A/N: This is set in the Slave Verse AU, though you don't need to read that to understand this. All you need to know is that Peter and Sylar are together and deeply in love, and that Sylar started off with a mission to rule the world with Peter's help.

I'm posting it separately from the rest of Slave Verse, because it… I don't know, it felt right to do it that way. No graphic sex, bad language or other warnings (there's a little violence).

Five years

Sylar laid on the roof, already baking in the morning sun, sniper rifle braced before him and over the crest of the housetop. His muscles hurt, which told him that without regeneration he'd be having ferocious cramps. But a lot had happened in the last five years and one of the many things he'd gained was patience. He waited.

He was waiting for Maury Parkman, the secret leader of the League of Evil Mutants. (Just kidding.) Maury had organized a vast group determined to gain and wield political power for the advancement of those with abilities. It had taken a very long time for Peter and Sylar to realize his group even existed, not nearly so long to track down the one instrumental in running it once they knew it was out there. With Parkman's group out of the way, Sylar would be more easily able to achieve his goal of equal rights.

Murder was a weird way to go about it, but there was no court of law or jury of peers that could stand in judgment of either of them. It was the Old West all over again, but the idea of two gunfighters facing off at noon was a myth. Maury's ability had a range, hence the sniper rifle. Sylar had vetoed Peter's idea of personal confrontation. Sylar had had quite enough of that nonsense with Nathan. Eventually he'd convinced Peter to let him do it his way.

Maury came out of the house, waving at the man doing the edging and heading down to pick up the newspaper, or perhaps the mail. Sylar didn't care. He only cared that Maury tended to leave the relative protection of his house around 10 am most days. Noah Bennet's lessons on how to properly use his weapon paid off a few seconds later. The old telepath crumpled to the ground, the top of his head missing. Sylar considered that. It hadn't been a perfect shot, as there were too many variables of movement by the target. Maury was probably still alive. After a moment of reflection, he shot the body five more times – just in case.

It was enough.

Ten years

Sylar lay in the sun again, but this time he enjoyed it, feeling the cooling sea breeze over his skin. He moved his hand a few inches to the side, running his fingertips up and down the delicate skin of the inside of Peter's forearm, feeling a shadow of the sensation through the permanent telepathic link they now shared. The turning of Sylar's attention to him, far more than the touch itself, prompted the darker haired man to turn his head and smile lazily at him. Sylar smiled back.

Sometimes all it took was a look, or a shared smile, to make Sylar's heart race and his stomach to turn somersaults. It had been nearly a decade since they'd last been here. Peter had been the one to finally schedule it, as Sylar was always too busy, always claiming they'd get around to taking a vacation. Peter made the arrangements, cleared Sylar's calendar for a week and teleported him here. Sylar didn't mind. He knew who was in charge of his life – that had been made clear years before. He adored his Peter pet.

Their eyes locked together and Peter's smile crept up his face, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. They didn't need the bond they shared to know what the other was thinking. Sylar rolled over and grappled with his lover, laughing. They rolled off the cushions and onto the beach.

Seventy-five years

"Go, all right? Go. He'll be fine." Gabriel tried to shoo Peter's granddaughter out the door. The long good-byes annoyed him and it wasn't like he didn't have a staggeringly impressive resume for baby-sitting.

"Well, call me if anything happens, okay?" She worried anyway, like all new mothers did.

"Of course. I'm not going to drop him on his head or anything. You made it to adult, after all."

She laughed, finally heading out. She called back over her shoulder, "There was that time with the hammer…"

"I'll make sure to keep him out of the tool shed, so he'll be okay." Gabriel shut the door, leaning against it. He rolled his eyes heavenward, then pushed off and crouched next to the infant carrier. Within, a tiny baby slept – Peter's newest great-grandson. An expression of contentment and satisfaction stole across Gabriel's face. He loved seeing Peter's kids. They were all just a little bit like him (or in some cases a lot like him), odd reflections of his personality or his face, so familiar and yet not.

Not for the first time, he thought Peter had been right in taking a wife and starting a family, even though Gabriel had been reluctant to agree to it at first. Partly Peter had done it because of how wrapped up in running the world Sylar had become. They both knew the reasons, but it was odd how things had shifted between them. It was after Peter's fourth grandchild, when Sylar retired, feeling that he'd succeeded in everything he'd set out to do, that Peter had begun to feel the need to make the world a better place for his family.

If only he could get Claire to do more than flirt with him. They'd danced a few months ago and Peter had teased him mercilessly about it since. Ever since Gretchen passed away, Claire had been moody and morose. He and Peter had made it a mission to get her out of her house and back among the living. It seemed to be working. And if only he could get Peter to stick around more often. Lately he was always off tilting at one windmill or another, busier at trying to make the world bend to his will than Sylar had ever been.

He sighed and gently picked up the carrier, taking it into the living room of the old Petrelli mansion. He figured he could watch the news until the baby woke, which probably wouldn't be long. Maybe he'd hear something about what people thought of what Peter had been up to.

One hundred-fifty years

They snuggled in bed that night, Gabriel kissing along the top of Peter's head, one little affectionate peck after another.

"Would you stop that?" Peter grumped sleepily.

"No," Gabriel said simply, continuing to lavish attention on his partner. He was still thrilled with the novelty of having the real Peter back in his arms.

"I really wish you would," Peter shot back, sounding less sleepy.

"Mm. Make me," he challenged. He started kissing down the side towards Peter's ear. When he got there, Peter tensed all over – his ears were very sensitive in the flesh – less so in the dreams they shared. When Gabriel nibbled on it, Peter jerked his head away, clipping him on the chin and making Gabriel's teeth snap together – another thing that didn't happen in the dreams. Gabriel could have been bothered, but instead he reveled in the reality of it.

Peter huffed angrily, rolled over and sat up. Long association, sharing himself and trusting Gabriel had made Peter very open with his feelings. There was no point in hiding them, after all. Anything he felt, Gabriel knew, and vice versa. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the heirloom grandfather clock against the wall. It wasn't like he was going to get much more sleep anyway – not until he did something about this constant distraction. He smiled. It was a nice distraction.

Gabriel's fingers touched his back – just a touch, not a stroke or a caress – just checking in even though he could feel Peter's mood clearly through the link. He touched him because he could feel Peter's mood and the contact dispelled Peter's anger immediately as an even deeper wealth of intentions and emotions were conveyed in a moment of intimate touch. Peter turned back and pinned him, hands on Gabriel's shoulders. He leaned down and kissed, long, hard and passionate.

When they broke, Peter sighed and pushed him down a little against the mattress. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes, my pet. You were away for months, dealing with this never-ending war. I missed you."

"We were in each other's dreams virtually every night."

"I know. I miss you every time you leave though. Stay. Stay with me longer this time." He smiled warmly. "I command it."

"Yes, master," Peter murmured, before leaning in and kissing Gabriel again, stroking his face and rolling his body over him. They made love and found release and Peter didn't leave so soon this time.

Three hundred years

Gabriel draped his arm around Claire's shoulders as they stood on the hill and looked down into the valley. It was green and lush and terraformed within an inch of its life, but in places like this that was necessary. This was their valley and the community here had accepted them, despite knowing they weren't human – or at least, what was regarded as human these days, since the revolution. It was enough.

"You still miss him?" Claire asked of Peter.

"Do you still miss Gretchen?" Enough time had passed that his heart didn't break even at the mention of Peter like it once had, but he still wanted to lash out at her comment. He didn't though.

She sighed and leaned her head against him. She thought she understood how he must feel, but her knowledge was only a shadow and a seeming. Gretchen had been merely human. She'd never been a part of Claire's head almost as much as her own mental voice, knowing her heart even better than Claire did herself. Claire would never really understand what Peter had meant to Gabriel, but she offered what sympathy she could. "It was bound to happen eventually. He took so many chances. He was always out there fighting, trying to change things."

He tightened his arm around her a couple times in short hugs. She'd come back for him, doing what he and Peter had done for her years before. That she was right about Peter didn't make it any better. He felt like half a person and he knew he'd never fully heal.

"He's still in my dreams," Gabriel said distantly. "I think he's still out there." He just wished he knew if the dreams were real or not. He thought they were. Peter said they were, in them. If it was only his imagination, then surely Peter wouldn't have fought him so hard to convince him not to follow Peter into death. It wouldn't be the first time he'd known a telepath to survive the death of their physical body.

"I'd like to think there's something after," Claire said. "But we're not there yet. You're still here, Gabriel. Live. It's what he would have wanted." She didn't know how true that was, and Gabriel wondered if his own mind, knowing Peter's so well, might have replicated Peter's point of view and the presence he identified in his dreams as Peter, might only be a fabrication. He didn't know. His heart ached.

Not knowing how he felt, Claire broke away from him and headed down the hill. He had been condemned to a forever of living with people who didn't know him, who couldn't know him. He was alone, and it was hell. After a last look at the verdant farmland, he followed her.

Four hundred years

He walked through the cave, marveling at the crystals, slowly growing mineral masterpieces in this isolated place. He came to the platform he'd arranged for himself and laid down. Sleep was easy to induce. It was time and even Peter agreed. He would dream forever and be with everyone he had ever loved – real or not, it didn't matter anymore. Heaven was his memories and the many cherished moments he'd spent. He went to it willingly, for it was not oblivion. It was eternity in bliss.

He closed his eyes and a moment later he walked out into the sunlight, across the sandy beach. Peter was waiting for him.

Later

Something brushed his face. It had been so very long since he had sensed anything in his actual body – anything beyond the occasional drop of water, the gradual accumulation of dust or the slow formation of crystal reaching across his skin. Now something else moved across his skin, something warm and familiar in a way he could barely place. It touched his lips and this was different, different from the contact that had cleared his skin of the detritus that marked the passage of time in this timeless cavern he'd chosen for his final rest. What touched him now was a hot, living breath and a gentle pressing of soft lips against his own.

He inhaled sharply as they lifted away and he forced life into limbs so long lifeless and still. It hurt as he reanimated himself, like a million overlapping pins and needles. All of the powers he'd lived with for centuries were still there, untapped and ready. They responded even now to his desire. He looked up at the dark eyes smiling down at his own.

"Hey there, master. Rise and shine." Peter might have said more, but Gabriel surged up to embrace him, for it was really and truly him.

"Oh Peter! Oh Peter! Where did you go? How did you get back? You were dead!"

He laughed. "You made me. Took you a while to figure out how."

"I… you're not real?" Gabriel was overwhelmed by the crushing realization that this could very well be another dream or some manifestation of insanity or dementia.

Peter kissed him gently. "I'm real. I've always been in your mind. It's the only place I could be. I just couldn't pull myself together."

"But... I made you?" He reached out and touched Peter's skin. It was just as he remembered and his memory had always been perfect, ever since that waitress so long ago.

"Yeah. You can make people. They were always mindless duplicates, but you could make them. Like I said, it took a while for your subconscious to figure out how to manipulate the abilities to make a new one, to heal me, and get me out of your head and into this one. The dreams helped. They made me real. They brought me back."

Gabriel hugged Peter to him again, the wheels in his mind turning and sorting and calculating. It was true – his abilities weren't limited anymore to single, specific things he could do. Some tricks were still more difficult than others, but all of reality was laid bare for him to change. Everything in it except Peter, because he'd granted his lover the same gift Peter had given him: equality.

He cleared his eyes of the tears that had inexplicably filled them. "It's a brave new world," he murmured.