A Note From Lara: If you don't know by now how obsessed I am with Pemma, you're behind the times, my friend! They're perfect for each other and you know it!

"Alright, let's try it again," Peter said hesitantly. A litter of broken plates were scattered across the floor of Emma's apartment, and she was preparing to attempt to break more. They weren't exactly sure what this other facet of her ability involved, but so far they'd ascertained that she was really good at breaking things.

She nodded and set the bow to the strings yet again. For a moment, there was silence. And then she drew the bow across the strings just above the bridge, drawing forth a haunting minor chord. The glass across the room vibrated, wobbling on the floor for a moment, though neither of them was watching that particularly closely, too distracted by the dance of crimson and purple light arching outward from the point where the horsehair met the strings.

After a moment, Emma shifted to a major key, playing a shimmering run of fluid tones. At that moment, much to their surprise, the glass lifted into the air and hung suspended.

With one last tremolo, she ceased and the colors died away. The glass continued to float where she had left it, rotating slowly in midair. Laying the cello aside, she rose slowly to her feet, staring at what she had done.

"Wow," Peter said. "That was unexpected."

Emma grinned and clapped her hands... and the glass shot across the room. She leapt to one side to avoid it and nearly ran into Peter. The glass smashed harmlessly against the wall behind them.

He glanced down at her, a bemused grin on his face. "How'd you do that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's the sounds... sound waves?"

"It's really impressive, whatever it is," Peter said. "I've never seen a power like yours before."

"Yes, because you've seen so much stuff like this," Emma replied sarcastically.

He gave her a wry grin. "Well, actually, I sorta have. The last year of my life... I've seen some really crazy stuff."

Emma's eyebrows contracted in confusion. "What kind of things?" she asked.

"People who can move things with their minds. Exploding men. People who can talk to computers and walk through walls. Electric girls and speedsters. My niece is immortal. My brother can fly. But I've never seen anything like what you do. It's unique."

She thought that over for a moment, studying him. "So is yours. You change abilities... how?"

Peter glanced across the room at the pile of broken ceramic and glass, apparently collecting his thoughts. Finally, he looked back at her and said, "It used to be that I absorbed the power of everyone I'd ever met. I had... god, must have been a dozen different abilities all at once. But some things happened. Now I can only take one at a time. I don't understand why, but it's the way things are now. Better than no ability at all, I guess." He shrugged in an attempt to make it sound off-hand, but they could both tell from the expression on his face that it frustrated him to no end.

Emma hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it, Peter," she said comfortingly. "It's part of who you are, but it's not the biggest part. It doesn't define you; you define it."

He stared at her, amazed. He had never heard it put that way before. Everyone he knew seemed to define themselves by their ability, not the other way around. To hear Emma say it so matter-of-factly affected him deeply, as if he'd been waiting for someone to tell him that since the day he learned to fly.

"Thank you," he said softly, meeting her eyes.

She shrugged. "It's just the truth. And thank you for helping me understand whatever this thing is I do. If you hadn't..." Her gray-green eyes were conflicted as she watched him attentively.

"I know. It's confusing at first."

Emma smiled at him. "Very," she agreed quietly. Their gazes locked again, and for the briefest second Peter hesitated. Then, cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her gently.

It wasn't something he had planned, not by a long shot. But it was something he'd been thinking about doing a lot lately, and now that he had, he was very glad he'd taken the chance.

But, of course, Peter wasn't very good at self-confidence, and when he ended the kiss, Emma's stunned face was enough to make him worry that this had been a very bad idea. Their friendship was very new, delicate at best, and if he had destroyed it, he didn't think he'd ever forgive himself. It was probably his romantic tendencies speaking through, but Peter couldn't help thinking that Emma might very well be the best thing to happen to him in a very long time.

"Wow," she whispered, touching her lips lightly with her fingertips.

He offered her a self-conscious smile. "I probably shouldn't have... I mean, it's just, you've been on my mind ever since I heard you playing in the park that night," he said, deciding to risk telling her how he'd really been feeling. "You're amazing."

The shock painted across her face finally gave way to the smallest of smiles, that look Peter had noticed on her face when she was secretly delighted, but trying hard not to show it in case her hopes were dashed yet again. "I... have been thinking about you, too," she said, still trying to keep her true feelings hidden behind the stoicism she used as a mask.

Peter couldn't help himself- the grin Nathan had always told him made him look like a doofus spread across his face. He didn't care if he looked like a grinning idiot; if he was reading her face right, she really did care for him, and that was more than he had hoped for by a long shot.

"I'm not good at this emotional stuff, so please just... listen to me," Emma said tightly. "You're... not like anyone else I've ever met. You're kind and you're funny and you always surprise me. Whatever this is, I want it to work. But I have... some problems. Ghosts, I guess."

"Christopher," Peter guessed.

She looked shocked again. "How did you know about him?" she demanded.

He shrugged ruefully. "Your mother. She saw us playing the piano together that first day and decided to take me aside and give me a stern lecture about treating her daughter gently."

Emma snorted. "For someone who wants me to spend more time with people, she does have a way of scaring the only people who'd want to talk to me off," she said with an expression on her face that made Peter think that Dr. Coolidge should be very, very afraid the next time she saw her daughter.

"She couldn't scare me off if she tried," Peter said earnestly, taking her hand.

For a moment, she looked like she might cry. Instead, she leaned in and returned his kiss. When they came up for air, she was smiling. "What time is your shift over tomorrow?" she asked.

Peter grinned. "Well, I was going to take on a third one since Donahue has the flu, but I think dinner with my girlfriend is a better idea. I'm done at six. Shall we say... six thirty?"

"I'm your girlfriend?" Emma asked. He blushed and was about to speak when she continued, "Six thirty is great."

And the rest is history...