A/N: Hello again. I really wanted to take a break from this, but this idea has been gnawing at my brains so…sigh…back to the salt mines. This isn't exactly a sequel to the slaveverse series I have set up with "Out of the Darkness" and "Evolution Revolution." Rather, it is more like a splinter timeline that does refer to the previous stories, but will not be a part of official events should I decide to write another, actual sequel. Got it? Good.

The first chapter is a little smutty, but I didn't get too graphic. If such a thing makes you uneasy or if you aren't sure how babies are made, you might want to skim or wait for chapter 2. Just sayin'.

Now enjoy and feel free to throw glitter or bricks via reviews, whichever you prefer!

Chapter 1- In the Beginning

Age: 6 months

It was years after the revolution and the world had barely changed, not that Sylar was even remotely surprised by that fact. His inner pessimism was too keen to allow him to believe any different, but it wasn't like all of their efforts were entirely in vain. Things could have been much worse indeed and as he stood looking down at the small basket that had been dropped in front of his door, he felt the entire universe collapse on him. His world had radically changed in one moment and he wasn't sure it was for the better.

It all started approximately a year and a half before when he received an unexpected visit by the most unlikely of people. He was immediately suspicious when he opened the door to the remote little cabin Peter kept him cooped up in and noted some very familiar eyes and blonde hair. His initial assumption was that she was there to kill him since no one ever bothered hunting him down for tea, but her relaxed and friendly smile indicated otherwise. He had spared her life when the tables were turned, so she wouldn't try to take his- if that were even possible.

"Stephanie." He greeted cautiously, his dark eyes darting from her to the woods beyond, no doubt looking for snipers hidden in the dense foliage.

"There's no one out there." She reassured him with a small chuckle. "Still paranoid I see."

He scoffed at the backhanded comment. "Can you blame me?" After all that he had experienced both before and during the war, mistrust had become hardwired for him and she was no exception.

"Newsflash. The war's over." She replied sarcastically. She was well aware that although they were both specials, they were on very different sides of the fence during the toughest days of the conflict. While she never would have thought that her job was easy, it was a great deal easier than his was.

Maybe for her the war was over, but even though the violently intrusive nightmares and flashbacks he experienced had subsided somewhat in the intervening years he was still left with an empty sense of unease bordering on torturous longing. Perhaps his self-imposed isolation had gone on long enough for people to forget who he was, but he didn't think it wise to tempt fate just yet. He didn't think it was possible, but he missed the general chaos of his home city of New York, the impersonal yet teeming flow of millions that felt like he was a part of something even though he didn't really participate in anything. He missed being around people. Beautiful people. "Why are you here?" He asked a little irritated. "How did you find me?" Her very presence only made the acute loneliness more tangible and he didn't appreciate it one bit.

"Do you always treat your guests this way?" She inquired with a sly smile. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" It was a little rude of her to taunt him as she was, but she knew good and well the only thing he was busy with amounted to watching paint dry. He narrowed his eyes a little and sarcastically gestured for her to come in. She accepted his offer, but made a mental note to tread carefully because no one in the woods would hear her scream if she pushed him too far. Extreme isolation could have only served to make him more feral than he was to begin with. "I found you through some mutual channels." She informed him as she shrugged off her coat. "I do still work for the government you know. Chimera has a pretty long reach and a lot of people who still know of your existence working in the program. It took a little work and some manipulation, but I got the information I wanted."

She seemed overtly pleased with herself, but he certainly wasn't. There were only a handful of people who knew of his location, so that made the list of possible narcs very short, but aside from that, the back of his head tingled. He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a stern look. "I thought we established the fact that I know when you're lying. Do you want to try again without wasting my time or insulting my intelligence, or should I walk you to the door and slam it in your face?" He asked tersely.

"Ok." She sighed, obviously put on notice that he didn't appreciate her brand of humor. "I did find you through mutual acquaintances, but it was only after he put me through the 3rd degree."

"He?" Sylar prompted curiously.

"Peter." She nodded with a small smile. "I didn't think he had it in him, but he didn't exactly make it easy."

Sylar chuckled to himself. Peter certainly could be surprisingly badass when he wanted to be- especially when it came to protecting others. He just never really considered himself to be in Peter's range of influence either because of their prior history or because he assumed Peter thought he was well able to defend himself without his help. But of everyone he had interacted with, Peter was the only one who talked to him and checked in on a semi-regular basis, so in some ways it really wasn't surprising that he would come to his defense by interrogating the interrogator. Peter would have no doubt read her mind every step of the way and played her like a cheap violin all the while wearing his charming boy next door smile. He just wished he could have seen the exchange, but she must have passed muster because he apparently relented. "That answers the first question." He granted. "Now why are you here?"

"Chimera does have a lot of specials working for it, but I thought we could use one more." She admitted. "Tell me you haven't been bored out of your mind out here all by yourself."

"You came to offer me a job?" He laughed incredulously. Yes, he definitely was bored, but he wasn't sure that working in such a public capacity was in his best interest.

"A person of your…" she paused to look him up and down a little too warmly, "unique talents would be a great asset to the program. What you need is something to occupy your time, get you back in the game. You couldn't possibly be happy making a life for yourself in a rocking chair whittling or whatever you've been doing with yourself out here."

"So what then? You want me to bag and tag?" He smirked and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't imagine you need a PR person. Besides, what job could I be better suited for than to hunt and capture? That's what my 'unique' talents are best used for." He let his arms fall to his sides as he brushed past her on his way to the kitchen. "I had that job for a time. Ask Bennet how that turned out."

"Let's see if you really do have better taste." She took the liberty of following and pouring herself a glass of wine just as he had done at her house while he watched, at least a little amused by her audacity. She poured one for him too, but he declined. He just wasn't in the mood. "More for me, then." She shrugged after she took a gulp. "Anyway, you would be good at it, but that's not what we had in mind. I know you have been trying to walk the straight and narrow since the war. How's that going, by the way?" She giggled.

He noticed that her cheeks were already flushed. Either she was an incredibly cheap date, she was already nearly drunk when she came to steady her nerves, or perhaps she was taking some kind of medication that accelerated the wine's effects, but no matter the cause he felt compelled to intervene before something bad happened. He slowly reached out and calmly moved the glass out of her reach. Thankfully she didn't seem to notice. "I haven't killed anyone if that's what you were wondering." He hadn't although it was a titanic struggle.

"Not even me." She smiled. "Why did you let me live anyway?" She recoiled a bit at her own unfiltered conscious stream of thought, but she always did wonder why he left her house without so much as giving her a paper cut. That wasn't the feared serial killer she read about. But now that the cat was out of the bag, she didn't see any reason in apologizing for it.

"I had my reasons." He answered quietly, leaning across the island toward her. "Didn't anyone tell you it isn't polite to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Her eyes softened and she smiled faintly as she stared at his lusciously full lips, only inches from hers. "What if I kiss one?" She whispered.

He arched his eyebrow in confusion. Surely she wasn't serious, but she certainly wasn't being rational and he held his ground, almost daring her to- betting that she would sober up fast once the realization of what she implied sunk in. Either she didn't stop to think about it or didn't care, but she closed the gap and smashed her mouth against his a little clumsily, causing him to inhale sharply and pull back just a bit, but she was persistent. She released him and he gave her a small, patient sigh. "I'm going to have the courtesy to pretend that didn't happen." He informed her.

"You have changed." She laughed. "But I've always kind of had this fantasy…"

He narrowed his dark eyes and scoffed. "No." He shook his head. "I don't want to be a part of your secret fetish, and I certainly don't want to hear about it." That's what he said, but truthfully, he was only a man and even though he knew it was a little shady of him, he did find himself questioning the legality of allowing nature to take its course. Did Peter know about the intentions she harbored when he sent her his way? Was she really capable of consent in her mildly drunken stupor? Would she have found him as attractive if she wasn't? He was trying to be a better person, he really was trying, but his biological urges were clouding his judgment and he couldn't think straight…

"Really?" She breathed lightly into his ear, nearly crawling onto the island on all fours. She brushed her lips gently down the side of his neck, feeling his throbbing pulse and observed, "You certainly seem interested. Your heart is pounding away. Tick-tock."

He closed his eyes tight and fought the swoon of pleasure that swept over him at the sensation. It had been so long since anyone had thought of him in that way- at least without doing so with ill intent- that he found himself unable to move from his position. He seemed glued to the island even as she ran her hand through his hair and down the side of his face while she kissed the small part of his collarbone that peeked out from his button-up shirt. He swallowed hard and sighed, "I…" He wanted to say no because it was the right thing to do, but he didn't want her to stop- not really. His body craved the attention almost as desperately as it did oxygen and although he had no real feelings for her, he didn't need to. What he wanted was purely physical- absolutely meaningless but as necessary as life itself.

When he made no further effort to protest, she took his heavy breathing as unspoken consent. She climbed onto the counter and wrapped her legs around his waist while stealing another deep kiss from his soft lips. He relented and leaned into her, forcing a gasp from both. The idea that it was unusual for them to have sex with the very people they intended to kill was pushed to the far recesses of their minds as each became lost in the moment. She didn't know if it was Stockholm Syndrome or what, but over the course of her assignment she had ceased seeing Sylar as a target and started seeing him as a person- albeit a dangerous one- but the sense of peril combined with his dark features made him nearly irresistible. She had no fairy tale illusions of marrying him and living happily ever after in the suburbs, but she did want to experience him on a very intimate level and it looked as though it was going to be easier than she thought. Sometimes she loved her job. At the very least, Noah would be pleased.

Something in his mind advised him to be careful, to be suspicious, but other parts of him were screaming louder for attention and he disregarded the warnings. His inner thighs and groin burned with a fiery intensity that all but ensured a swift ending if he didn't slow down and pace himself. Even when he was Sylar the manipulative killer, he prided himself on being a generous and considerate lover, always careful to please his partner as well as himself. It only seemed fair to give his victims a nice ride before taking what he wanted, but now that he was trying to go straight it seemed equally important to be a gentleman for chivalry's sake. It was with this in mind that he used his telekinesis to lift and turn his partner so she was laying lengthwise on the island and he pushed up her knee length black skirt. He paused when he noticed her black stockings held by a garter belt and he smiled lightly. It was almost as though she had planned on the day's events, but he didn't give it any further thought and concentrated his efforts on kissing his way up her inner thigh.

She shivered in anticipation with every agonizing inch with which he ever so slowly progressed- and she knew that he was purposely taking his sweet time by the sly smirk that impressed itself on her flushed skin. Even when he finally reached his destination and she arched into him, he teased her hungry flesh with his hot breath and more kisses around her panty line until she growled in frustration, gripping the edges of the counter. "For god's sake!" She cried desperately. She felt a little puff of air as he chuckled to himself before getting down to business with a surprisingly talented tongue that almost sent her over the edge far faster than she wanted to go. While she still had a shred of self control, she grabbed his shirt to pull him up.

He deftly slipped out of it and climbed very catlike on top of her in the very limited space that he had. While it might have been a challenge for an ordinary guy, he was no ordinary man and he used his telekinesis to lightly levitate himself so as not to crush her with his body weight or make an unplanned and ungraceful exit to the floor if he lost his precarious balance. Maintaining just the right distance above her took some degree of concentration, but he found it helpful so things wouldn't end too soon for either of them if he divided his attention. He paused briefly to look into her eyes one last time just to be sure that he wasn't about to go too far down a wrong road, but she grabbed the back of his head and forced it down into a torridly passionate kiss. Some people were put off by such things, but she obviously didn't mind that his mouth had just been elsewhere. With her free hand, she unbuttoned his strained pants to free him and he groaned lightly at the way her hand brushed along the length of his erection. He felt dizzy and slightly disconnected, similar to the way he felt on the Vicodin only much, much better.

She could tell by the dazed look in his beautifully dark eyes that he was as desperate as she was and she stroked him slowly and kissed his neck until she felt him tense up and back away slightly. He too had his limits and like her, he was dangerously close. Although she felt as though she couldn't take the anticipation anymore, she patiently waited while he unbuttoned her blouse and pushed aside her lacy bra to massage, lick, and gently nip at her breasts. She involuntarily bucked up against him, every part of her throbbing. When he finally did make his move, it was everything she thought it would be. She moaned with pleasure as he filled her, his hips moving slowly, deeply, and rhythmically. She gripped his rear and pulled him in closer still and enjoyed the feeling of his muscles working hard to please her.

He was a little surprised that she grabbed him as she did, but found it encouraging and forced himself to move slowly in order to prolong the process and let the tension build as much for himself as for her. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the intensely warm and tight sensation that surrounded him and the slightly painful yet strangely erotic feeling of her fingernails dragging down the length of his back. Her moans were music to his ears and he found that he could control her quite easily with subtle changes in speed or positioning. Total control over another was something he hadn't felt in awhile and it reminded him of why he loved the hunt. It wasn't the killing he relished- it was all of the moments that led up to it: the teasing, the manipulation, being the one who decided how it ultimately ended. Subconsciously or not, he found himself going harder and faster as her sighs and whimpers became louder and more urgent.

She shuddered and clutched at his back as her innermost regions burst into a warm glow of rippling spasms, each seemingly more powerful than the last. Her reaction broke his careful concentration. The rhythmic constriction of her around him sent him over the edge and he had a temporary out of body experience of his own. At last they lay in a tangled heap panting, bodies slick with sweat and flushed with spent passion- each too reluctant to break the pleasant buzz that made their limbs weak and heavy. There were no soft and gentle kisses that lovers lavish on one another for a job well done because they were not in love. The situation was transient and they both knew it, yet neither regretted it…until the moment he opened his door and found a basket at his doorstep.

A set of very dark eyes peered at him from under the soft pink blanket and he instantly knew the child was his. He didn't need to read the note that had been tied to the handle with a ribbon to confirm his suspicions. Something very primal within him instantly knew that he was the father and he now had a child. Maybe it was the shape or color of the eyes that was like looking into a mirror, but there was no denying it no matter how much he wanted to. All that was left to do was panic and call for backup. There was only one person on the face of the earth that he could trust with something as monumental as this, and at least partly to blame for the situation in the first place.

Sylar paced the floor of his apartment while the baby watched him and whimpered with a worried look on its face. He didn't read the note or even attempt to pick the baby up other than to bring the basket in. He wasn't even sure it was a girl, although the pink blanket was a clue. His mind raced and he found himself feeling frightened and a little angry. Why had Stephanie dumped the baby on his doorstep to find? How long had it been out in the hallway, just waiting for someone to find it? He knew nothing about babies or being a parent. How in the hell was he going to take care of it? Should he even attempt to or would it be better to hand it over for adoption- to a family who could take care of it the way it needed and deserved?

Peter knocked on the door and flinched when Sylar all but ripped it open with a look of fear that he had never seen on his face before. He wanted to laugh because it was so uncharacteristic of the former killer, but once the element of shock wore off, he became worried. "Is everything ok?" He asked tentatively. "Your message seemed a little…I dunno…apocalyptic." Just inside the door he heard a quiet cry and he tilted his head in confusion. "Did you get a cat?"

"Worse." Sylar lamented, glancing over his shoulder. "Something far more demanding."

Peter and Sylar stood shoulder to shoulder looking down at the increasingly unhappy bundle in the basket as it fussed and kicked. Sylar was anxious, but Peter was dumbfounded. "Is she a stray?" He asked half jokingly. "Where the hell did you get her?"

Sylar glanced at him humorlessly. "I made it."

His partner looked back to the baby and noted the familiar eyes. "Congratulations." He said half-heartedly. He now understood why Sylar's message seemed so dire. He must have been scared shitless to see a part of him in the real world that he was now responsible for. "That why you called me over?"

"I don't know what to do, Peter." He confessed as he anxiously twitched his fingers. "She's been crying off and on for an hour and I was hoping maybe you could check her out- make sure she's ok. I don't know where she's been or how long she was out there and…"

"Alright, man." He gestured for him to stop while he kneeled down beside the baby. "Let's have a look." Peter had never seen Sylar so close to a panic attack in his life. Not the times he was mercilessly tortured, not when he was completely powerless, not even as he faced his own death- he did it all with a certain measure of calm determination, but this development had completely thrown him for a loop and he didn't have the first clue on how to cope. He started by opening the note attached to the basket while Sylar continued to pace, keeping a cautious eye on him like he was diffusing a bomb.

"What does it say?"

He sighed because he didn't want to add to Sylar's misery. It was bad enough to find out he was a father out of the blue, but he wasn't sure how he would react to why. There really was no other way but to be honest and try to deal with the aftermath as it happened. "I'm assuming you know who the mother is? Stephanie?"

"Yes." Sylar hissed in agitation. "It's not like I make money on the side as a gigolo, Peter. Jesus Christ." He didn't mean to be so short with him, it was an honest question but his nerves were already frayed and he didn't have the patience for stupid questions.

Thankfully, Peter was not the kind to take such things personally and he let it slide. He understood that Sylar was under a lot of stress. "It says that she wasn't going to tell you about her because she knew that your lifestyle wasn't really conducive to having a kid and she was pretty sure you didn't want her anyway. She wouldn't have done this except she has no family left and no other options. She was diagnosed with bone cancer and chemo hasn't helped. It progressed much more rapidly than the doctors thought and she was told she only had a few months to live. It wasn't enough time to plan her own funeral and a future for your daughter. She doesn't want you to feel sorry for her or try to look for her because she's not going to wait for the end to come."

Sylar paused and his demeanor grew dark. "What the hell does that mean?"

Peter refolded the note and softly replied, "She's probably going to commit suicide, Sylar. It's not uncommon for terminally ill people to want to avoid the pain or a prolonged death."

Sylar ran his hands through his dark hair and sighed. He was no moralist. He couldn't condemn her choice and in a way he understood it because he himself once found his inner pain so unbearable that he would have welcomed death had he succeeded in hanging himself, but it was the finality of it that bothered him. He had no say in the matter, his opinion or perspective was automatically discounted and it saddened him. He never really loved her in any conventional way. The only thing they shared was a twisted history and a brief period of lust- that was all. But given the chance he may have been able to help her in some way. He could have found someone with an ability that could have helped, but she didn't even give him the opportunity. He didn't love her at all, but he would have done it for the sake of the small child that was now abandoned and would never know her mother. It was as though his own start in life was being repeated with the girl in the basket and it weighed heavily on him.

Peter turned his attention back to the baby and gently picked her up. "Let's have a looky-loo at you." He cooed in a ridiculous voice. Sylar rolled his eyes, but the baby found it amusing and she broke out into a wide smile. He continued to make goofy noises and funny faces while he examined her for any sign of trauma or malnutrition, all the while making her squeal with laugher as Sylar looked on in amazement. "She looks good." He reported with a tight nod. "I'd say she's pretty healthy." He stood up and held the girl out to Sylar with a sly grin when he glanced at her like she was a live snake. "Babies like to be held, Sylar. It makes them feel safe." When he still hadn't moved toward her, he reminded him, "Come on, she's your daughter. You have to get used to it sometime."

He still seemed skeptical as the baby began to kick her little legs in midair. He could see her face start to scrunch up and he knew the crying would soon commence. "She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't know you, but she's getting angry because she doesn't like being held like this. Now get over here and take her." Peter demanded.

"I don't want to hurt her." Sylar feebly admitted. It seemed like a weak defense, but it was true. He had hurt a lot of people in his lifetime, but he didn't want to be responsible for harming an infant because he held her too tight or the wrong way. All the others were well planned demises, but that would just be sheer idiocy and incompetence on his part.

Peter sighed patiently as the baby began wailing. "She's not made of glass, Sylar. You have to come hold her. It's the only way she's going to stop crying." Sylar apprehensively approached the red faced little being he helped create and reluctantly lifted her out of his grasp. "Good." He encouraged him. "Now put one arm under her bottom and lay her against your chest with her head on your shoulder. Put your other hand on her back to support her and maybe give her a few pats."

He followed Peter's instructions carefully, making sure he held onto her tiny body tightly and in just the right position. Her head rested on his shoulder facing him and in that position, she was free to deafen him with her persistent cries. It was not only upsetting, it was irritating. So much so, he felt the need to point out the obvious. "It's not working." He growled.

"She'll settle down." Peter promised with a smug grin. "Try bouncing a little or twisting from side to side. Babies like repetitive movement."

"I don't." He sneered. But it was clear that if he was going to retain any measure of his hearing or sanity, his own preferences had to be thrown out the window in favor of her whims. He lightly bounced in place and almost immediately, her protests became less vigorous. He hated it that Peter was right and he felt ridiculous bouncing up and down like a 6 foot pogo stick, but he did enjoy the results even if she was still putting up something of a fight.

"See, she likes you." Peter smiled as he dug through the basket to find a stash of formula, diapers, a bottle, and a few outfits- a baby starter kit of sorts. "She will respond to you better if she knows you are her primary caregiver. Hold her, talk to her, and let her sleep on you for a little while."

"What?" He asked distressed. "Why?" It sounded a little too involved and he just wasn't ready for that.

"It's very primal, but it works. When she naps, lay her on your chest so she can hear your heartbeat and get used to your scent. She'll feel warm and secure and I promise she'll stop crying faster when you pick her up."

"I'll pass." He grumbled. "It's not like I'm keeping her."

Peter gave him a small nonjudgmental nod. It was asking a lot of him to be a father when he was completely unprepared and he never had that level of responsibility before, so it probably did seem overwhelming. If that were the case, he didn't consider it at all selfish of Sylar to simply wave the white flag and admit he wasn't ready so he could give her to someone who was. In the end, it was a sign that he really did care about her welfare and it was an act of love of the greatest proportion. But he also knew of the future that Sylar himself had never seen and it led him to believe that although it would be difficult, he could be an excellent father- the very person Maria wished he could become. "Well, you have a few days worth of supplies. Her birth certificate and vaccination records are also in the envelope. If you decide to give her up, you can take her to any hospital, police, or fire station and they won't ask any questions." Sylar nodded, but he looked miserable. Peter scanned his thoughts and frowned slightly. Sylar didn't want to take care of a baby, but he didn't want to abandon her either. He still felt the scar of being left behind as a child and he didn't want to inflict that on his own progeny, but at the same time he had grave doubts about his own ability to give her all the love and attention she deserved. He wanted the best for her, but he didn't know what action would ensure that result. Peter's heart broke for him. He never could have imagined that Sylar of all people would possess such a deep and abiding sense of duty for another human being, but it was beautiful in its agony. "Or," he quietly suggested, "you can call me. I can take her as a paramedic so you won't even have to deal with it yourself. I can tell them I found her. If you want to keep her for a little while until you decide and you need some help, you can call me for that too. Either way…call me."

Sylar gave him a grateful nod as he gave his daughter a sideways glance. She had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her breaths as light as a feather. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her tiny fist clenching his shirt in a ball and he involuntarily smiled. Peter quietly saw himself out and he slowly positioned himself on his back on the couch, fearful he would wake her. "Maybe we can just take a quick nap." His deep voice rumbled as he carefully repositioned her so her head rested over his heart. "We both had a hard day."

He yawned and looked through her papers. Her birth certificate stated she was born in Alexandria, Virginia as Gabrielle Carter. Given the date of her birth, she was a little over 6 months old. Stephanie's information had been provided, but the blanks for the father's information remained unfilled. He didn't know if it was an effort to protect his identity or a possible admission that she didn't know the baby's paternity. Although he was certain of his own sexual history, he didn't know hers and it was possible that the baby might not be his and that it was just coincidence they had similar features. It could have been Damian's for all he knew since she admitted she spoke to him through her job. They could have been doing a lot more than talking and he was ever so glad he turned down her initial job offer. Working in an environment that was loaded with so much backstabbing and intrigue would have driven him back into his old ways faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

"Gabrielle?" He wondered aloud as he sneered. "That's a horrible name. You don't want to go through life like that, trust me. All you'll hear about is angels and people will compare you to them even though they know that you could never measure up in a million years no matter how perfect you try to be." He looked down at her and sighed deeply. She bobbed up and down on his chest like a cork in a gently swelling ocean and he frowned. "I don't even know who you really belong to. At any rate, don't get too comfortable. Even if I am your father, I'm probably not the best person to take care of you. You deserve better than a serial killer who's trying to pull his life back together. No offense, kid, but you just came at a very bad time."