"Are you sure I'll like it, mommy?"

Every time he's about to do or try something new, he says those seven words being even cuter then he already is (which for him is easy).

And I mean each and every time (and it never seems to get old and I doubt it ever will) the first day of school, which he loved more then I ever did (because I never really went), a new movie and what was happening at the very moment, a new food.

A piece of bread with an egg in the middle of it was smiling up at him with the words 'eat me, Noah' on the plate with ketchup.

"I'm sure, baby. I'm sure because I loved eating this when I was your age."

(which wasn't a lie, because the only lie I would ever tell him had to do with his father, the psychotic killer)

"If you say so."

To him, who was still in the childhood rose colored glasses where mom and dad can do not evil (I should know, I had mine on far beyond childhood) and my word to him now is golden.

And I plan on keeping it that way for as long as I can, being the ten percent of parents that don't mentally scar their children or let them down, which with my past and future is going to be quite hard.

"So, buddy, how is it?"

Like the first day that he was placed in my arms (and after screaming my head off for drugs and lots of them, because I'd rather be knocked out then fry every alive) and I looked in his eyes, I saw a mix of both of us (Sylar and Elle, tragic), but all the good parts were separated and mixed together and put into one single child.

And no thing or person (you can guess who) is going to corrupt that, even if I die trying my little boy will be loved twice as much as the rest of the world and will have no need to follow the path of his so called father.

"Really good!"

-

"Your a mother?"

He (Uncle Peter as Noah calls him, well at least he doesn't call him daddy, no he saves that for Mohinder) wasn't the first to be shocked (mouth open, eyes wide, the works) at the fact that I had crated this pure little angel before them, hell even I was surprised myself.

"Is it that surprising, Peter? I could say the same thing about your own mother. (but I won't because I wish to keep my head)"

The only thing he could do was agree (because it was fact that anyone with eyes and brains could clearly see) and the only thing I could do was wait for him to fly off, on those invisible wings of his, or at lest say why he's here darking my doorstep.

"Who's the father?"

It was almost funny (but in both the good laugh-out-loud way and the bad he-doesn't-want-to-have-my-babies way) the way he said it like all the looks and that one kiss, that lasted way beyond the one I shared with his brother (hehe), could knock me up.

But we're talking about little bitty Peter who may say he is not but is the most gullible person alive as both a child and an adult (/teenager, just look at his emo hair which is trying to grow back).

"Who else? That almost-brother of yours but of course."

"Or course, is he here, are you two together?"

The disgust was the easiest thing to spot on his face, besides the scar that's longer then the one Noah's father gave me, because these days not much (most of all happiness) showed on that face, it was almost eerily calm.

(too much like little Claire Bennett, the one nowadays with brown locks instead of blond and a stone-cold heart. Trust me I know better then most, and so does Peter maybe even more then myself)

"Are you trying to tell a joke (as if he could anyway) or something, Pete? The man tried to saw off the top of my head, rule one of the girlfriend/boyfriend rules -never try and kill each other. Are you done?"

He didn't look guilty (as if that could happen these days, he's guiltless because he's soulless) and I didn't need any pity from anyone but most of all him.

"Mommy, who's he?"

My little boy (and I say my a whole lot these days because he's here in my arms and not his father's, finally fate got it right), the one that's tugging on my sleeve like always, seems to be just like his 'mommy' a word I thought would never pass through anyone's lips about me but like most of the time I was wrong.

He's got my fire that was almost stolen away countless times, the curiosity that killed the cat and killed me at many points in my life and thank god he doesn't have the main part of his sinless mother, the crazy.

"This, baby, is – is your Uncle Peter! Now be nice and great him like a good boy."

(and that my friends, and enemies, is how Peter just had to come around each and every week, oh joy)

-

Nightmares are things that appear when they are uninvited and unwanted and always they are filled to the brim with the bogymen (in which for me I never had the father to check under the bed and in the closet) that come in many shapes in sizes.

And for the longest time mine has had one face and one face alone, Gabriel freaking Gray.

The one thing he liked doing was making sure those nightmares (that always come right on time each and every night) came true and so far they all have come to life right before my terrified eyes but this time it was so different it was almost scary.

"Sylar."

After years of watching in the shadows (I could sense those chilling eyes on me anytime of the day) keeping a close eye on the both of us, he finally stepped out and at this very moment was giving his son a hug.

(better hide the back of your head honey, this little wife has a forty with your name on it in her back pocket)

"Mommy, this my friend from school I was talking about yesterday, but his name isn't Sylar it's Gabriel, and he's my second best friend in the whole wide world!!"

"Who's your first, buddy?"

(buddy, son, pal. He said those words with something I never thought he had in any part of his body, love)

"Mommy, but of course. She's Uncle Peter's too, he really likes her that's what he told me. (might have nip that in the butt before it becomes 'mommy, you have to marry uncle Peter' like the whole thing with Mohinder all over again)"

"Great, I'll just have to meet this Uncle Peter of yours."

(my tongue was on fire being held in like the good girl I've never been able to be, 'get away, get the fuck away from my son, Sylar!' but Noah's already learned enough swears from Uncle Peter to last him a lifetime)

My maternal instinct was turned up to high the moment his smile was not shining at me but him, the father that I said with cutesy metaphors was buried six feet under and I was all but ready to spring into action the moment Noah was safely tucked away.

But then my friends it was time to fire up my finger tips, oh god it's been so damn long but worth the wait.

"That's great, Noah, why don't you run inside and get ready for your bath. I'll just say hello to your friend here and you'll see him another day, okay?"

The words that came out of my mouth were far from what my mind was thinking about his father-dearest (#$%$#%$^#$$$$, and that's just one thought) but at least he won't be there to see someone other his 'loving mommy' coming out.

(the old me wouldn't have given a crap, but she's deader then Adam freaking Monroe)

"Elle, go ahead yell your lungs out, kill me, rip me to shreds like before but just know I had to see him. I've know him since he was a baby, even if he does not know me that doesn't make me love him less."

Before the scorned women in me (that never really was put to rest) could come swinging out just like before, with each part of me lightning up like a circuit, something came over me, and that very thing might as well be the death of me.

"Fine, I won't do anything but the one thing your afraid of, I'm going to forgive you until your ears can't handle the goddamn word anymore. Got that?"

For some reason or another (sane or not, because it's about time I did something crazy) the smile that was resting on his lips to me was as real as the sun that setting behind us, and so were the tears, that never really fall, in his eyes.

"Got it."

(but there were rules, there had to rules and lots of them, because in no way was I letting him back in my life just like that)

"For now, you can tell him your not only his second friend best in the whole wide world (remember who's first) but also his father. He'll love that, and you'll get Friday's with him for now, and don't even try to get any Mondays."

He came in for the kiss that would make all of this real (the kiss of forgiveness) but the only thing he got, the only thing I was ready for was a hug, short and so brief that we barely touched.

(it was nothing like before, where each and every body part was side by side)

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, just shut up and go and be the father he's never had. (before he believes that Peter is his father for the second time this week)"

The questions will came at me like razors, cutting in to try and get out the truth, and most of them will be coming from 'uncle Peter' who's lips were a comfort over these long years but when the 'whys?' come I'll just say the truth without even trying to lie.

It was about time.