AN: I wrote this as a present for my dear friend Danyliz. Happy Valentine's Day, honey!

Peter Petrelli was trying to be normal. Really trying. He hadn't used any powers in weeks. And while that chafed at him, he understood the necessity. It was … surprisingly easy, to tell the truth. (His sadly limited powers may have had something to do with that. He couldn't slip up too egregiously if he tried.) In many ways, life as a humble paramedic was better than the constant struggle that went with being the self-appointed saviour of the world. Certainly more peaceful, less dangerous. And despite the fact that his brother was giving him the cold shoulder while plotting God only knew what, there were times when he felt like he could actually be happy with this life.

This was not one of those times. He was kneeling in the street, pounding on a man's chest in a fruitless attempt to restart his heart, trying not to listen to his partner or the little voice in his head telling him to stop. He wasn't ready to give up yet. Somehow this man had become the symbol of his abandoned destiny. The world still needed saving, and he'd stepped away from that fight, but for this person, right here, he could still be a hero.

"I can save him!" he growled.

"It's no use, he's dead," came Hesam's implacable voice. Hands gripped his shoulders. "Hey."

Finally, Peter had to admit defeat. "Damn it," he said softly. "I could have saved him."

They argued about that for the next few minutes. And while Peter knew that everything Hesam was saying was true, he was haunted by the knowledge that just a few months ago there would have been a thousand ways he could have saved that man. He could have reached him faster. Could have lifted him out from under the twisted metal without breaking a sweat. Could have teleported him out … healed him with his blood … travelled back in time to warn him … He continued to imagine wilder and wilder scenarios, operating more or less on autopilot until Claire's panicked call dragged him back to reality. He listened to her frantic accusations, tried to soothe her and soon ended up promising to go and visit his mother straight away to get to the bottom of it all.

"I'm just going a few blocks," he said as he slid into the first available cab. "87th and Maddison, please."

He was still agitated, looking out the window, when the driver caught his eye in the mirror.

"Hello, Peter."

Peter's heart skipped a beat at the sound of that familiar voice. He'd recognise it anywhere, but still had to crane his head to get a look at him before he could really believe it.

"Mohinder," he said, and couldn't stop a smile spreading across his weary face. "This is a coincidence."

What had been shaping up to be a truly shitty day was suddenly looking a lot better. His patient on the street may have died, but here was an old friend come back to life. Although in all honesty, Peter had never really thought the scientist was dead. Getting any information out of Nathan after that night at Pinehearst had been like pulling teeth, but his brother had eventually given Peter reason enough to believe he'd made it out alive. It was still wonderful to see it confirmed.

"Don't hang up," was the first thing Peter said. He continued in a rush "Look, I know you probably have nothing left to say to me. Just answer one question and then you never have to talk to me again."

"What do you want, Pete?"

"I need to ask you about what happened last night."

Nathan sighed. Peter knew the look he must be wearing without needing to see it, and waited a few moments as his brother closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face.

"What about it?"

"Did Mohinder Suresh make it out of there?"

"Suresh?" Nathan's voice was suddenly alert. "Why do you wanna know about him? He's useless. Not even he can reproduce the formula without the catalyst."

"It's nothing to do with that. I just wanna know if he's alive."

"Why? What do you want with him?"

"He's a friend."

"A friend," Nathan said dryly. "After you destroyed his life's work, burned down his lab and left him to die?"

"Yes."

Over the course of the past two years, Mohinder had become one of those people who were an intrinsic part of Peter's life. He knew that he was a good person. And when he'd allied himself with Pinehearst, Peter had fought him, but he couldn't look at the man who'd helped him discover the world of evolved humans and see an enemy. That fight was over now, but their history remained, and he needed to know if Mohinder was OK.

"He tried to kill me, you know," said Nathan.

Once upon a time, that would have been enough to end this conversation. Threatening Peter's brother had been the one thing guaranteed to eliminate his compassion for someone. But he'd seen the terrible effects the experimental formula had had on Mohinder, both in the present and the future, and couldn't hate him for what he'd done. How could he, when he knew all too well what it was like to be turned into a monster by power you'd asked for but couldn't control? He'd killed Nathan himself after taking Sylar's power. He was in no position to sit in judgement.

"Is he alive?"

"After an explosion like that, it's hard to tell one body from another."

"You can't expect me to believe you don't have his DNA on file."

"We certainly did, Pete – and where do you think we kept the files?"

"There's a ring he always wears. On his right thumb. The fire wouldn't have destroyed it."

"I don't have time to go to the morgue to look for jewellery."

The conversation went on in that vein for a long time, with Peter offering suggestions and Nathan dodging them, until eventually Peter had had enough.

"Stop that! I know you, I can tell when you're hiding something. And since God knows you wouldn't go to this much trouble to spare my feelings, that must mean he escaped. Thanks, Nathan. That's all I wanted to know."

"Last time I saw you was …"

"I know," interrupted Mohinder, in a tone that made it clear that topic was off limits. "It's been a long time."

Peter fell silent. He knew the other man had a right to be pissed. It hadn't been until after Nathan had shouted at him that he'd abandoned all his principles and flown off that Peter had remembered, with a dawning horror, that there had been other people in that building. People who couldn't fly.

But apparently Mohinder didn't hold a grudge. It was only a moment before his companionable tone returned. "Keeping out of trouble?"

"Trying to." An impulse seized Peter. "Although, do you ever get the feeling that you're meant to do something extraordinary?"

They both laughed at the memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they'd been sitting in a cab like this one, complete strangers to each other and utterly unaware of how their lives were about to change.

"I used to," said Mohinder. The smile on his face looked natural and unforced for the first time since he'd recognised his passenger. "Turns out I was mistaken."

Peter nodded, and leant back into the seat, still smiling. This was such a small thing, but it was like a breath of fresh air to be with someone he didn't have to lie to. The only other special person he'd spoken to for quite a while was his niece, and talking Claire down from one of her 'We should be out there hunting bad guys!' kicks was no less tiring than playing the role of a normal person.

"You seeing anyone?"

The words slipped out before Peter had a chance to stop them.

"I try not to. Everyone's under the radar. All except your brother, of course."

The universe seemed to be offering him an out. He could ignore the misunderstanding, say something like 'Well, you know Nathan' and let life go on as before. He could … but he didn't want to. Meeting him like this had reminded Peter that, when you set aside serial killers, evil corporations, the end of the world and doubts about one another's motives and sanity, he liked Mohinder. The guy was smart, compassionate, a firm believer in doing the right thing … and gorgeous. And if he was going to date anyone (because he did want to, he'd managed to convince himself that not every relationship had to end in tragedy), Mohinder was a very good choice. Someone who could give him strength, both figuratively and literally, who wouldn't drag him to hospital for every seemingly deadly injury or lecture him about realism when he said 'I could have saved that guy'. But at the same time, someone who understood how dangerous it was to be special at a time like this, who'd let him and even help him keep his normal life for as long as he wanted it. And if the day came when he didn't want it anymore, when the government went too far and needed to be stopped, he felt sure that Mohinder would be there with him, fighting the good fight. The best of both worlds. The more Peter thought about it, the more convinced he became that they could be very good together.

"I wasn't talking about the others," Peter said. "I was working my way up to asking you out."

Mohinder's eyes flickered to the mirror for an instant, looking truly shocked, before they darted back to the road. There was silence for a few beats. "No," said Mohinder finally.

Oh yeah. That was why his first instinct had been to pretend he hadn't meant it that way. Reasons for the rejection, each more plausible than the last, began playing in Peter's head.

I'm sorry Peter, but it wouldn't be ethical for me to become involved with one of the subjects of my research.

With everything that's happening right now, it isn't safe for people with abilities to seek each other out. Even this cab ride is a risk.

I'm flattered, but I'm just not interested in that kind of relationship with you.

You blew up my lab with me inside. Fuck you.

"No, I'm not seeing anyone."

"Well … Great," stammered Peter, caught off guard. "In that case, do you want to have dinner with me sometime?"

"Yes, I'd like that very much."

They exchanged a tentative smile through the mirror. This still felt distinctly surreal, but the sense of wariness had gone. Now it was simply the slight thrill of two people realising that something had changed between them.

The taxi drew to a halt. Peter briefly considered just not getting out. He wanted to continue this conversation, and the discussion he needed to have with his mother wasn't going to be anywhere near as pleasant. But he remembered Claire's claims, and regretfully concluded that if there was any truth to what she said, finding out what Ma was up to was of grave importance.

"How much do I owe you?"

"It's OK. It's on me."

"Thanks. So … I'll call you?"

"I'll look forward to it."

Peter threw a fleeting grin over his shoulder as he headed down the street.