Neverbreakers

by rtwofan

Peter keeps getting stranded in a limbo away from home, and comes to know a man he thought he already did. Peter/Hesam - SLASH. 19,000 words, written for Heroes Bigboom on LJ.

Title: Neverbreakers
Author: rtwofan
Type: Slash/Romance/Supernatural
Word Count: ~19,000
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Hesam. (Hesam is Peter's paramedic partner in S4)
Warnings: vague sexual situations, spoilers for season four, some language, and SLASH. Don't like this pairing to be slashed, turn away now.
Summary: Peter keeps getting stranded in a limbo away from home, and gets to know a man he thought he already did.

"Neverbreakers"

by rtwofan

"I'd kill for a drink."

"Heh, thought I was the rookie."

Hesam closes his eyes, resting his head back on the couch.

"Yeah well, I've been puked on, stuck in traffic, almost had that little girl flatline on us in the back of the van. On top of that, I've performed my usual chauffeur duties while your skinny ass saves the day." He pokes open an eye, mostly just to glare. "I'd say I deserve a damn strong drink, Petrelli."

Peter pulls a fresh shirt over his head, grinning. "Then I'll buy you one myself."

xxx

Ten minutes of chill time and it's back to the ambulance - Hesam in the driver's seat and Peter sitting bitch. The empath suspects Hesam only calls it that to feel better about the whole 'chauffeur' thing. If only Peter could...stop his compulsion to run straight into the scene of a crime.

Though, Peter still enjoys the guy's company. Of all the coworkers in his rank, Hesam has the most years under his belt and he's laid back enough to balance Peter's obsession with work. Despite Hesam's under-the-breath comments that Peter's kind of a glory whore, Peter's glad for Hesam's easy-going nature. The last thing he needs is for his job to be a competition.

Peter doesn't save lives because he's trying to one-up anyone. He does it to feel fulfilled. Because it's his life's purpose. And since Hesam kicks his feet up on the dash and doesn't rush chasing after him when he goes off on a tangent, he figures it's a pretty blessed partnership.

Plus, while Hesam isn't quite permitted to say it, he probably likes Peter running the show. Sure, he's all about the partnership – the bond between two people, the trust there, the loyalty. But chauffeurs don't have to take on double shifts or get called at ungodly times of night. Golden boys do.

After seventeen years of this job, Peter imagines he'd be tired of the gig too.

"You could retire," he jokes as they wait for a call to arrive, Hesam fighting to stay awake.

The Persian snorts. "How old do you think I am?"

"Well, you've got the personality of an old guy who doesn't like kids walking on his lawn."

Smiling, something that always pleases Peter to see, Hesam vaguely gestures around them.

"See any lawns?"

xxx

"Petrelli, get that line of morphine in his arm!"

One of the most amazing parts of Peter's job is how quickly it can go from crosswords to a dash into hell. They've got a seventy-year old man with a heart attack in the back of their truck, Peter accompanied by one of the upper-level paramedics who likes to bark orders more than follow them. Hesam's driving as usual, and while Peter is glad to work hands on, he sometimes feels jealous. Hesam never has the guilt of a lost cause on his head. They've never lost a patient because Hesam 'didn't drive fast enough'.

The heart monitor does its job of keeping an eye on the old man's life, and of shooting Peter's stress level through the roof. He's got super speed at the moment, which helps him get around when Hesam conveniently looks away, but it's no good in the back of an ambulance. If only healing was around...

He feels the ambulance stop roughly, and soon they're heaving the stretcher into the ER. Peter's hand knocks against the patient, light enough for him not to stir, but hard enough for Peter to notice a brief orange spark.

Dammit.

"Faster, Peter! You're holding us up!" Hesam yells somewhere behind him, trying to push, but Peter's lagging them down. He snaps back to reality and ignores the orange spark for a moment, trying to suppress the ability until he can figure out its nature.

"Where we takin' him?" he huffs out, getting back in the game.

Nurse Hammer appears behind him, checking the patient's vitals as they walk. "Room fifteen just opened, and we've got a surgeon waiting for you. How bad is it?"

Hesam takes over, briefing Hammer on the situation. Peter's tongue feels too big for his mouth and his legs like jelly.

The nurses swarm in, getting the patient off their hands. Peter stands back and presses the back of his hand to his brow, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. Hesam's fingers ghost across his shoulder.

"You good?"

Peter fills his lungs with over-sterilized hospital air. Nothing has blown up yet. You aren't shooting lasers out your eyes. It's probably something easy. But the only way to figure it out is to try and it's dangerous with all these people here.

"No," Peter replies after consideration, stumbling a little into Hesam's hold for effect. "I uh...I'm feeling really sick. The running around and stuff must have brought it out."

Hesam wraps an arm around his waist, moving them away from foot traffic. "If you need to go, go. I can handle the rest the shift stag if they can't find someone to cover you. You're better lying in bed and recovering for Thursday than you are staying here, looking like shit."

Peter nods, untangling them from each other, wondering if he could possibly sweat harder to look sicker. No matter. Hesam trusts him and it's enough, especially after his golden track record. The Peter Petrelli who Hesam knows would have to knock on death's door to miss work.

"Thanks." He backs away, heading towards the main desk. "Gonna clock out. See you in two days."

"Yeah, feel better!" Hesam calls after him, "I'll get bored without someone to drive me nuts."

Humoring him with a smile, Peter walks away and avoids thinking about the power.

xxx

New York looks quiet from the inside of the taxi. Peter sees pretty lights and tourists out too late for their own good. A few drunk frat boys stumbling, laughing, out the doors of some local bars. Enjoyment. Innocence. Life. But he knows people don't stop dying just because he's off shift. Somewhere out there, another old man clutches his chest, home alone and dying. Someone's car has been obliterated with them bleeding inside. A girl is being held down in a dark ally and taken advantage of. New York is too big to escape horror, even to spare a moment between one victim's last breath, and the next's.

Idly he plays with his hands, trying to summon something. Fire? Nothing. Not ice, or water. He goes through a mental roster of the safer abilities– tries to read the taxi driver's thoughts, tries to move a food cart with his mind. None of it hits. He even picks at a scab on his arm to open the wound, but the wash of regeneration doesn't arrive to heal it.

Defeated for now, he closes his eyes and rests back into the seat, trying to focus on some soothing jazz that the driver's put on. It'll keep him sane til he arrives home.

xxx

He's got a rough job. Not just rough emotionally because he aches at the end of the day. The heavy lifting, the running, the constant sting of adrenaline running through his system – it makes his chest hurt, makes lactic acid cling to his muscles and burn because he isn't buggered enough to hydrate properly. Most of all, it sets the soles of his feet alight.

Peter rubs at his face and tosses his keys towards the counter. He doesn't feel young anymore. Yeah, he acts it at work, like the rookie pretty boy, especially since Hesam's a grandpa compared to him. And when he goes to save someone, he suddenly comes to life as the hero he's known for. But afterward, when he's not out there chasing the Grim Reaper, he feels like total shit.

Loneliness might have to do with it. Hesam keeps asking him to dinner and drinks "with the gang" and Peter always refuses. He wouldn't mind if it was just Hesam, maybe. Hesam's a nice guy, but kind of a private person, and Peter doesn't know much about him. Never gave it much thought and doesn't plan on it either. But no matter – it's not like he even has two hours to spare on lunch of his own, let alone hanging with someone he sees far too often in that truck.

Peter grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and forces himself to drink it, knowing he'll hate himself in the morning if he doesn't. He undresses on the way to his bedroom, bits and pieces of uniform leaving a trail across his scant amount of furniture, too tired to deal with any of it now. The bedroom's hard to see through, and he has to rely on instinct to find his way to the bathroom.

It's the first time Peter notices something very wrong.

His toothbrush is the wrong color. There's one beside it.

Two sets of cologne.

Two hair brushes.

Two razors.

He sets down the water bottle slowly, trying not to make a sound.

While he was too tired to notice small details like wallpaper and the shape of his bedside lamp, he's certainly noticing them now. He looks around for some kind of weapon, but the best he can find is a hair dryer and a bottle of shaving cream. In the good old days, he'd have a dozen powers at his disposal, but at the moment he only has a single mysterious ability with no offensive or defensive value.

The best power he has now is knowing this is his apartment. He can find a light switch without even having to search.

A groan from his bed, and Peter ducks behind the wall separating his bathroom from bedroom. Goldilocks has been sleeping in my bed, he thinks ridiculously, amidst the storm of bewilderment and terror bombarding the rest of his brain. Peter dares to steal a look out at who exactly shifts in his sheets, and then his mind goes even more absurd.

Hesam?

Unmistakably. Peter's partner is half-dressed in his uniform – belt unbuckled but strewn through the loops of his pants, still wearing his undershirt and slacks, and his shoes kicked somewhere near the foot of the bed. He's on his back now, a hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown above his head, getting comfortable again on top of the comforter.

At least feeling secure that this is Hesam, and there's nothing dangerous about him, Peter creeps out of the bathroom and gives his bed a kick.

Hesam jolts in his sleep, blinking up at the owner of the bed. "Peter?"

"How the hell are you here?" Peter blurts, fists tightening at his sides so he can keep from shaking. "I left hours before you; you shouldn't even be done with your shift by now. What is this, some kind of joke?"

Hesam merely stares, the back of his hand rubbing over his forehead. "Dude I've been home three hours," he croaks, and Peter certainly doesn't miss how he refers to this as home. "You had to take that extra shift, remember? I got some dinner, thought you'd be hungry. You're welcome." Seemingly satisfied with his answer, he rolls over and holds Peter's pillow close, trying to go back to sleep.

Aghast, Peter sits on the bed and grabs Hesam's shoulder, forcing him to turn back over. "I haven't worked a double in months. Jackson hasn't let me after the Hooper scare. What are you..."

Pictures on his end table distract him. He doesn't keep pictures there, or a twisty looking blue lamp but both are present. One picture of his family – Ma, Claire, and him at the beach last summer. The next of Hesam with a pretty brunette woman that Peter's never seen before. And the last is of them both, leaning against the railing of a pier, the city skyline behind them. Hesam's arm is casually slung around his shoulders.

Peter clenches the sheets between his fists and finds they're different too. Striped. His sheets aren't striped.

The horror must show on his face because Hesam sits up, now serious, a hand rising to touch Peter's shoulder. "Peter, you don't look good."

"I don't feel good," Peter replies weakly, the foreignness of this entire moment pulsing loudly in his veins. He falls against Hesam and claws at his own head, succumbing to the blackness creeping into his vision.

xxx

This time, his bed is empty.

There's no impression of Hesam on his pillow or an indent where the sheets had been ruffled. When Peter looks at his nightstand, the lamp is back to normal and there's no photos of any kind.

It must have been a dream or a hallucination right? He must have fallen asleep in the taxi and zombie-walked back up to his apartment before collapsing on the bed. Peter looks down and sees a trail of work clothes in the living room. Yeah, that seems about right.

Except it felt bloody real, a dream he can't shake at all. The phantom sense of Hesam's arms around him, supporting his frame as he blacked out, still tingles on his skin. Peter holds himself, trying to erase the eerie sense with his own touch.

When he feels somewhat less disturbed, he yawns and stretches his toes, recalling that it's his day off. See you in two days, Hesam said. But was that the real Hesam, or just another one in his imagination?

Peter rubs his temples, groaning. It's all a bit blurry. Perhaps during his sleepwalk his mind wandered to some weird fantasy and that's what he took as reality. He does remember feeling woozy before going home, and leaving work sick.

Oh no, that's not right though. He wasn't sick, it was a cover. Because that orange flash happened, he'd taken a power, and-

The empath presses his palms into his eyes, trying to remember all the steps. The last thing he remembers clearly is trying out abilities in the taxi, and then trying to nap. When he'd woken up and gone up to his flat, all was normal. He stripped off his clothes and threw them down in the exact same way as they're scattered about now.

But the toothbrushes weren't normal. There were two of them and two of everything. The sheets were different and he found Hesam in his bed like it was the most normal thing in the world. And now, he wakes up and everything's back to his definition of normal.

Peter first thinks of an illusion ability. Maybe some stray thoughts of Hesam snuck in there and projected a life with them together. Probably, it's a perception power which made him see things that weren't there. Now that he's had a good night sleep, he's in control again.

After climbing out of bed, Peter does a few stretches to get his muscles working. He's encountered an illusion ability before, seen one at least, and he's got a pretty good idea how they work. Just focus on that table over there and imagine a bird perched on the edge...

Even with squinting and an outstretched hand, nothing appears. He thinks of plates, notebooks, phones and even spider monkeys but nothing appears on that counter. He tries it active, forcing the objects to appear, and passive, where he just casually thinks of it and walks by. Neither gives him success.

Swearing, Peter steps into the bathroom and checks his toothbrush holder. One blue Oral-B. The contents of his fridge are the same when he visits the kitchen. He even finds his time receipt in the pocket of his strewn about paramedic slacks. The date and time are correct, it's all correct. He hasn't time traveled, not that he ever gave that theory much merit at all.

Peter tries one last experiment and, feeling utterly foolish, he closes his eyes and waves his arms around, thinking of Hesam standing in front of him. He doesn't expect anything to happen, and nothing does – when he opens his eyes, he's still alone, in the same apartment.

Whatever. He's better off going about his day. If this power plans on showing up again, clearly he has no control over it. The only thing he can really do is get out of the house and take his mind off it. Claire's in town, and they've made reservations at some place Ma likes. He's due there in forty-five.

xxx

The experience haunts him all day, despite a nice lunch with Claire. She catches him up on all things Gretchen, her part-time carnival work, school, and of course the paparazzi. In fact, it's amazing they're not outside the restaurant window right now, snapping pictures of Miracle Gro Girl with Uncle. College allows an escape at least, since Arlington doesn't admit press onto school grounds without explicit permission. And Claire admits that it's calmed down some since her death drop off the ferris wheel. Two months have passed since then and her internet fame is dwindling. She's joining the graveyard of faded memes, somewhere between the Numa Numa dance and the Leave Britney Alone guy.

They visit Central Park and walk in peaceful silence, having talked themselves out. The lack of conversation makes Peter's mind wander, and he's already getting another headache. They pass the section of the park where Claire performed her famous jump, where a whole carnival stood with hundreds of people. Now it's just empty grass, no ghosts of anything. Peter slides his hands in his pockets and finds himself accidentally walking a little ahead of Claire, tuned out to her and the rest of the world.

She grabs his arm to bring him back and he looks, suddenly reeling. It's not Claire at all, but Hesam, smiling at him with no niece in sight. Peter looks over Hesam's shoulder in panic, but Claire is totally gone. The sky has also grown significantly more overcast than it was ten seconds ago.

"What the hell!" he yelps, stumbling. It's happening again, this shift in reality. He tries to force himself back into that moment, the moment which provoked this. First of all, he wasn't thinking of Hesam at all, so clearly his thoughts alone aren't manifesting his partner. Second of all, with the weather change and Claire's disappearance – much like the sheets , the lamp, the toothbrushes – this doesn't appear to be the same environment. It's New York obviously, and it's still day and there are still other people here. The same date and time are one his watch. But relationships are different, as are little tiny details.

If it's not illusion and it's not time travel, could this really be some kind of alternate universe? Are there actually two Peters or is he possessing the Peter that lives here? What is here, anyway?

Headache strikes harder and Peter slumps, feeling sick and unable to stand right. Hesam's hands catch his back and Peter throws all his weight onto his partner, appreciating the support.

"Whoa dude, let's sit down." Hesam guides him to a bench and sets him down, but doesn't loosen the hold on Peter. Normally, Peter would find that incredibly odd. But after coming home to Hesam in his bed last night, he's sort of put two and two together about what they are to each other.

"Where's Claire?" he murmurs, eyes tightly shut as he grinds his knuckles harder into his eye. Hesam gently takes the hand away and holds it in his own, keeping Peter close.

Hesam's voice sounds confused. "Peter, you know where she is, she's got school and stuff."

Claire's not here. Not even in the city. Peter resists the urge to protest and instead he absorbs the information, trying to learn more about this rabbit hole he's fallen down again. He's not asleep, he knows that much. This isn't a dreaming ability, or one activated by night. He has been bodily and/or mentally transported to another place and time with a man who wears Hesam's face. Even though this certainly ain't the Hesam he knows.

"You're kinda worrying me here, Peter. You sound like a raving idiot." Hesam rests the back of his hand on Peter's forehead, roughly judging his temperature. "Got a bit of a fever." He takes a breath, dropping his hand, and Peter senses a loaded question cocked and ready to fire. "Think it's your magic powers, messin' you up?"

Magic powers. Super powers. He knows. He knows, and it drains all the remaining color from Peter's face. The younger man opens his eyes and faces Hesam, taking in his partner's familiar features and concern.

"Powers?" Peter carefully asks, letting Hesam fill in the blanks.

"Yeah, your powers." Hesam retorts, brows lowering. "Are you deaf too now?"

When he thinks about it at length, Peter shouldn't be surprised. If they're indeed close in this universe, Hesam's bound to know about those...special abilities.

Peter waves a hand, trying to rise on unsteady feet. "Yeah, uh, I'm fine. Just...I didn't know you knew that about me."

Hesam catches him once again, pulling him back to the bench. Peter's head lolls on his shoulder.

"Peter you told me yourself, way before I moved in. You look like shit, let's go to Mercy and get this checked out."

Glad for the support, Peter takes Hesam's hand, simply glad to have something to cling to.

"No, not the hospital. Just...lemme think for a moment, okay?"

He bends, placing his forehead on his knees, pulling in a deep breath. Being tossed around by this power makes him feel like a human pinball, especially since he's not sure what this power is. Hesam doesn't realize that he's not his Peter. And what about Claire, left alone in Central Park? Where is everybody, what's everyone doing?

What is happening?

Peter moans into the fabric of his pants. No, now's not a good time to think about the physics of things. He's got to focus on something remotely familiar, easy to understand. An anchor, a constant.

Quickly, he reaches out and grabs Hesam's hand again, holding on like a life raft.

"Okay. Let's go back to my...your..." A strange glance from the other man supplies the right word. "...our place. We need to talk, I need to figure this whole thing out."

Hesam looks worried at that, like he wonders if it's a relationship issue. Peter rises from the bench, adding, "And yeah, it's a power thing."

xxx

By the time they get back to their apartment, the sun is already set. It's the same place Peter experienced last night, with the blue lamp and the pictures on the nightstand, two toothbrushes and striped sheets. Now that he's aware of its differences, he actually bothers looking for them.

Everything is more generally more cluttered here, more lived in, but not in ways that are obvious. There's more art and pictures on the walls here, a few more items on every desk, some magazines on the coffee table. He has two different kinds of aftershave instead of just one. There's simply...more. Some things, however, are his. Like the calender - the same calender from his front door which reads the same month, year, and day.

Hesam holds a Corona between both hands, seated with his shoulders hunched at the kitchen table. Peter chooses to stand - to pace rather - in the doorway between the kitchen and the rest of the apartment. They haven't spoken the entire way home, Peter more interested in observing the route and seeing what shops are still here, what fashions and people have changed, what buildings are still in the skyline. He's still trying to pull together what this is, what this power makes him do.

Talking it out might help. Or at least it'll take some suspense off Hesam's shoulders. Peter takes a deep breath.

"I'm not the Peter you know," he begins, at least absolutely certain about that one truth. "I think I'm from some other time or place. An alternate universe, or maybe just the past. It's a power I absorbed on accident from this old man we brought in. I haven't been able to ask him about it yet. I'm not even sure if he's still alive."

Sighing, Peter walks to the other side of the table, crossing his arms. "The thing I don't get is, where's your Peter? I can't just be time traveling. And I'd interrupting your life, not joining it."

Hesam rubs his forehead. "Never understood all this powers bullshit," he grumbles, taking a sip of the beer. "How are you not the same Peter? This is our apartment. This is where we live. I don't remember any transition or anything."

"But it isn't your world," Peter insists, pointing around to the calender. "Look, there's things of mine in here too. You have to be older than the Hesam I know, you've had time with me that we can't possibly have had. It's later in your time, but this calender says 2008. My time. Same date."

There's a moment of quiet as Peter leans over one of the chairs, eyes closed in thought. "I can't be switching places with your Peter, because this isn't your world any more than it's mine. I think it's kind of like a meeting place, a limbo. I keep slipping into here but something draws you here too. Almost like gravity."

When Hesam looks up, his eyes show an overwhelmed glaze.

"Why me?" he asks simply, pushing the Corona away. "What am I to you in your time? And why not bring him? Why me, why me out of any of me, how can there even be more than one me anywhere?"

"I don't know, Hesam." Peter walks closer, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. For someone familiar with Peter's abilities, Hesam still appears shaken by the idea. It's not hard to imagine though - Hesam isn't just aware of power, he's taken hostage by one. The two of them keep getting stranded in this shared world, away from home, and they're only figments of the respective Peter and Hesam that each of them know.

"Your guy..." Peter slowly asks. He sits on the edge of the table, looking down at Hesam. "What's he like? What's your world like?"

Hesam leans back, looking more relaxed with something he actually knows about. "Well, we live together. You and I met at work, we were partners. Not anymore though, cause of the ethics contracts and all that crap. You're still a paramedic, I've got Jackson's old job. It sucks, I never get to go outside anymore, but that's what you get for getting old. At least we work similar hours so when we don't see each other at work, we can at home."

Shrugging, he knocks back another swig of beer, leaving Peter awed by the idea of Hesam's life. Part of him gets bothered by Hesam referring to his partner as "you," almost like he doesn't separate the two men - a Peter is a Peter, and more than one can't exist. But otherwise, Peter's mostly in shock. The Hesam he knows from work isn't someone he's given much thought to. Hell, they're barely even friends. They don't hang out outside of work, or eat together outside the truck. They don't talk about anything personal, though Hesam often seems concerned about Peter, asking if he's okay and the like.

And...well Hesam has asked him to get drinks after work on several occasions but Peter's always been the one to decline.

They aren't really friends, but perhaps that isn't a mutual fact. Hesam makes the effort, tries to get to know Peter, but the empath keeps blocking him off. His eyes scan over the Hesam who sits beside him now, the slightly grayer and helluva lot more laid back Hesam that claims to be in a relationship with him.

Maybe it can work, if Peter stops holding back.

"It's hard to imagine all that," he softly croaks, looking down at the kitchen floor. "You and I are just partners at work. Friendly, but just co-workers, you know?"

Chuckling, Hesam gives him a knowing look. "Maybe you pulled me from the future."

Peter doesn't comment, mostly cause he's not sure it's wrong. Hesam's definitely from a future, but he doesn't know which.

There's a clank as Hesam puts the empty bottle on the table and rises, meeting Peter at eye level. The younger man looks him squarely in the face, trying to discern what the other is about to do, when Hesam reaches out and caresses his fingers over Peter's neck. It tickles, makes him shiver, but spikes something into his heart that makes him lean into the touch.

"You're younger than mine," Hesam points out, smiling. Peter notices some more gray in Hesam's hair. Their age difference stands even more prominently now than the ten years which normally separate them. Hesam ages well though, despite the gray. His face hasn't wrinkled or speckled and his smile stays warm and white.

His hand hasn't moved from Peter's neck and Peter thinks his hands are nice, gentle and easy to lose himself in. Hesam's face crinkles like he's concentrating, kind of like when he's putting in an IV. Peter blanches inside, hit by the metaphor because it occurs to him, then, that he has no clue what Hesam is really like. That the only thing he can compare any of this man to is a job-place persona. He's never taken a second glance at Hesam to find out more.

The Persian stands between his legs now, and Peter fists his hand into the hip of Hesam's soft cotton shirt, a shirt without a medical shield on the sleeve. Of all the changes, from sheets to calenders, this is by far the most foreign. The most noticeable. The one he focuses on.

But also the most familiar.

"This seems natural, here. Us." It's hard to speak and he has to swallow to get the words out. It would be so strange there, but it's so normal here. Why...

Shrugging again, as Hesam does with all things he just doesn't care to understand, Hesam's hand grows firmer on the side of his throat. "Told you. I never got your powers, man."

Confidently, he pulls Peter's neck forward and kisses him, lips tentative when they meet. It takes Peter by surprise, not that it should, and he doesn't want to fight it. Hesam's mouth is easy to get used to, kind of like he knows it in another life. Something snaps in his brain and he groans, opening his mouth for Hesam to remap and explore because this is suddenly something he wants to fall into. Hesam's the only remotely familiar thing Peter can cling to in this bizarre parallel world.

They kiss for awhile, both of Peter's hands full of the fabric as he pulls Hesam closer. The other man's beard scrubs against his nose and chin but it only makes the feel more distinct. Hesam kisses him with a strange mix of knowing exactly what he's doing, and discovering it for the first time.

Eventually they part, Hesam grinning and still touching him.

"You kiss differently," he concludes mildly, and Peter guesses he too looks for differences now that he's aware of them.

Peter can't help but feel dejected. "Not like your Peter." He doesn't know why he wants to be like Hesam's Peter, be like the man Hesam loves and mistakes him for. If this is indeed a mix of time lines, he supposes it doesn't matter - he'll be that man eventually, he just hasn't gotten there yet.

Hesam kisses him again, deeper, cupping his face with both hands. Peter can't help but laugh a little this time, thinking Hesam comes back to find more differences too. It feels so new, so tentative and exploratory, his hands mapping out Hesam's chest over his white shirt. Fisting in his dark, over-gelled, curly hair. This doesn't feel like a one night stand or an old relationship, but like he's on the brink of realizing who he's going to spend the rest of his life with and why.

When Hesam pulls back this time, he's chuckling too. "Still like a Peter. You've always been soft."

"I dunno if that's a compliment," Peter dryly answers, eyes narrowing. Hesam just smiles wider, tilting his head as he finds Peter's pulse with his fingertips. Something new to feel and observe.

"Your pulse is exactly the same though," he murmurs, going more serious. Peter would laugh at the cheesiness had Hesam not been so deadpan, and that he knows Hesam's fascination with heartbeats merely comes from their job. Hesam has to, or had to, listen to a lot of them– knows everyone's is different by now. Peter's noticed it too, listening through enough stethoscopes in his day to sense a varying tempo through every patient.

Unexpectedly, Hesam's hand lowers to press on Peter's ribcage. Peter's breath hitches, body automatically flinching at the sensitive contact. Hesam continues to beam at him and Peter's never seen the other man this amused. "But that's new."

God, it's all new. Peter can only stare at Hesam plainly, thinking he's new.

But the clock over Hesam's shoulder says it's getting late, and in his own universe he has to get up for work tomorrow. His own universe...the thought makes him ache a little, because despite how much he's rapidly enjoying Hesam's company, this place they've built isn't home. It's not home for either of them. Hesam deserves to go back to his own Peter again too.

How Peter can return them to their respective planes is still a mystery though.

Frowning, Peter pushes himself off of the table, avoiding knocking over Hesam. "I think I should sleep, maybe. I have to get back home tomorrow That's how I did it last time, maybe it'll work again."

Hesam nods neutrally, backing up towards the bedroom. Peter follows him, the moment impacting his gut as he remembers last night, with Hesam in his bed. It's normal for Hesam to sleep in that bed, but Peter still wants the feel of his own sheets around him. He's not going to kick Hesam out but he wonders if it's proper to sleep together in a time like this? Especially if Hesam is already with someone.

Awkwardly, Peter asks for some pillows and a sheet for the couch, but Hesam's face gawks.

"The couch? You're welcome in this bed, you know. It's yours too. It's always been yours."

Right. Still doesn't realize they're not the same Peter.

Peter just stands in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as Hesam gets ready for bed. It takes a lot of confidence before Peter pulls his shirt over his head too, and kicks off his jeans. There's an instinct in him that wants to make Hesam comfortable, and after kissing the man for the first time, after seeing how much love Hesam openly harbors for him...well, it's hard for Peter just to reject that. It's hard to not be drawn to that, even when they come from different worlds with no hope of an actual relationship. Hesam offers a care and a connection that Peter's spurned too long.

They have now though. In this time, this place, they can be together.

Peter entertains the notion, closing his eyes as he sits on the edge of the bed. And when he opens them, Hesam stands before him, over him, boxers and a white t-shirt bringing out his skin. His gaze is kind but inquisitive, some rough edges around his jaw and cheeks and Peter knows he's still struggling with the idea of there being two Peters.

After a sigh, Peter offers, "I'd tell you I'm the same person but even I'm not sure."

He bites his lip, staring up at Hesam in what he knows is hope, filled with the want of this to be something. He looks into Hesam's eyes and he sees both their futures – the same future – and what felt so abstract and strange before now feels so resolute.

Gently, Hesam pushes against Peter's shoulder and beckons him to lay back on the bed. Then, he silently joins, stretching out beside Peter's body. A piece of hair falls in Peter's eyes and Hesam blows it out of the way.

"Like I said," he quietly reminds, "Still a Peter."

xxx

An alarm goes off on time though he doesn't remember setting one. Peter blinks away a layer of film and finds himself laying on his stomach, clothed. Hesam was a warm weight behind him all night, nothing more than that, but the empty space beside him still leaves a pit in his gut.

Why the hell should it matter though? Hesam is just a coworker. He barely knows the guy, there's no way he's magically discovered some kind of attraction...

But perhaps it isn't magic, or even power. Peter recalls that jolt from last night, of feeling as if he'd seen Hesam for the first time. Truthfully, before, he couldn't even remember what color Hesam's eyes are. What his face really looks like. How tall he is. All those details have been insubstantial compared to Peter's actual job, the job that takes up his entire focus when he's at the hospital.

He hasn't felt attraction to Hesam because he's barely been aware of the man's existence.

Peter closes his eyes and thinks of how Hesam's kiss made him feel, of how his lips were surprisingly nice to taste. His partner has sweet eyes and a loving smile, hidden under a playful smirk. All these things have been right in front of him for months, gone ignored, and it makes his heart hurt to think he's neglected such simple goodness.

So, going into work after two days and a couple universes doesn't sit well with him. He hits bad traffic, forgets something in his locker and has to go back, spells his own damn name wrong on the time sheet. Parts of him are still in the universe he and Hesam shared yesterday, a distraction from the here and now. Peter rubs his face as he climbs into the truck, trying to get his head in the game. Maybe a call will help, a call real enough to pull him back. Hopefully.

"Feelin' better?"

He jumps at the question, finding the voice familiar in two totally different ways. Then he realizes Hesam actually expects an answer about the other day, when Peter left work sick.

"Oh! Yeah. Just a 24 hour bug, something like that." Peter's face stretches with a fake, reassuring smile. "I'm fine, man."

"Wish I could say the same for that guy we brought in." Hesam makes a low noise, drumming his thumb on the gear shift. "He barely made it to the operating table."

It quickly dawns on Peter that the source of his power is now gone. He suspected it before, fathomed the possibility, but to have it confirmed is like whiplash. He feels as if he's holding onto something precious now, nurturing the last living sprout in a field of barren earth.

Perhaps if he'd not been so distracted, if he'd tried harder, if he wasn't a selfish prick who'd gone home in panic...

"Hey, get that look off your face." Hesam nudges his arm, breaking his thoughts. "We tried our best, all of us. When it's their time to go, there's nothing anyone can do."

Peter stares, surprised that he's so easy to read. "Yeah, I know," he mumbles, distracting himself with one of the clipboards. "Can't help being sick..."

Like always, it doesn't take much for Hesam to leave the subject alone. They fall into silence, allowing Peter time to mull over their brief history together. Hesam's keen sense for detail is not novel. If Peter gets in the van with so much as a cut on his face, the other man asks what's wrong. But Hesam isn't nosy either, isn't persistent, never asks for things that Peter doesn't want to give. Just a thought, here and there, making sure Peter's okay. And when Peter brushes it off - and they both know Hesam isn't stupid and totally doesn't buy it - Hesam nods and pretends that it's all okay and lets Peter live his life.

Hesam's looking up something on his phone and Peter glances over, studying his partner. This one is definitely younger than the Hesam he kissed. More outwardly playful too, but he seems faker. His grins are a little more strained but when he asks Peter what's wrong - that's when his face looks the most natural.

Peter wants to think about it more, trying to compare the two men and figure out where they converge and where they divide, but a new call ruins all chances of that.

He grabs the handset and presses it to his mouth. "Oh-five-nine, we're on it. "

xxx

It's a week or so later when he spies Hesam in his kitchen.

Peter stands in the doorway of the bathroom, simply gawking at the phantom lounging at his table. Thrice now and he's still not entirely used to this. A look around shows him all the details he's come to expect, including the gray at Hesam's temples.

"Hey," he offers tentatively, walking up and embracing Hesam from behind. The older man reaches back a hand to cup Peter's head, turning to run his lips over Peter's cheek. The greeting makes Peter shiver as he covets the intimacy and familiarity Hesam must have with his own Peter.

"Oh uh, it's me," Peter feels the need to say standing up straight. "The other me. I haven't seen you in a week."

Hesam frowns, scratching at his head. "Oh. It was last night for me. You've come back pretty fast from...wherever you go."

"Now you know what it's like for me," Peter jokes, patting him on the shoulder. "Coming home to find you in my apartment, thinking it's normal. I never notice when the shift happens, I just notice stuff that's different. Little things. Some times it takes longer than others."

"Yeah..." Hesam picks absently at the newspaper he's reading. His shoulders remain hunched, brow furrowed. It doesn't take an empath to realize something's off about him, and he's not even bothering hiding it.

Peter sits on the table, next to him, running a knuckle over Hesam's coarse jaw. "Hey, what's goin' on?"

Hesam's answer does not arrive quickly, or without struggle. "I...well I woke up with my Peter this morning. Told him about you, how we'd kissed. How I let you spend the night here."

He figures it out then, the emotion that's crippling Hesam's tone. Guilt.

"I'm sorry," Peter blurts, grabbing Hesam's shoulder. "I know this whole thing is confusing for you, I should have stuck to the couch, and not interfered."

"Peter," Hesam interrupts quietly, looking at him through tired eyes. "It's not your fault. Just like it's never your fault. I felt bad about it, yeah. Even though we hadn't done anything, even though he's you, I still felt bad. I had to tell him."

Hesam's stare burns a hole in Peter's heart. He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

"I should get rid of the power, then," Peter suggests firmly. "I've obviously caused you both enough trouble. I shouldn't take you away from him at all, let alone mess with you like this. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sorry, Hesam."

He slides off the table but Hesam catches his arm, nuzzling into the crook of his elbow. It's subtle, but he feels it.

"Peter...you're still him. Maybe you're from the past or the future or another planet or some shit I don't even know, but you're still him. And I care about you." Hesam releases him, sitting back, waiting for him to swim away. "He's happy, but you're not. It's always all over your face. You blame everything on yourself, and you've got nothing to wake up for aside from our damn job. You need help. And I'm willing, until you don't need me anymore."

Peter stares the proposal in the face, his heart torn between two extremes. He's on the brink of something here, with Hesam, getting to know a man he can't find the time to look at in real life. Hesam looks more and more appealing every time Peter encounters him now, with his soft smiles, easy going nature, and insistent belief that Peter is a good man. Can Hesam really make him happier, give him a better purpose than slaving over his work?

That's not the real question though, is it? Because as much as he wants to try, experiment, see if they can get something going, it's not Peter's place to decide. He can't bear the thought of hogging this man to himself, not when another Peter wants him more. Peter does good things for selfish reasons sometimes but this goes beyond his capability.

Hesam belongs in his own world, with his own partner. Anything else is unnatural and cruel.

"I wish I could just stay here with you," Peter admits, brushing his fingers against Hesam's one last time before he slowly backs away. "But I don't think you're mine to do that with."

Hesam opens his mouth to reply but says nothing. Because Hesam isn't nosy, never presses. He accepts what Peter says, even if he knows it's bullshit, because he doesn't like making Peter uncomfortable.

Knowing this makes Peter's pain come harder as he forces himself to leave the apartment. And then his heart finally breaks when he realizes this is the last time he'll see The Other Hesam.

xxx

He's done.

What used to be a nurturing sense about this power is now contempt, and he just wants it gone. Or rather, knows that it needs to be. Jumping universes might be fun but it's dangerous, and clearly it's interfering with the life of a Hesam that doesn't need it. That Hesam has a nice life, has a partner. Has a Peter. There's no reason to fuck up what he has and burden him with this Peter's issues.

The empath stops by Emma's office before starting his shift, smiling at her as he enters. She immediately takes off her headphones and grins back, asking him what he needs.

He shrugs, not feeling up to manifesting some huge lie. "Just stopping by. I haven't seen you in a while. How's your ability going?"

"Figured it out," she answers thickly, nodding. "I'll tell you about it, sometime. So you can use it too."

Peter settles into the chair before her desk, leaning over to look at her closer. He makes sure his lips are clearly visible for her to read, and he throws in a few signs he's learned along the way. Not only does Emma appreciate him trying to learn her language, it also helps to communicate about powers more secretly while they're at work.

"I'm actually here about that," he mouths, no sound coming out. "I need to get rid of a power that's been bothering me. You're the closest person here whose ability I can borrow."

Immediately, she offers her hand with a sympathetic face. Peter signs thank you, then reaches out with his mind set on absorbing sound manipulation.

Before their hands brush, he stops. Of course he's thought about this all day, so it's not like he's rushing into the choice. Abandoning this power is the selfless, right thing to do. The smart thing. Hesam doesn't need any further interruption in his life.

But what of Peter himself? He still senses every touch imprinted on his skin, still remembers how much that Hesam makes him feel more wanted than he has in his whole life. Their time together has been so whirlwind and brief, but it feels...meaningful.

Emma murmurs his name, covering his hand. Jumpy, Peter slips away, clambering out of the chair. He can't do it. His heart is overcoming his martyr complex here, he physically cannot let this power go. It hurts far too much, like he's ripping out a piece of himself. He wants more, wants to keep feeling how he does when he's around the other Hesam. There's no one in his life anymore, no attachments, no one to make him feel loved, but Hesam is a stone of promise in a field of desolation.

It's selfish but maybe he deserves this one. selfish. thing. All material possessions are gone. All company and free time and energy are either gone, or devoted to saving the world. He is a slave to his purpose but sometimes he'd like something nice to wake up to. A reason to keep going, to remind him of why it has to be me.

"I'm sorry," he replies weakly to Emma, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Changed my mind. I've still got to use it for some things. Sorry I bothered you, Emma..."

"Peter?" She still doesn't buy it, reaching out to him across the desk, but he's already headed towards the door. He has to leave now. Leave, and make amends for being selfish later.

xxx

It's another couple weeks before he jumps again, somewhere in his building's elevator. He steps in with an armful of freshly done laundry and steps out on the fourteenth floor, facing a hall that's freshly painted instead of old and cracked.

Peter sighs, heading to his room and knocking.

He does like coming here, but after the awkwardness of his last visit - and the sheer spontaneity of these visits - this power's gotten a bit annoying. At least he never jumps at work.

Hesam opens the door and smiles like last time hasn't happened, taking some laundry off Peter's hands. Peter thanks him quietly, grateful for not bringing up how abruptly Peter left before, despite the good intentions. Maybe there's something right about Hesam's claim, talking about how he needs someone like Hesam in his life. It's not a declaration of arrogance, just one of concern.

"How's life been for you?" Hesam calls from the bedroom. He emerges a second later, empty handed, and Peter has to smirk. Even an older, more mature Hesam won't be caught dead folding Peter's underwear. A crane of Peter's neck reveals that Hesam simply plopped the clothes in a pile on the bed.

"Uh, pretty boring," Peter replies, shrugging a little. Hesam approaches him, his expression frank, and Peter is momentarily confused about how to properly greet the other man. They've kissed, that one time, and Peter found it nice but he's not sure what that makes them now. Especially because Hesam seems to be in a relationship with another version of him, and Hesam doesn't treat either Peter differently.

Hesam makes the choice for him after a beat, pulling Peter into a tight embrace. Peter's happy with that for the time being, letting the other man call the shots. Usually Peter's the proactive one on their calls, Hesam always following Peter's lead because he doesn't like the pressure of instructing someone around. What a change.

Slapping Peter's cheek jas he pulls away, Hesam's still got that contagious and ever-present grin. "It's been about ten days since you came around. What about for you?"

"'Bout the same," Peter nods, automatically more comfortable with Hesam smiling at him so warmly. "Two weeks, or so. And...I'm sorry I left the way I did, that was-"

"Don't worry about it," Hesam shakes his head, catching that apology before it can finish. "Listen, I've been putting up with whatever your powers throw at me for years now, cause trying to make sense of them just gives me a headache. It sucks, but you're worth it." He shrugs. "This is just another one of those things."

Peter smiles back shyly, not quite knowing what to say. Hesam's tenderness and forgiveness both appear unconditional, or perhaps he's just used to the frantic life Peter leads. Peter has a brief thought of absurdity, wondering if Hesam's ever run into a Peter who's actually normal.

"I almost gave up the power," he admits, gaze leveling on Hesam's. "Couldn't do it. I like your company. You make me feel...different." God, he sounds so e-harmony clinical or some shit but it's the closest thing to the truth he can admit aloud. Getting to know his Hesam is too risky, too strange in their position. He can't exactly hop up in the truck one day and ask Hesam to dinner and a movie.

"Different?" Hesam quirks a grin, leaning against the counter.

Peter nods, looking at his hands. "In my time, I don't have much. I've got the job, but I don't really talk to people. I've barely noticed you and I've worked with you for nine months. I'm kinda starting to realize that...maybe I'm not being selfless. Maybe I'm just being an idiot. I mean, it's good to save people, and to do my job the way I do, but...I'm missing things I should be noticing. People who should be more important to me. Like you."

"I was just your chauffeur," the other man drawls. "You didn't owe me much."

"That's not true," Peter insists, approaching him. "Every time something's wrong with me, you notice. You always have my back. You don't question me, or doubt me, like the others do. I always saw this stuff but it never hit me how important it is. You're a great partner, Hesam. And I don't think I've ever even thanked you."

Hesam chuckles, burying one face in his hand. "Dude, that was my job. I never thought of thanking you either. You were the star paramedic, you knew what you were doing. Didn't need me."

"I couldn't have done it alone." Peter shakes his head. "Can't do it alone. Someone's gotta be behind the wheel, someone's gotta look over my shoulder and make sure I don't screw up. And mostly? Someone's gotta tell me it's okay when I fail."

Accepting Peter's words, or maybe just humoring him, Hesam beams and doesn't protest any more.

"Whatever you say, Peter. But if you feel all that, why aren't you out there hanging with him? He's the one who did all that shit, not me."

A bit of guilt claws inside Peter, for he doesn't have an entirely reasonable excuse.

"It's easier here," he admits, looking away. "Knowing that you're already familiar with me. You already...want me. I don't know how to approach you in my world. We've known each other long enough so that it'd be weird if I suddenly tried to act like your best friend." But if I get to know you here, maybe I'll figure out how to do it. And we can be happy in the real world.

Hesam tilts his head, seeming a bit confused. "Never really considered myself unapproachable."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Peter amends quickly. "But you know, its been awhile since you asked me to hang with the guys and stuff. I feel like you've kind of given up on me, being social at least."

Of course, it's so much more than that. His Hesam doesn't make him feel quite as loved as this one does. Sure, the real Hesam is nice to Peter and obviously gives a damn, but it's not the same. Whatever special thing will grow between them doesn't exist yet in the real world - but it exists for this Hesam. And this Hesam already shares it with Peter. Maybe it's greedy, but Peter's already addicted to this shared world and their shared time. He's addicted to this Hesam.

"So, have you eaten yet?" Hesam asks, rising up. "In your time?" He adds a little wink when he emphasizes your, almost like Peter's come from a different time zone instead of a different space-time continuum.

"Uh, no." He shrugs, trying to remember the last time he actually did. "It's my day off. I was gonna grab a bite after putting up the laundry."

"Good." Hesam's already grabbing his coat and keys, straight to the point. "I know you're always in the mood for Greek."

xxx

The place they visit is called Manny's, and it'll soon become a habit. They come to frequent the restaurant at every visit, almost like the first stages of dating. Peter amusedly thinks of it this way, that he's dating a guy he met at work who may or may not be a spectre of his imagination, solely because he can't find out how to do it in real life. But the visits start breaking down boundaries too, start changing his entire perspective. Slowly but surely the label of 'coworker' starts slipping away, and Hesam just becomes a man.

Still, it's the little things Peter notices first. Like how Hesam's favorite order at Manny's a gyro and a beer. It's on Peter's eighth jump when he picks up on that, and also realizes they always sit at the same table. He likes trying different things on the menu each visit, but Hesam is a creature of habit. That's the same in both universes. Hesam's favorite sandwich is a BLT with no mayo and Peter knows it's because he wasn't allowed to have bacon for most of his life. Hesam's favorite soup is New England clam chowder and he'll try no other soup at all, not even Manhattan style. His favorite beer is Dos Equis and he utterly loathes liquor and the ugly way it goes down. Hesam is a guy who likes getting drunk but enjoys the process of it, the social aspect of it. Not knocking back alcohol to fry his brain alone.

Manny's is in Peter's normal world too, and for the most part it's the same. They serve Coke products in his verse, instead of Pepsi like in this one. The tables are lined with blue instead of green. There manager has a mustache in Peter's world and he's clean-shaven here. It's funny how that works, how they each bring things they know into this world, but none of it conflicts. It all fits neatly together like a perfectly carved puzzle, instead of little details not deciding what they want to be.

Peter still isn't sure how it all works, but he doesn't cripple his mind by trying to figure it all out. Hesam's approach to this aspect of life, so nonchalant about abilities, is already wearing off on him. Perhaps it's a good thing.

xxx

He gets off a shift and it's something like six at night. Reasonable for once, and he's feeling normal enough by the end of the day to hang around a bit. Emma's packing up her things in the file room and he stops by to chat for a bit, see how she's coming along with her ability. She asks him for coffee on his way out, but he has to make it a rain check. Making plans in his current state isn't quite wise. He's lost track of days and hours so hard now and he doesn't want to stand her up on accident.

The staff office is connected to the break room by a windowed partition. Peter goes to grab his things from his locker and hears voices through the thick glass. He frowns, looks up, and spies Hesam and Jackson arguing about something. The specific words are hard to make out but the tones say enough. Jackson is their boss and Hesam says enough about him in the truck to show his grief. Admittedly, no one really likes the guy - he's old and past his retirement date, doesn't take well to new suggestions. But Hesam is the last person Peter expects to go off so passionately.

He changes in the bathroom and when he goes back to his locker, Hesam is chilling on the cream-colored couch. Awkwardly, Peter greets him, but Hesam's smile is ordinary - mostly natural, slightly strained, as if he's nervous about something. This difference is the biggest one Peter's noticed between the two worlds - the way Hesam smiles. In the shared world, it's constantly there and always carefree. But this Hesam, who Peter knows a bit less, seems little more controlled. Like he runs through everything he thinks before he decides what face to make.

"You okay?" Peter dares to ask, storing his uniform away. "I heard you...talking."

Hesam's face flinches just slightly, before he waves a hand. "Ah yeah, man, it's all good. Jackson ignored my break request. I've got a wedding I need time off for."

Frowning, Peter thinks it's deeper than that but he refrains from meddling. "Yeah? Who's getting married?"

"Sister. It's her second marriage, actually." Peter's hand stops on his duffle bag. He didn't know Hesam has a sister.

"Well, hope it all works out," he replies absently, wondering what a female version of Hesam could look like. Nah, she's probably beautiful, and Peter can imagine Hesam being protective over her. At least enough to tear out Jackson over leave.

"Ditto." There's a hint of wryness that both Hesams have in common, and Peter basks in the familiarity of it. Still, Hesam's nonchalance around him is so bizarre compared to his fury around Jackson, just moments ago. Does the guy not need time to cool off? Peter always knew Hesam keeps different faces for different folks - thus his hospital reputation for being a bit of an ass. But for whatever reason, Peter's never seemed to cross Hesam's bad side.

He stuffs his wallet into his back pocket and flings his trench coat over his shoulder. The day started off hotter than he originally expected. Hesam's still sipping some coffee on the couch, seemingly cool and smiling, as if this moment here is his only solace before he has to go off and be an ass again. Like being an ass is so tiring. Peter isn't sure which face is for show anymore - grouchy Hesam or complacent Hesam. He decides, coupled with his experience with Bizarro Hesam, that they're both very much existent within the older man in some form.

Peter bids him goodbye and exits the break room, ignoring the idea that he alone has enough influence to morph Hesam like that.

xxx

"Breakfast in bed?"

Peter goes cross-eyed looking at the granola bar shoved in his face. His gaze then rises to Hesam's smirk. The older man pushes the Nutri-Grain closer.

"What did you expect, pancakes and eggs?" Hesam sets a knee on the edge of the bed, and tosses the granola bar onto the end table. "Who do you think you're living with?"

"Point," Peter agrees, drowsily sitting up in bed. He looks around, wondering what day it is. It feels like a Sunday, just from the way the light comes in or something. In his time it was Thursday though, and not his day off.

Rubbing his eyes, he attempts not to think of it. This place probably doesn't even have days. It's not even real. Or, at least, not even tangible.

"C'mon, let's go get breakfast together. There's a diner across the street." Hesam grabs his collar and pulls him into a powerful kiss, before laughing and pulling away. Peter licks his lips at the loss of contact, watching Hesam retreat from the bed.

"Sure you won't cook?"

Hesam just shoves his hands into his pockets, looking at Peter as if he's grown another head.

"Diner food is less likely to kill you."

xxx

The diner food turns out to be very unlikely to kill him. This is a new place Peter doesn't recognize, so it must be powerful enough in Hesam's memory to come entirely with him. The waiters know both their names, as well as Hesam's order, before he even speaks. Yet they can tell Peter's not from around here, or that he isn't predictable. For him, they stare, poised and ready to jot down whatever he pleases instead of making presumptions.

"We come here every Sunday," Hesam expounds once the waiter leaves. "Ever since I moved in."

"Why my place?" Peter frowns curiously, having honestly been wondering about that. "I mean, you had your own apartment, right? Why give that up?"

"Dude, you're a paramedic - you know what we make. Your place was definitely the lesser of two evils."

Peter snorts. His thumb idly wanders over the rim of his coffee, feeling the porcelain slide under his calloused skin. It feels so real, so acute. This shared world is definitely corporeal, even if he can't figure out how he ever gets here.

"Is that why you stick with me?" he mildly joshes. "You get a nice place out of it?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

Hesam winks with the poise of a man in love, and that's when Peter sees how much of a romantic he really is. Oh, Hesam tries to pretend like he's not with a plaster mold of macho and muscle and sarcasm. But underneath the cracked sheetrock is someone whose heart beats for love. Maybe Peter actually is the catalyst that brings out this side of Hesam - in both worlds. But that would assume that in his world, Hesam already...

Perhaps it's not a cognizant thing, then. Hesam's mannerisms around Peter reflect something that exists, not necessarily something they know. It takes a long time to fall in love. It's not a quick hit, an instant connection that punches you in the gut and takes you its captive. Infatuation happens that way, sure - just ask Simone and Caitlin, and maybe even Elle. But Peter has never before witnessed such a contentedness to be, to have, no matter what the method.

Just to be. And have. And be had.

xxx

They've spent the day together, lounging around the apartment and running some errands, and now they're ordering in. Both Hesam and Peter like Chinese food in any universe, and Hesam still refuses to "be a chick" and cook dinner for them. Like everything else Peter unveils about Hesam, he discovers the heteronormative attitude in gradual steps. It annoys him a little, how generalizing and even misogynistic Hesam can be. But he supposes it's just part of the package. If they were both hopeless romantics, they'd never get anything done. Hesam balances out his rose colored glasses with blunt cynicism, keeps this relationship real.

Peter grins at his plate, holding up a forkful of lo mein. "Do all your dates like take-out?"

Hesam snorts, but a blush climbs up his dark skin and his eyes can't stay locked on Peter's face. "The only stuff me and my dates ever seem to eat is between each others' legs."

Cringing at that imagery, it dawns on Peter that they've never actually talked about their romantic histories yet. The one thing they've left to share.

"I wasn't far from that," Peter answers, pausing. "In college."

Now Hesam's chuckling, burying his mortified face. "I guess I'm doing it backwards then, huh? I was all about religion and purity in college."

"What? You?" It's hard to imagine Hesam, who's already implied his atheism a few times before, being devout about anything. And especially not pure.

"Well, I've told you about my family a bit, yeah? You know how they were. I was still their son then. It wasn't until I was almost your age that I grew out of it, found my own way."

"You say that like it was so long ago." Peter smirks.

"Feels like it." Hesam's voice goes a little serious. "A lot's happened in ten, fifteen years."

Peter tries to think where he was fifteen years ago - ninth grade. Not a lot of help, really. But even the past couple years, going from a boy who could think he could fly to a man who saves lives daily...a pretty extraordinary point A to point B.

"Anyway, what about those dates?" he presses, flashing Hesam a charming face. "Didn't want to settle down?"

"Nope." Hesam bluntly states, frowning. "Parents wanted me to settle down and give them grandchildren so I kind of went against that entirely."

"Forty year old rebellious teenager."

"Yeah, just about."

Peter shakes his head, having to smile. "And they told me I got stunted."

"Hey, at least I've had a steady job. You didn't even know what you wanted to do with your life."

"I was waiting to grow super powers," Peter defends himself, serious. "And it happened, and then everything worked out."

"Good thing you were right about thinking you could fly."

"Definitely."

The banter continues all the way through dinner, and somehow it keeps going back to Hesam's number of sexual partners. It somewhat entertains Peter and somewhat disparages him that Hesam has been around New York so much. Especially surprising is how many were women. Not that Hesam strikes him as disliking women, especially with how straight-acting he tries to be, but his passion and experience when it comes to Peter betrays him. Peter's idly assumed that Hesam just gets with anyone he wants and is good at everything, not really having a preference one way or the other.

They put up dishes and flip off the kitchen light, cascading the apartment in darkness. A bit of glow comes from the open windows, New York substituting as their candlelight. Out of the darkness Hesam swoops in close to Peter, sharing the same air and body heat, their knees brushing against one another.

Hesam's fingers very lightly tracing the rough bulge of Peter's belt buckle, before Peter pulls him close into a kiss. Maybe Hesam's dozens of other partners fell for the seduction technique too but he doesn't care. Peter knows he's the one that's been chosen, really chosen, and he's taking what's being offered. After weeks of trials and trips and dates and crossing spatial dimension to spend time with this man, he's completely lost the perception of 'coworker.' This is his partner, his real partner, not just a term applied ironically to their jobs by fate.

Clothes unzip and unbutton and fall away before Hesam covers him like a blanket of warm skin, nipping at his collar and throat. It begins like every other first time in his life - a little awkward, a little tentative, and too passionate for its own good.

And a little too movie-quality-quaint.

"Were we this cliche the first time you were with me?" he asks, pinching Hesam's bicep. The older man props himself up to look Peter in the face and lets out an amused noise, clearly thinking the exact sentiment.

"The first time was us fucking against the soda machine in the break room," he finally answers, completely serious.

Off Peter's stunned expression, Hesam's face breaks. "Kidding, I swear. That was the third time. And just a blow job."

He resumes the body worship, rocking his hips gently against Peter's. Peter bites his lip to kill a moan as he tries to force out a reply.

"Can't believe we were that stupid," he grits, trying to ignore how good Hesam makes his body feel. He's getting the last word on this, dammit.

"Ha, it wasn't stupid, it was fun. We didn't get caught. So when you finally shove your Hesam up against the soda machine-"

"Wait, you're saying I started it?"

Hesam doesn't justify Peter's outburst with a response. Instead, he pulls Peter's thigh close to his hip, exposing him and increasing the friction. Peter goes limp, mouth frozen in a silent gasp, Hesam confident and controlled above him.

Peter's leg gets set back down again and Hesam shifts, reaching for the end table drawer. He further explains, "Our first time was actually at Christmas. You dragged me to your mom's house for the holidays. So, you pretty much owed me a fuck by then."

Peter laughs weakly, because it so damn true. Christmas at Petrelli Mansion sucks, and a couple years of having Claire with them - and them sharing pained expressions across the dinner table - proves it.

"Not under the tree?" he asks, strained. All ten fingers dig marks into Hesam's hips.

"Guest bed, locked door. The most ordinary thing you've done in your life."

"Can't wait." And he means it - for then, and for now. Hesam is so close to him right now, their legs so tangled he doesn't know if they can be undone. He doesn't care if the future has been spoiled. He can always think of something new to do with his Hesam, something to surprise the both of them. Who says he can't change his own fate, especially since it might not even be his future that Hesam comes from?

Hesam's finger presses against his lips - we'll talk about this later - and he continues to work his way down Peter's body. Just like their first kiss, Hesam's touches are skilled and knowledgeable, while Peter's explore and discover. They know a lot about each other now though, have fallen into a comfort zone that makes this warm and new instead of uncomfortable and strange.

Because somewhere between that first kiss and now, Peter started assuming that Hesam is his future.

xxx

Peter opens his eyes to darkness hours later, the clock registering some ungodly time in the middle of the night. He shifts, licking his dry lips and trying to figure out where he is.

Hesam lies to his right, an arm slung over Peter's waist and face buried in his neck. And he's not asleep either, instead mouthing softly at the skin of Peter's throat, running over the jugular with the tip of his tongue

Still here, Peter thinks, but he doesn't care just yet. And groping me in my sleep. His mind thrums with the feel of Hesam touching him so lightly but so intimately, culminating with the large hand rubbing circles on his stomach.

He moves and Hesam stops, raising his charmingly guilty face. "Woke you."

Peter stares at how his teeth are really white, even in the dark. "S'okay."

Hesam sees that as permission to continue, so he kisses Peter's jaw and works his way down to his collar, scratching his fingers lightly along Peter's torso. The empath moans quietly, too sore and tired to reciprocate. He's happy to drift back to sleep to the feel of worship instead.

xxx

He's waiting in the truck, eyes closed, recalling his trip yesterday with both fondness and awe. Hesam probably got held up by paperwork or traffic but that's okay. The more Peter can sit back and relive all those moments in his head...

"Damn Cindy." The grumble is accompanied by a door slam as Hesam climbs into the driver's seat. "Sorry, she started talking to me and wouldn't let me leave."

Peter watches him start the ambulance, his eyes unblinking. He dreaded this a little bit, cause common sense says it's awkward. But being in the moment, being here with Hesam isn't something he could have prepared for. He's staring upon the man who he's given everything to, someone whose given him everything in return.

And Hesam doesn't even know.

"Oh?" he forces out, processing the statement. "You coulda told her you had a shift."

"Nah, it was protocol stuff. You know how she is."

"Yeah."

Cindy's head file clerk, and the queen of 'protocol.' Paramedics tend to fall into bad habits - or at least paramedics like Hesam - when filling out their paperwork. Abbreviating abbreviations, scribbling in handwriting that's even more unrecognizable than the doc's, etc. Frankly, Peter is surprised it took this long for her to rip Hesam a new one.

It takes him a moment to realize Hesam's staring at him, a thoughtful frown marring his features. He opens his mouth as if to ask something like, are you okay? But then he closes it and shakes his head, looking out the window instead. Part of it breaks Peter's heart, knowing that Hesam has given up on him so much that he won't even inquire to Peter's well-being anymore.

"Something happened," he blurts out. Of course he won't share it, he can't begin to share it, especially when Hesam doesn't even know about powers. But maybe he can be vague or something, and he knows Hesam won't press for things that Peter doesn't want to give. He knows he doesn't have to worry about that with Hesam, which is what makes him such a good friend. He doesn't have to worry about anything with Hesam.

The Persian's eyes immediately lock onto Peter's. "You wanna talk about it?" The surprise in his voice is nearly amusing.

Still, he's mostly full of that hesitant concern. Just like always.

"I..." Peter scrunches his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I don't know, man. It's just this...person I've kind of been getting involved with. It's stupid, I shouldn't bug you with it."

Making a noncommittal noise, Hesam looks back out the window again. "I've had a few of those."

"I think I've gotten really attached is all." Peter sighs, dropping his hand. "I'm not really in the position to make it work either."

He lets Hesam believe it's work related for now. Better that then the whole we're from different dimensions and times thing.

"Eh. If it's worth it, you'll figure something out." Hesam shrugs. "If not, it isn't worth pursuing."

Not exactly the best advice given the circumstances, but Peter isn't looking for Hesam's advice. He's trying to prove that he cares what Hesam thinks, that he wants to open himself to Hesam's comfort. Because even now, looking at his idling partner sip at some coffee and fiddle with the radio, Peter's mind is still in last night. How can he ever look at Hesam again without thinking of how soft his lips are running across Peter's skin; about all the freckles and birthmarks that pepper his decades old skin, years and years of exposure to the sun and this job and other lovers?

How can he ever forget how Hesam's face twists when he comes?

"It's worth pursuing," Peter mutters firmly, grabbing his own coffee and settling back into the seat cushion.

xxx

Over time, the power changes and shifts, introducing new methods and secrets to Peter. It's not activated just by sleep anymore. A change between both universes happens so quickly that he's not sure where one stops and the other begins. His days become whirlwind half and halves, flip flopping from one continuum to the next effortlessly. It's a bit confusing sometimes, and he's lost track of what day or year or month it is in either time.

Location has become a wash as well. He'll go to his kitchen to fetch Hesam a water, and his living room will turn into Mercy. And when he crosses the threshold between his kitchen and the ER, he's back in his own verse, in his uniform, and everyone acts like it's fine and dandy.

Trippy, Peter thinks, looking down at the bottle of water that's still clutched in his hand.

Now he's really given up on figuring out how this works.

xxx

They settle into bed like an old married couple, which amuses the both of them still. Peter's already in his spot - right side, near the AC instead of the alarm - when Hesam comes in from the bathroom. He winks at Peter for no real reason and it warms Peter's insides, but it also evokes that nagging question to bite him in the ass once again.

One of these things is not like the other.

Hesam in the real world is keeping something. He always looks on edge about that one thing which eludes Peter's perception, an off-screen conflict that can only be resolved by asking. But how does one ask for a man to spill his heart? He can't with his own Hesam, not when the wounds are so fresh and current. But perhaps this Hesam is past it, can reflect on it without pause...

It's killing Peter, not knowing what it is.

"Can I ask you something?" he asks cautiously. Peter's fists clench into the covers pooling at his waist, anchoring him to this moment. He has to approach it right. "About the other you."

Hesam shrugs, even when the micro-expressions in his face tense up. "Uh..sure, yeah. Don't know how much help I am."

Peter nods and takes a deep breath, trying to decide where to begin. "Well, okay. In the past few weeks I've sort of watched him, and spent time with you, and there's things that are different, that I'm noticing."

"Okay..." Hesam says. "That's called aging."

"Well, yeah, but it's not all like that. I mean some things are obvious, like how you don't get grouchy here like you do there." Peter scratches the back of his head. "But over there, you always seem like you've got this invisible weight pushing down on your shoulders. You think about everything before you say it, you...smile, but it takes a second, like you have to decide whether or not to do it. You're a friendly guy but it's not natural. Something bothers you all the time, and I want to ask you about it, there, but I can't find a way. Especially since it's his present. I dunno, it worries me and I want to help."

There's no facade on Hesam's face right now. He's gone blank, staring at Peter in a way which only the original Hesam does. Like he's pulling together his thoughts. Peter has brought It back, the secret, and he starts to regret asking it at all.

"If you don't want to talk-" Peter starts, but Hesam cuts him off with a raised hand.

"No. No, I'll tell you. Just gimme a minute."

Hesam sits on the edge of the bed, only half turned to Peter. He blows out a huge breath and closes his eyes, seemingly meditating, or perhaps just gathering his courage.

"Back around that time, I remember how falling for you was...hard." He licks his lips, still speaking in deathly slow syllables. "I wasn't used to it. I was scared of it. And for a good few years all I wanted was for it to go away. You weren't what I thought I needed."

His voice alone haunts Peter's heart, filling him with immeasurably empathy for both Hesams. Peter's knuckles hurt from the grip on the sheets but he's far more distracted by his thoughts.

"I had to break you to be with me," Peter realizes through one horrible statement.

So Hesam wasn't happy with him, wasn't happy to have an interest in him. How can he deal with such a burden? He didn't ask for this, he doesn't know how to fix...

Hesam doesn't object to what Peter said, trailing off into nothing. Peter touches his arm. Perhaps this Hesam was put through months and months of internal hell, but Peter has the chance to change the future. He vows to himself, right now, the he'll help make his own Hesam happy in any way possible. And apparently, that means letting him go. Peter would rather sacrifice his newfound happiness with this man than to shoehorn him into a relationship that he wants no part of.

"We turned out okay," Hesam comments weakly, trying to seem cheerful.

It only makes Peter cringe. But I'm not worth your hurt.

xxx

Fuck, it's loud.

Peter groans, trying to move but finding his limbs are too heavy. The sluggish, familiar feeling of anesthetic weighs down his entire system, from his arms and legs to his eyelids and toes.

Even his tongue feels swollen and numb. "Whas...wasgoinon?"

A man shushes him and touches his shoulder, telling him something generic that his mind totally misses. This has to be his original 'verse right? Cause the last thing he remembers is falling asleep with Hesam in their bed so there's no way...

"He's conscious," says another man, and Peter's getting worried. He senses motion now, and that he's laying down, and that it's loud because he's in the hospital and there's too much stuff going on. A gurney, maybe, and he senses a persistent sting in his arm now that's gotta be an IV.

"Hesam," he moans pathetically, not even knowing which one he's calling for. Peter forces his eyes to open but they snap immediately shut from the bright lights. Why does the ER have to be so damn bright, what's happening to him, why is he in this-

"Shh, Peter man, I'm right here." And it's Hesam and the voice alone makes Peter ache with relief. "You're sick, you collapsed. We're taking you in to be looked at. You just need to sleep now okay?"

Before he can answer, he feels a gas mask cover his mouth and his mind gives up the fight to stay awake.

He jolts awake in the limbo world as if from a nightmare, chest heaving and skin clammy. And then he feels something else - a hand on his back.

Hesam says his name and doesn't pull the hand away, trying to calm him with the touch alone. He doesn't ask questions but his face is concerned, eyes scanning over Peter as if looking for damage.

Eventually Peter gets his wits about him and lays back again, pulling Hesam with him. The older man wraps an arm over Peter's front, still silent.

"I went home," Peter finally explains. His voice is quiet but he wonders how harsh it sounds right against Hesam's ear. He recounts the whole experience -the IV, the gurney, the sickness, and Hesam putting him back to sleep – before he realizes his eyes are wet with horror.

"Maybe it was a bad dream," Hesam suggests, his voice small. "If it was so quick..."

Peter lets out a grim noise, wiping at his eyes. His whole face feels wet. His whole body feels sticky and raw. "Maybe this is a dream I'm having to cope with being sick," he points out despairingly, prompting a slight scowl from Hesam.

"I'm not a figment of your imagination, Peter." Hesam sighs, heavy against Peter's cheek. "Look, see, I'm holding you. I'll pinch you if I have to. I'm as real as you are." And then, the heavy hitter. "Trust me."

Eventually Peter nods, staring at the ceiling and the furniture and focusing on the smells and looks and sounds and feels. This is real. No mirage can get this perfect.

"I believe you," Peter finally says, savoring the way Hesam's arms feels across his bare shoulders. It's so normal now, so ordinary and mundane for them, but back in his own world it's still a bizarre sight. "But this still isn't a way to live. Not really. We can't spend our lives meeting here, I can't keep this power forever, and you have another life you have to live and I-"

Pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead, Peter feels his skull throb with confusion and hurt. I feel like we're running out of time.

"You're right," Hesam agrees a little reluctantly, his hand dropping from Peter's back. Peter shivers without the warmth, looking down at the hands in Hesam's lap with envy. "But you know, you've got a me over there too, right? You can do without me here, it wouldn't be the end of the world. I told you I'd help you, but...I had a feeling I'd have to let you go some day."

He's taken that tone he always takes when he's in denial. Because even though Hesam's voice stays casual and carefree, his eyes tell the real story. Through the darkness of their bedroom Peter can tell how haunted they look, how scared. Hesam doesn't want to lose him anymore than Peter wants to lose Hesam. By now, Hesam recognizes a difference between his lovers, and maybe Peter reminds him of younger days. It's not as simple as a toy that Hesam has at home, and doesn't need to play with here anymore. He loves them both, now, differently and seperatly.

Peter has to laugh, sadly. "It's not the same, Hes. Not like this, not a you that wants me back." At least Hesam can go home to that, home to a Peter who loves him just the same. Peter gets to go home to a coworker who's a few years younger than this and a lifetime more indifferent.

Hesam struggles, gaze cast downward now. His lips part as if he wants to speak, but he finds the words troubling.

"Peter..." It makes Peter turn in the sheets, facing Hesam more properly. Hesam doesn't glance up. "What I said, before bed. About the beginning."

"Yeah." Peter frowns, not getting how this is relevant again. "That's my point, that's why I don't want to say anything. I don't want to put you through that pain in my world, I don't want to make you choose between me and your happiness."

Hesam finally looks at him, his expression amused and sleepy. "Dude. You are my happiness. I was miserable when I was keeping it a secret."

The concept doesn't hit Peter straight away. It takes a moment, the words seeping into his brain before-

"Secret? What, what do you mean? How long was it a secret?"

The joviality in Hesam's face grows dim, and Peter knows he's approaching something that is about to faze his normally relaxed partner.

"Since I met you."

The empath closes his eyes, laying back against the headboard and replaying the last year and a half through his mind. Since I met you. Every call. Every trip to the break room. Every hello and goodbye and instruction. Every time Hesam has ever looked at him, said his name, even thought of his face, it's been with feelings he's kept restrained under the most iron security. For eighteen months, he's suffered quietly.

Peter can't prevent the pain for his Hesam because it's already happened – is happening – sheerly by him having entered Hesam's life.

"I'm sorry," is all he can offer, though he knows deep down he's not sorry. Hesam's feelings are the most wonderful thing to hit him since learning how to fly. And this Hesam seems to know that too, chuckling again.

"It was only bad until you asked me out," he explains, smiling nostalgically. "I totally rejected you the first time. I was scared, I thought you were playin' around with me, so I still kept all those guards up. And then in the very beginning, I guess I was still kinda edgy about the whole thing. Didn't want to seem needy, or like I was too into it. Didn't want you to understand how deep it went.

"But I got over it, learned to trust you. We're happy now, that's what's important." He sighs, rubbing the back of his hair. And very quietly, looking at the sheets and overcome with a foreign timidness, Hesam adds, "You're pretty much the best thing to ever happen to me, Peter."

Peter really isn't sure what to say to that. What can he say? He's had nice things in his life, can't really compare them to Hesam in that way...but he knows Hesam is the best thing to happen to him in a while, at least. He shakes the thoughts away, trying to focus on Hesam, and what effort it took for his friend and partner to say that aloud.

Leaning, he presses a kiss to Hesam's mouth, then pulls away quicker than it began. "I feel like you're more real than him," he admits, now that their days together are numbered. "I know you better. What's what makes him though? Are you really the same person?"

"You always ask me these things," Hesam laughs, strained. "I'm just the normal guy, remember?"

Peter smiles, sadly. "Yeah, you're here to make things easier on me." He sighs, folding himself into Hesam's embrace. He's not usually this clingy, this touchy feely - Hesam seems to think it's girly to hold each other. But when they haven't got much time left, Peter throws pride away.

"What if I don't come back?" he murmurs, nails sinking into Hesam's skin. The man shrugs beneath him, though Peter feels a shudder accompany it.

"Maybe you're not supposed to." he answers quietly.

Peter tries to reply but he's too panic-stricken, nuzzling into Hesam's neck instead. Fatigue overcomes him and he hates that, hates that he's slipping against his will. Yet that's how it goes. He's not allowed to straddle both worlds, and he doesn't even get a choice in which one he wants to stay.

His hold on Hesam only loosens when sleep pulls him away.

xxx

A hand holds his, the grip warm and fierce. Peter stirs, his eyelids heavy, fingers flexing in the other's grasp.

"Peter?" Hesam's voice. It must be breakfast time. Peter's lips try to smile but it hurts to move his face.

"Mmm...'Smm?" Damn, his tongue is thick and his throat is swollen too. It's so bright in here, a lot brighter than his bedroom should be.

The steady hum and beeps of very familiar machinery shouldn't be in his bedroom either.

"You know where you are?"

Peter scrunches up his eyes, refusing to open them. "Home," he replies hopefully, losing the 'H' with his slurred speech.

Hesam's hand moves to his wrist, thumb tracing a vein. "Ahh, no, man. You're at work. You're real sick, we had to bring you into one of the rooms. I dunno if you remember collapsing. We were over in Queens, that job at about two am. All the bars had just let out."

Some of the descriptions Peter absorbs. Others go straight through one ear and out the other. The drugs work too well for him to care why he's here. He just wants to know where he is, and accepting that this is a hospital bed...

"We're not sure where you picked it up," Hesam continues, his voice gentle and steady so Peter can process each word. "They think it's got a long incubation period though, so it must have been weeks back. Probably when you first took off that sick day. We're gonna get you all fixed up though, alright? Doc's got you on some pretty nice meds right now. They know how to treat this."

He doesn't need to open his eyes to know Hesam is lying, that Hesam is worried. And most of all, that the meds aren't working. He's been around alternate Hesam long enough to tell when the other is lying, to hear it in his voice, and that's not the type of thing that changes over universes.

Peter weakly mouths the word 'liar', hearing his heart monitor moving sluggish and far too slowly. Damn, he's in a bad spot.

Hesam continues the info dump, and Peter continues to avoid hearing it. Except for something about his family, something about - "your mom and niece are coming by in a few hours. We called them, and I think the niece has to fly in from DC but they'll be here soon. I can't remember, they told it to me so fahrmggng..." The sound of Hesam's voice twists and blurs, as Peter can only focus on one thing right now. And that one thing is Claire.

Claire can heal him, cure him of whatever sickness eats away at his body. He'll take her power and...lose the other.

What once was a choice is now inevitable. He'll lose the ability to travel soon, the ability to see Hesam. He'll lose Hesam. Before, he thought giving up that power would be the easy way out, and fuck, maybe he should have ditched it before he got in this deep. Becoming attached to the other Hesam is asking for pain, he should have known better. They both should have known.

He groans, gripping Hesam's hand, which has never left his own. This Hesam doesn't understand, can't understand what he's so upset about. But while Hesam never asks too many questions, never knows much info about Peter, he's never been short on care. Another hand runs over Peter's forehead, brushing over his hair, and its that silent sign of affection that gives Peter hope.

Since I met you.

"I'm off shift now," Hesam comments, patting Peter on the cheek. "I'm gonna stay with you until your ladies get here, okay? So you won't be alone."

If only, Peter thinks mournfully, trying to go to sleep for one last goodbye.

xxx

It feels like finality in every single way.

When he wakes up in Hesam's arms he's already weeping openly, covering his eyes with one hand in a useless attempt to make it stop. He doesn't want to be this pitiful and weak and sappy in front of Hesam, any Hesam, even a Hesam that loves him, but then he remembers that after this there will be no Hesam he can really be with.

So Peter sobs harder.

Hesam lets him, for the first couple minutes, maybe understanding that kind of heartbreak. But after awhile Hesam punches him in the shoulder, cups his jaw with both hands. Their faces are close and Hesam's almost looks angry, or maybe just defiant and stubborn.

"You're not gonna do that. Not ever, not with me." With almost no effort he drags Peter to his feet and guides him to the coffee table, where Peter's Nikes rest in the corner. "Put on your shoes, we're going to Manny's"

Peter looks at him, aghast through tears. Nasally, he asks, "Manny's? Why? I don't want to eat, Hesam, I want to talk to you. I want to be with you."

"You'll do both. Put on your shoes. We're gonna grab some beer and have a good meal. Just like always."

And in that moment, Peter realizes why he's fallen so hard for Hesam. Because despite having no powers, no advantages, and being as ordinary as dirt, Hesam has one of the most firm and rock steady moral compasses that Peter's ever witnessed. This guy would fight for anything he believes in with his bare fists and million to one odds. Peter is sure that Hesam would even stand up to Sylar, stupid and stubborn as that is.

He puts on his shoes in silence, and forgets about his tears.

xxx

Food is the same as always, and so is the layout of the restaurant. Sometimes Peter comes here after work in the real world and sits at their table. He orders the stuff Hesam usually gets and eats in silence, staring at the empty space where his newfound lover usually kicks back. He hurts thinking on it, just like it did in those very moments, and it hurts even more when he realizes that eating gyros alone at this restaurant is going to be the rest of his future.

Because he's never seeing this Hesam again. At least not for many, many years, and that's not a guarantee.

Peter closes his eyes and takes another sip of water. Normally he'd grab a Sam Adams or something but he doesn't want to blur his senses and forget about any of this. He doesn't want to lose control over the ability and send himself home too soon. He just wants to pretend like this is a normal fucking day.

Hesam brushes their hands over the plastic table, grinning a bit secretly. The rim of the beer runs over his lips as he takes a small swig, then sets the drink back down. It pulls a smile out of Peter, taking him away from his morose thoughts and bringing him back to the man in front of him.

"How long has it been since you saw me?" he asks mildly, pulling apart some of his souvlaki.

Hesam shrugs, leaning back like he's the most mellow dude on Earth. "Longer than usual. Maybe a couple months." He takes another sip of beer but makes sure Peter pays attention this time, flashes the platinum band on his left hand when he gingerly puts the bottle in its place. A bit sheepishly he adds, "A lot's happened."

"Guess so," Peter replies, feeling a little dumb. He's not sure whether to act jealous or enlightened, that he and Hesam shared this but Peter himself doesn't get to experience it. He supposes he's jealous of his other self, wishes they could switch places. But then, he'd feel too dismal about making Hesam's Peter, who was always heard of but never seen in this universe, never see his partner again. "When did you decide to do that?"

Shrugging again, Hesam replies. "Sort of spur of the moment. I mean, we've been talking about it forever, and we practically are anyway. Your mom, and Claire came by, we got it done in a courthouse and stuff. Real basic, no frills."

"I'm happy for you," Peter says honestly, albeit sadly. He is happy, happy that in some space or time, he and Hesam have each other. More power to that Peter.

"Be happy for you." Hesam nudges his foot, winking. "It's your life too, someday."

Peter hopes he's right, because that's the only thing getting him through his meal right now. That someday, all this will be his, and real.

xxx

They're on the very familiar living room couch and Peter's fighting to stay awake. His feet are propped up on Hesam's lap, the other man idly rubbing at his calves, his neck straining on the headrest.

"After all that time," Hesam says out of the blue, his voice low. "I wasn't sure you'd be coming back."

Peter looks down at his hands and wraps one gently around Hesam's wrist, stilling the stroking movements. "I won't be, after this. I'm really sick on the other side. You're staying with me when I'm asleep in the hospital bed. They're not sure what it is, but the meds aren't working, and Claire has to come give me her healing."

I'll lose the ability to meet with you. Forever.

"I'm sorry," he adds quietly, squeezing Hesam's wrist and sitting up so they can meet at eye level. Hesam doesn't reply, but he does turn over his arm and lace their fingers, the warm chrome ring digging into Peter's palm.

After a moment, Hesam speaks. "Me too. I was a pushy ass when you got here today. I should have been nicer, but I didn't want to waste any time. I haven't seen you in so long, I wondered if this is that last time I'd get to." He lets out a breath, surprisingly peaceful. "Turns out, it is."

Peter looks down at their hands, at the ring. "Are you happy? Not here with me, but with the other me. That's got to count for something."

The Persian man grows quiet again for another string of long moments, tied together by shallow breaths. Peter can spy him glancing at the ring too, still shiny from its newness.

"It counts for everything," he softly replies, uncharacteristically sombre. "Those weird powers make it rough, and the secrets, and all the things about you I just don't understand. But you do make me happy, Peter. Both of you. Any of you. Just existing."

Peter's eyes are growing wet but everything else remains steady, unflinching against the reality that's now upon him. Their shared place is dissolving and so is he. He can't keep a foot in both worlds any longer, not when he's deteriorating so much in The Real World. His sickness has ruined his footing and it's like a grappling hook's got his insides, yanking him back home.

Rushing, Peter scoots closer and touches Hesam's face, pulling him in for an desperate and clumsy parting kiss.

"I miss you," he says miserably, already feeling that sinking weight in his gut, that barbed wire wrapping around his lungs. Sheer unadulterated pain.

Hesam merely smiles, not a trace of sadness anymore. "You've got me, man."

xxx

Peter opens his eyes and immediately closes them, the whiteness of this room burning his vision. He's jolted up in bed, IV and monitors tugging at his skin from being yanked, and Hesam already fusses at him to lay back and calm the fuck down.

"Whoa! Breath Peter, you've got me. Here, lay back."

Peter blearily finds a way to open his eyes, Hesam's face filling his sight. The older man looks exhausted, wearing a loose version of his uniform. His short-sleeved white shirt has half it's buttons undone and the bottom untucked from his pants. He's wearing an undershirt that dark skin shows through, and his beard is clearly a few days grown out.

"Your family's here, okay?" Hesam rambles on, handing him a small cup of water. Peter tries to take it but his hands are shaking too hard, so Hesam's fingers cover his and help guide the cup to his lips. The water stings his sore throat but it cools his insides, knocking off the feverish feeling that's clamming up his skin. "You got them and me, we're not going anywhere."

From Peter's other side, a set of small arms fiercely embrace him. He turns his head and gets a mouthful of blonde hair, chuckling weakly. Another hand, more leathery and frail, brushes back his bangs. They're both babbling cries of relief, afraid that he'd never wake up from the coma (a coma, what?) and Hesam somehow finds a way to get a word in edgewise.

"I'm gonna let you guys have some time to yourselves for a bit. Gotta go tell the doc you've woken up, Pete." He grabs a clipboard from atop one of the machines and turns towards the door, but Peter reaches out a hand.

"Hesam, wait up." At the sound of his voice, Hesam immediately turns around.

Three people stare at Peter in expectant silence, as he tries to find how to say what he wants to. At first all he can do is stare at Hesam, and how much younger he looks here, but how he still looks a little too tense and uncomfortable. He thinks about all the feelings Hesam is pushing down right at this very second, just to remain civil and not fuck anything up between them.

Peter doesn't want him to live like this anymore.

"Claire, Ma, I dunno if you talked much but...I want you to meet my partner Hesam. Without him I probably wouldn't be here." He offers Hesam a small smile, but knows he doesn't catch the double meaning. Not yet. "Thanks, man. Saved my life."

Hesam smiles back, a few of his defenses cracking. Peter catches Claire give Hesam a wide grin and Angela make a neutral noise of what sounds like approval.

"Woulda done the same for me," Hesam replies, nodding at both women before finally ducking out to grab a doctor. Claire immediately sits beside Peter and offers her hand, giving him a knowing look.

"C'mon, take it before they come back in. They know I can heal but they don't know you can take it so, I figure we can just leave what I'm capable of to their imaginations." She winks, nudging him a little, but the desperation in her voice remains.

Peter licks his lips and stares at her open palm, knowing what it will mean. The old man with this power died and Peter is now the last remaining carrier. At least, that he knows of. He will probably never encounter this ability again, and if he did, who knows what the results would be. Goodbye meant goodbye. He will never see the man he's grown to know again.

That's not quite true though, a more positive voice protests. For he looks out through the glass partition, seeing Hesam talking to a doc out in the hall. Hesam is right here, has been here all along. It only took a stolen power and a few trips across space and time to realize what's been under his nose for months. Perhaps Hesam isn't as good at hiding his feelings as Peter originally suspected, perhaps it's been obvious. This whole ordeal has just made him look for it.

Content, Peter slides his hand into Claire's and leeches out the healing through a crackle of orange spark. The sickness instantly fades from his system along with the other power, trading a love for health. After all, he does surmise, he can't really have anyone if he dies, can he?

Claire tilts her head and places her hand on his shoulder, almost becoming an empath by proximity. "You look sad," she observes wisely, giving him a concerned gaze.

Peter glaces up and meets those green eyes, smiling with a little bit of ease. "Not sad, not really. I just lost a good power, is all."

Ma's saying something about powers coming and going and nature but Peter can't hear it right now. Instead he looks out the partition again, where Hesam watches with crossed arms and a small smile. Peter catches him and smiles back, and for the first time can see how this man will turn into the Hesam he really knows.

xxx

The hospital lets him use the big employee showers a couple hours later. It feels good to wash off the grime of being sick, of not having a real shower in at least a couple days. He lets his mind go blank, focusing on nothing but the hot water soothing his skin, getting the grease out of his hair.

Hesam comes in a few minutes later though, clearly with the same idea. He says nothing, just gives Peter a nod, looking equally as disheveled and beaten as Peter did a few minutes before. Peter wonders if it's been a couple days since Hesam changed his clothes, or left the hospital at all, having stayed by Peter's bedside for most of the ordeal.

Peter turns back to his jet, hearing Hesam turn on the shower one stall over. Each stall is spacious and fairly modest and they've been in this position before. Their shifts begin and end at the same times, so eating, changing, and showering usually lines up as well.

Hesam's presence lets his mind drift back to his entire power experience though. The doctors debriefed him on his illness after he was lucid, and they hadn't been at all surprised by his recovery with Claire there. After all, Claire's publicly known for her ability, so were no questions were asked. The mundanes don't need to know how it all worked, or that Claire can only self-heal. Peter gladly left them to their assumptions.

Apparently he'd caught some long-term virus, which could incubate and show symptoms for weeks before it finally ravaged his health. Fever, aches, all that was common closer to the breaking point, but they'd also suggested that mild hallucinations were a common early symptom, and sometimes undetectable by the host with their seemingly normal presence.

Peter can't help but wonder, naturally, whether it was all just in his head. Jumping universes and meeting another Hesam could hardly be considered a "mild" mirage, and everything there felt real. He could smell Hesam, taste his skin, feel the sweat rolling down his own back when they slept together. The mind is brilliant but there's no way he could have made all that up, acted it out, had no one notice.

Peter also remembers Hesam's insistence – his desperate, bloody insistence – that everything they had was real. And virus or not, he trusts Hesam with everything.

Hesam is still real too, his dark skin collecting droplets one stall over. Peter looks away but keeps glancing back until he can catch Hesam stealing glances at him, and God it's so obvious now, he wants to laugh really hard. Hesam has been here this whole time, pining and hiding it and brushing off any advances, but Peter's been distracted enough to not notice.

Peter wonders if Hesam realizes this, if Hesam finds safety and perhaps amusement in it. Like he knows that Peter is so wrapped up with work that he'd never catch on.

The next time he catches Hesam glancing over, he makes sure to create eye contact, refusing to look away. Hesam goes sheepish but tries to cover it up, awkwardly rubbing his hand over the back of his scalp and ducking his head in the other direction. Peter loves knowing better, letting out a satisfied chuckle.

"Like the scenery?" he teases towards the back of his partner's neck.

Hesam rolls his eyes and appears to be more interested with washing the soap out of his hair. Grinning, he finally answers,"Yeah, dude. These tiles are a great shade of eggshell."

Good, it's not that easy. Peter'd be disappointed if it's that easy.

After he cuts the showerhead off, Peter presses himself against the concrete partition and drapes his arms over it, resting his chin on his crossed wrists. Hesam opens an eye in his direction, raising a brow.

"That sickness screwed with your head worse than I thought."

Peter chuckles, not feeling at all discouraged. "Nah. I've got some...lingering effects from it, I guess, but I'm not crazy." Hesam is still only visible from the waist up, but it's enough for Peter to spot the black birthmark low on his hip, the exact same one he'd seen in the other timeline.

Hell yeah it wasn't a hallucination.

Empowered even more, Peter adds, "But I was wonderin' if we could go out sometime. You've invited me to Houlihan's enough, I owe you a yes after saving my life."

Hesam slows in his washing, movements becoming sluggish and thoughtful. Peter tilts his head and tries to get a look at the other man's face, tries to discern what emotions are forming there. Hesam goes from forced neutrality to his natural default of "deflect-all-uncomfortable-things-with-laughter" in a handful of seconds, before cutting off his own shower.

The older man grabs two towels from the wall - wraps the first around his waist and seems to purposefully let it hang low, while he slings the other towel over his arm for later. Peter's eyes follow his grinning, silent face all the while, until Hesam stops on the way out, right in front of Peter's stall.

"Dinner, with you?"

Hesam's dark eyes flit from Peter's toes to the top of his head, as the empath realizes he's practically standing in the entrance gap of the shower, leaving himself fully open to ogling. Hesam smirks when his gaze finally levels on Peter's face, and he lets out a snort, playfully slapping Peter across the shoulder with his free towel.

"Dream on, Petrelli."

xxx

A/N: Reviews are welcome. What isn't welcome is ship flaming, or spam. All else is welcome :) I unfortunatly didn't have time to get this beta'd so, all mistakes are my own. Sorry about some of the formatting problems.