Lara's Note: Alright, I know I should be working on updating my ongoing fics, but this is just a really quick idea I had that I wanted to write up before I forgot it. Just three chapters, short ones, so don't get mad at me for starting something new before I finish TSATS and SOS and The Dianne Saga and Exodus. I promise updates on those are coming out (eventually). Also, I don't really know much about genetics. I read a bunch of scientific magazines and stuff, but that doesn't exactly give me my PhD in genetics, so if I've horribly screwed up some of the terminology in Mohinder's explanation, blame it on a lack of technical know-how.

The phone rang and Peter hurled himself across the sofa to grab it before the answering machine picked up. Claire looked at him strangely, but didn't comment. Peter had been twitchy for days now.

"Hello?" the ex-nurse said breathlessly into the receiver.

"Peter," replied Mohinder, on the other end of the call. "I've finished running those tests."

"And...?" Peter asked anxiously.

The geneticist sighed softly. "Peter, I think you should come down to my lab. It's a bit complicated to explain over the phone, and there's... well, it's just better if we meet in person." Peter quickly agreed and ended the call. With hardly an explanation to the bewildered Claire, he pulled on his trademark khaki trenchcoat and stalked out into the cloudy September afternoon.

***

Mohinder was staring through a microscope, looking pensive and clearly not really focused on what he was doing, when Peter hesitantly opened the door. This was only the second time he'd been in this loft since the day Simone had died, and it wasn't exactly a place of happy memories for him. At the sound of the door slamming shut, Mohinder jumped about three feet. "Peter!" he exclaimed. "You're here!"

"Yeah," Peter said hesitantly, shrugging out of his coat. "What is it that's so bad you can't tell me over the phone?"

The scientist sighed and hauled himself tiredly to his feet. "Well, when you asked me to run those tests, to see what it was that was causing your powers to... well, to malfunction after you took the formula, I'll admit I didn't expect to find much. But once I started examining the blood samples you gave me, I discovered something rather... intriguing." Not really looking at Peter, he began pacing. He gestured wildly as his explanation picked up speed, just as if he were lecturing to his students back in Madras. "You see, it's a very recent discovery that certain genes can be... I suppose activated is the right word. Turned on and off, whether artificially or naturally, like turning on a light. Now, there are four genes that control these abilities. If even one is active in the individual's DNA sequence, that person will have an ability. But for a power like yours, with so much capacity for growth, all four genes would have to be fully in use for the body to be able to contain all those powers. And that was the thing about the formula- in individuals without the genes inherent in their genetic code, it would cause mutations of other DNA strands to replicate the effects of those four. In those that did have the necessary genetic code, but whose codons were not activated, the formula could turn on one, or at most two, to cause the individual to develop their ability.

"This was what happened to you. You can't hold on to more than one ability at a time because the current sequence in your genetic code won't allow your body to handle it."

Peter puffed out his breath, whether in regret or relief, he wasn't sure. Whatever the cause, the sound caused Mohinder to snap out of his focused monologue. He turned toward the empath, halting suddenly in his back-and-forth tread. "Is there any way to... fix it?" Peter asked, seeming to struggle with the words.

Mohinder shrugged. "Nine months ago, I'd have said it was impossible. That sort of genetic manipulation is only supposed to be possible in-utero. But while I was working for the Company, I uncovered the work of Dr. Zimmerman. He was a Company-funded scientist, possibly the most advanced experimental geneticist in the world. He developed a..." He paused. "Well, after recent events, I'm hesitant to use this particular word, but it's the best word for it- a formula, which can be used in combination with a long-range medicinal treatment to activate the four genes that control these abilities, to activate abilities in people like your brother, Nathan, or enhance the powers of any individual who already has them. I think I can duplicate his results. It would take time, but hopefully we could restore your original abilities."

"Well, that's great!" Peter exclaimed. "Why on earth were you so hesitant to talk about that over the phone?"

The geneticist looked uncomfortable. "Two reasons. Firstly, I suppose after all my experiences with the Company and with Pinehearst, I'm a little paranoid. And secondly... there was something else I noticed when I was studying your DNA."

"What?"

Mohinder sighed, looking resigned. "Dr. Zimmerman seems to have used your father's genes as a starting point for his research, rather like my father used Sylar as his Patient Zero. As a result, while I was going over the research notes, I became very familiar with his DNA. When I began studying your samples, something struck me as odd, and so I ran a few other tests. Peter, it's not genetically possible for Arthur Petrelli to be your father."

The empath stared at his friend. "W-what?" he stuttered. This was... he didn't know what this was. But it seemed that after the constant upheavals that his life had undergone in the past nine months, the world wasn't done throwing everything he knew into doubt just yet.

"I'm sorry," Mohinder said, not knowing what else to say. "It's just... not possible."

"Then... who is my father?"

He shrugged. "That's impossible to say, with the data I have. I could possibly have a mathematician friend of mine construct an algorithm to search through the Human Genome Project database, try and find a match, but that could take weeks. If I were you, I would ask your mother."

Peter nodded slowly, still trying to make sense of his violently reoriented sense of reality. "Thanks Mohinder," he said. Then he turned, and walked out the door. As a blast of winter-edged wind flapped at the ends of his long coat, he made a resolution- he was going to find his father, whoever he was, and make some sense of this crazy hell his life had turned into.

Alright, this is an alternate-ending fic. I have two (or maybe three) possible endings that I'm going to write up and post as soon as I can. If you have any suggestions for others, let me know ASAP (and that means REVIEW!!!!). Oh, and I can guarantee one thing- you won't see any of them coming. Unless of course you're very, very astute, which does happen... Okay, shutting up now. Just review, 'kay?