me and I couldn’t take the chance…”

“Do it again,” Gabriel interrupted hands beginning a slow roaming journey over Peter’s chest and hips. “Leave me to wake without you again and I’ll chain you to the bed every night.” Arms tightened, bringing them closer until Peter was firmly wrapped in long arms and legs. “Don’t leave me behind again.”

The inherent need in the voice warred with the words ‘every night’ within Peter. It was a declaration of intent that he hadn’t even let himself hope might be possible. It secured the thought Peter had been turning over in the back of his mind since he’d seen Claire’s face and felt the warmth at his back.

“I’ll stay.” Peter vowed, containing in the small statement everything he promised to the man behind him.

Gabriel’s grip became almost lethal. “Hiro has traveled to the past and future. Everything could change.”

Peter ran his fingers along the grasping hands that were so greedy for him to stay. He knew Hiro. There was little doubt in his mind the decision the Japanese man would have already made.

It was the same as Peter’s.

“I could go back and stop Arthur.” He couldn’t say ‘Dad’. Peter’s father had died long since from a heart attack. The Spider had been a monster that had lost all traces of its humanity years ago.

Gabriel went absolutely still.

“But I would remember everything. You wouldn’t be who you are. Claire wouldn’t have Noah. Everyone would be different. I…I don’t have the right to obliterate everyone here just to change a world that is finally starting to right itself.” Peter shuddered at the idea of this whole world, this life being…gone.

Long limbs held him close and warm lips nuzzled at his neck.

“So I don’t need to chain you to the bed?” Gabriel asked in that deep sexy voice laced liberally with amused disappointment.

Peter heard the sound of feet in the hallway and the murmur of voices coming closer. His family, changed as they were by this brave, new world.

Just as Peter was.

“Well...”

finis