Night had fallen on the crisis in Washington. Helicopters chopped the air as sirens blared and spot lights swirled in the dark over the White House. Representatives from every government agency were clustered on the lawn talking urgently into radios and pouring over blueprints and tactical diagrams. Reporters swarmed noisily behind press barricade, each camera battling to get the best shot of the embattled building as their reporters ducked and danced around each other, shouting the latest updates over the din to the live audiences watching enthralled all over the world.
"Still no word on the number of hostages…"
"…swarming with police and what we expect to be the FBI, as you can see.."
"No official word from the government at the moment, though that's hardly surprising considering Press Secretary Parkman is feared to be among those trapped inside…"
"…crisis began at about noon today Jim, and all that we can get out of anybody is that there is a situation in the oval office…"
"President Petrelli himself is rumoured to be involved, though it is unclear how…"
Among the uniformed men and women crawling over the property, Peter blended in seamlessly. Unmoving, he starred up at the imposing building, the cheerful Christmas decorations warring with the panicked hum of people all around him. He was tense, wondering like everyone else there what was happening inside that building. Unlike everyone else, however, he had a disturbing insight into what might be happening. He hoped he was wrong.
Closing his eyes, Peter squinted. The noise around him stopped abruptly. He opened his eyes again to find, to his satisfaction, that the people rushing about on the lawn had frozen in place. The helicopters had paused, suspended in midair. The news reporters had halted their stories, mouths frozen mid-story. Patting his breast pocket to check that the envelope was still there, Peter set off.
His footsteps were the only noise as he crunched his way up through the slightly frosted grounds towards the nearest public door. Two still guards stood guarding it – nobody was to go in or out, the hostage-taker had demanded. That rule didn't apply to Peter. He slipped between them with ease, opening the door only as far as he needed to before he could slip in. He closed it again – there was no point in alerting anybody he might be inside.
He paused at the security desk, riffling through until he found a map of the building. Peter took the shortest route he could find to the country's most famous office. As he turned the corner, he saw what he had both feared and known he would see. One lone secretary slumped unconscious against the wall – a warning. The doors of the office were chained closed and outside of them, lounging lazily on an office chair with a pistol sitting in his lap, sat Nathan.
He knows, Peter thought as both fear and anticipation flooded him simultaneously. He studied the familiar face, contorted into an unusual half-smile that he associated with someone very different. Sylar. He supposed it had been a matter of time.
Peter reached down and took the gun off of the man's lap. He stepped far back and squinted again.
The President's face snapped immediately to his own and the man went to grab his gun before noticing it dangling from Peter's grasp. Slowly a smirk spread over Nathan's face and he lined his arms casually behind his head, lounging even further back in his chair, "Hey Pete. Nice new power you got there – Hiro's?"
"Why are you doing this Nathan?" Peter asked, though he already knew.
The President lurched up in his chair and hissed, "Don't call me that Pete." He all but spat out the nickname. Suddenly, he stood. "You knew, didn't you?"
Peter took a step back, though he was the one that was armed. "Knew what?" he decided to play dumb and see how much Sylar had figured out on his own.
"Knew who I am," the other man stopped, throwing his arms in a demand that Peter look at him. He hovered a few inches off the floor. "You knew what they did to me. They trapped me in this form, with this worthless power. You were probably involved."
"I wasn't," Peter said quietly, leveling the gun at Nathan's chest, though he knew that a bullet would do nothing to this sham of his brother. "I only found out from my mother this afternoon."
"Angela," Sylar said in Nathan's angriest husky voice. "I'll have to repay her for this. You know, I knew this was wrong for a while. I haven't felt like myself in ages, I told her. It was Parkman, I'm sure of it. It's the only explanation for why I can't change back now. He's got this imposter's life too far into my head."
The two men stared each other down, Sylar's eyes a few inches above Peter's. The silence was tense, but it lacked the anger that Peter had expected. When Sylar spoke next it was with curiosity that he asked, "Why are you here? If you were going to stop time and let those people go you'd have done it already."
Peter took a deep breath. Ever since he had thought up this plan he had been debating whether or not he was going crazy. After all, the man had apparently killed his brother. He still couldn't believe it. Letting his breath go very slowly, he said, "I can help you."
Sylar's face crept back into a smirk. "Help me with what Peter? I was doing fine without you."
"I can get you back into your body," Peter said reluctantly, almost already regretting he had come. "I can get it all back for you, make you Sylar again."
Sylar's whole face changed at the sound of his name. His eyes burned suddenly hot, eagerness etched in every twist of his expression. Peter was not surprised; the man had always been a bit bipolar. "How," Sylar demanded.
"I'll shapeshift, and then you'll try to shapeshift into me," Peter explained. He knew it would work.
Sylar was studying him with an apprising expression. "Why?" he asked eventually.
Ah, Peter thought, so it had come to that part. He shifted uncomfortably. Sylar's eyebrows raised dementedly. The look was quite alarming on Nathan's face. More to stop his smugness than anything, Peter bit the bullet and explained, "I just…I think what they did was wrong. You, you're a person. A dangerous, insane person, but not necessarily a bad one. What they did was as good as kill you. It's not right."
Sylar, to Peter's annoyance, smirked wider. "Peter, Peter, Peter, always out to save the world, aren't you? Such a little hero," he mocked. "But where would a good little boy like you come up with the idea that a serial killer is not a bad person?"
"I…I understand you," Peter said, resignedly.
Sylar moved extremely quickly. Suddenly Peter was pinned against the wall, both of them a good four feet up the wall. "You do not," Sylar hissed.
"I'm the only other one who's ever felt it," Peter gasped as a hand dug into his windpipe. "The hunger. The thirst. The urge to know, so strong you'd kill anyone. You'd kill your own mother just to know more."
Sylar dropped him. Peter fell to the ground hard, crumpling to his knees beside the unconscious secretary. Sylar was staring at him intently as he landed in front of him, the faintest trace of surprise on his face. Peter knew they were both recalling the same incident.
"It was you who saved her Sylar," Peter said, his voice hollow. "I would have killed her, just like you killed your mother. You stopped me."
Peter got slowly to his feet. Sylar was still glaring at him as he continued, "You say I'm such a good person? Yet that's what your power does to me. I have no doubt if you didn't have it, you'd be a very different person. You aren't innately bad any more than I am."
"Yes, I am," Sylar insisted, but he did not sound sure. "I'm a killer."
"So am I," Peter said bitterly. "We all are by now. I know I'm right about you. Otherwise, I'd be pretty stupid to do this."
He reached out toward the other's man's face. Sylar's hand snapped up to grab his wrist, but after a second he relaxed his grip enough that Peter could finish the motion. At the same time he reached his free hand out to touch the secretary's head. As his fingers came into contact with the other man's face, he felt hot, raw power flow down his arm. The feeling spread slowly over his entire body until it had reached the very tips of his toes. Looking down he saw the ample breasts and long blond hair of the secretary in place of his body.
Sylar grinned appreciatively and a little perversely, bringing his free hand up to rest on Peter's hips.
Peter met Slyar's eyes briefly before he allowed his eyes to wander over his face. He studied each contour of Nathan's jaw, the crease lines between his eyes and the laugh lines at the sides of them, the shape of his nose. He silently bid his mind to remember it all, because he was about to lose it forever. Once he allowed Slyar to do this, there would be no going back.
"Okay", he said, taking a deep breath. "Do it."
Sylar was staring at Peter as if he had never fully seen him before that moment. Though he couldn't read minds anymore, Peter was sure the other man understood what Peter was giving up just then. Finally, he nodded and closed his eyes. The hand holding his wrist slipped up his arm to his shoulder, where Peter felt a pulse of energy, as if something was being sucked out of him. He closed his eyes to as he felt the hand against his changed slightly, became a shade thinner and rougher. Sylar gasped in pain – apparently his transition was much harder than it was for Peter.
Finally there was silence. Peter opened his eyes to see Sylar opening his own. As soon as he realized it had worked, the other man jumped back. He brought his hands up, blue flame crackling between them menacingly. Peter readied himself to fight if Sylar looked lie he was going to attack, but he did not. Instead, he grabbed the nearest sharp object, a pen, and plunged it into his arm violently. Yanking it out again, he watched in satisfaction as the wound healed instantly.
Peter slowly let go of the secretary's form, become himself again as Sylar ran though his powers jubilantly. Apparently finally satisfied they all worked, Sylar turned back to Peter, who was holding out a envelope. Sylar reached out and took it curiously, "What's this, wonder boy? A present?"
"It's a list. A very long, impressive and detailed list of all the people with powers that I could track down who need to be stopped," he was looking at Sylar half beseechingly, half resignedly. "These are the bad people, Sylar. I don't care how you do it. Try not to kill too many innocent people, but make sure you stop them. What you do with them after is yours to decide."
Sylar cocked his eyebrow briefly, smirking, "Well what do you know, little Pete's got a violent streak."
He took a few steps back toward Peter so they were very close together again. Peter wasn't sure why, but his pulse quickened. Sylar noticed. Smirking, he reached out and shocked Peter's lips with blue spar. Peter gasped in pain, but the sound was lost as Sylar suddenly crushed his lips to Peter's. The kiss was fierce and brief and before Peter could even react Sylar had nipped his lip, drawing blood. Peter simply rested his hand against Sylar's chest, too surprised to be either pulling him in or pushing him away.
As quickly as he had started it, Sylar broke the kiss. He was smirking again. "Not bad Pete," he said in an almost-drawl. Flashing Peter one last cocky grin and waving the envelope at him, Sylar took off down the hall.
Peter stood rooted to the spot for a moment in shock before shaking his head and walking over to the doors. He raised his hand and blasted the chains off using Sylar's telekinesis he had just taken. Pulling the door open, he saw the hostages sitting in a group on the ground in the center of the famous office. He sought Matt's eyes and found them.
Sylar got away, in his own body. You need to convince them all it was him all along and that he abducted Nathan, he ordered. Matt nodded and a focused look came over him.
"Did he get away?" Parkman demanded aloud. "The man holding Nathan hostage?"
"Yes," Peter feigned bitterness. "He escaped with the President."
There were several gasps of shock as the room fell willfully under Parkman's control. Damn Matt, you're good, Peter thought appreciatively as he walked to the window. You'll have to throw a press conference and convince the guards they saw the president being dragged away to make it believable, but I think we can cover this all up. The President's tragic kidnapping and murder should give those news idiots something to discuss for a long time. Tracy will have to be sworn in as soon as possible.
He stopped at the window. Through the dark he could just make out a dark-haired, suited figure scaling the wall of the rose garden. Parkman began to address the hostages behind him. Peter raised his fingers to his lips thoughtfully. "Good luck Sylar," he whispered.
_________________________________________________________________
A/N: Just had to get this little scene out of my brain, the idea wouldn't leave. I'm writing a Kirk/Spock and my Spock kept turning into Sylar so I had to do something. Please review. :)