Hesam looked up when he heard the other guys in the locker room catcalling at someone who just walked in. It was the blonde woman Peter had been talking to. He knew she worked in the file room, but she was wearing scrubs instead of business casual. She didn't even turn to look at the guys howling at her, but kept her eyes focused on Hesam. He quickly finished buttoning his shirt as she approached.

"Are-are you Peter Petrelli's partner?"

His face must have given away the shock and confusion at hearing her speak because the next words out of her mouth were, "I'm deaf. That's why I talk funny. Just look at me when you talk. Are you Peter's partner, or not?"

"I, uh, yeah, well, maybe," he stammered. "He's been on leave. His brother died. They had a weird relationship, but I think they were pretty close right before the senator was, well, you know…"

"Murdered," she finished.

"Yeah, well, I've called him, but he didn't pick up and he didn't return my calls," Hesam explained. "Honestly, we were partners, but we're not that close. I'm pretty sure I saw him talking to you more than he ever talked to me. Sorry I can't help you."

"It's okay," she told him. "I just thought I'd try."

She turned and started to walk away. "Hey, wait up," he called before mentally kicking himself for forgetting after two minutes that she couldn't hear him. He reached out and caught her elbow. She turned and watched as he grabbed a napkin from one of the tables in the room and wrote something down.

"This is Peter's address," he told her. "If he's there, maybe you can help him. Tell him to come back to work. This job's a hell of a lot harder without him."

She smiled as she took the napkin and said, "Thank you, uh…"

"Hesam."

"I'm Emma. Thank you again."

"You're welcome," he said before she walked away, once again ignoring the wolfish whistles of the other men in the locker room. As soon as she was gone, Hesam pulled out his cell phone.

Peter Petrelli felt immensely hung over. This was due to his not sleeping for seventy-two hours straight and then to half a bottle of scotch he took from his father's study. The scotch finally put him to sleep, but gave him worse than the usual side effects. He wished he had Claire's ability to regenerate just to get rid of the damned headache, but he would have to find Claire for that to happen, and his inability to do so lead him to the bottle of scotch.

He groaned when his phone started ringing and covered his ears with a pillow. Though the sound was significantly muffled, he could still hear every word when his answering machine picked up.

"Hey, Pete. It's Hesam. I don't even know if you're there, and you don't have to call me back or anything, but I just wanted to let you know that I sort of gave your address to that Emma woman that works in the file room."

Peter took the pillow off his head and stared at the answering machine in utter amazement.

"I'm sure that that will piss you off immensely…"

"You think," Peter growled.

"…but she was really worried about you, man, and I know that this job and your family is all you have, and you're not here, doing your job, so…frankly, I'm worried too. You can kill me if and when you get back. Take care of yourself."

Peter threw the pillow at the answering machine and then grimaced when it clattered to the ground.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned covering his face with one arm.

He should really get up. He should really eat something. He should drink something other than his dead father's scotch. He knew that dehydration was not a pleasant way to go.

He stared at the ceiling. The plaster was flaking. His bed was covered in newspaper clippings and Noah's Primatech files. He'd spent the last week looking for Claire. Someone needed to tell her that her father was dead. Nathan specifically asked him to take care of her, and he couldn't even find her. That whole thing about being the good one and the world not seeing anything yet: total crap. He was worthless.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring at the ceiling when he heard a sharp knock at the door. He groaned at the sudden pain it caused him.

"Go away!" he yelled at the door.

The knocking persisted and Peter finally got out of his bed, spreading papers all over the floor. He nearly fell over when his feet touched the hardwood. The knocking still pounded in his head when he regained his balance. He suddenly realized how little he'd eaten in the last couple of weeks. He'd lost weight and his pants were about to slip off.

The knocking continued incessantly as he padded toward the door. "Keep your fucking shirt on! I'm coming!"

He was grateful the person on the other side of the door couldn't understand anything he'd just screamed at her. Her hair was in a messy ponytail and she was wearing dark blue scrubs. Her hands were wringing the strap of her shoulder bag and she was staring at him with wide, unsure eyes.

"Hi," was all he could think to say.

"Hi," she replied, smiling slightly.

They each stood on opposite sides of the doorframe not saying anything and avoiding eye contact. Peter cursed under his breath as his stomach roiled and he bolted for his bathroom. He basically threw-up straight stomach acid as he hadn't eaten anything in a couple of days. He fell back on the floor, his back against the side of the bathtub. He started laughing, not really a funny laughter, but a maniacal laughter. Emma knelt next to him with a glass of water.

"You should drink this," she told him gently.

"I know what to do for a hangover," he replied bitterly, one hand in his messy hair.

"Peter, I just want to help."

"I don't need your help."

"Go away!" he yelled, shoving her hand away.

The glass slipped from her hand, spilling its contents all over the floor. He saw Emma's sad and defeated expression, feeling a little guilty that he'd put it there. She stood up and walked out without another word. He flinched when he heard the door slam. He didn't know how long he sat there. He threw up at least one more time before stripping off his clothes and climbing into the shower.

The water washed away the smell of booze and old coffee from his skin. It couldn't wash away his sense of regret and worthlessness. His tears mixed in with the water dripping off his body. He stood there until the water became freezing. At last, he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, wrapping it around his waist. He picked up the discarded glass and walked slowly into his kitchen where he placed it in the sink.

Every muscle in his body tensed when he heard the tumblers on his many locks turn. He knew there was very little he could do wearing nothing but a towel, and his knuckles turned white from gripping the edge of the counter.

Emma walked in with Peter's keys in one hand and a paper bag from the market down the street in her other arm. She kicked the door shut with her foot and looked up at him. She averted her eyes from his semi-naked form and sat his keys down on the kitchen counter.

"I took your keys when I left," she explained. "You don't have any food."

Peter just blinked at her as she started putting items from the bag into his refrigerator. "What are you doing?" he asked finally.

She wasn't looking at him and she couldn't see what he said. He roughly grabbed her arm and made her face him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled at her.

She shook off his hand and slapped him hard across the face. He glared back at her only to find her glaring back with equal intensity.

"You helped me," she said calmly. "Now I'm helping you."

"Just go away," he begged, his voice full of pain she couldn't hear.

"No," she refused flatly.

Peter didn't say anything. He simply turned around and left her in the kitchen. His apartment didn't have many walls, but he was grateful for some separation from Emma as he pulled on some marginally clean clothes from his floor. He started picking up the papers from around his room. When he had them all in his hands, he slumped onto the end of his bed—which was really just a mattress on the floor—and buried his head in his hands.

He felt the mattress shift as Emma sat down next to him. He jerked away when he felt her hand on his arm. She grabbed his chin and made him look at her.

"Talk to me," she ordered.

"I can't," he replied, his eyes on the floor. "It's too much."

"Peter, you don't have to carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders," she told him, signing as she spoke.

"There's no one left to help me," he told her, tears rolling down his cheeks.

She leaned her head down to be in his eye line and said, "I'm here. I'm right here."

And then he lost it.

A/N: So...new Heroes fic, and it's actually based on a pairing that is evident in the show (and I hope they go somewhere with it because God knows Peter deserves a relationship with a woman who doesn't die, get stuck in an alternate future, or turn out to be closely related to him) and this is sort of my take on what we might be seeing come January. And, yes, there will be at least a couple more chapters of this. The title is from a song by Relient K. Thanks in advance for the reviews and alerts.