A.N. After the Fugitives finale I got thinking about the fates of Nathan and Sylar. I haven't decided which pairings I'm going to use in this, so if you find a pairing between the lines (Of course at least one person will. We're fan fic writers; that's how we roll!) I did not put it there on purpose. For this chapter at least. Also, the whole Natelar thing won't be the entire story. There will be other complications which I'm super excited about, so I'll try to update regularly!

Disclaimer: Don't own Heroes. If you could hook me up with some way of owning Heroes, please tell me. I also do not own the quote at the beginning. It is from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. Quotes from this book (which is awesome and totally relates to the situation here) will replace Mohinder's Monologue at the beginning of every chapter. Sort of.

Chapter 1: The First Night

"With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two."

Petrelli Mansion

Angela Petrelli, sitting in bed with one of her many photo albums, answered the phone on her bedside table. "Hello?"

"Angela."

"Hello, Noah. Have you found the Haitian yet?" Angela couldn't help but smile when her most useful agent was on the other line. He trod the line between work and family so carefully that it was admirable. She was lucky to have him with her as joint head of management for the new Company.

"No, but I have a few leads. That isn't why I'm calling, and you know it."

Yes, she knew the real reason. She, Noah, and Matt Parkman were the only people on the planet who knew of the real reason. "Claire's in California, Noah. She does have classes to go to, credits to earn."

"I know. How's Nathan been lately?

"He's been fine, but we haven't talked all that much lately. He's very busy in Washington." That was the truth. He - she couldn't bring herself to really think of him as Nathan - was busy. Hopefully, he would get busier all the time. Hopefully, it was easier to feel like Nathan when caught up in politics and paperwork.

"Anything else?"

Angela paused, then answered: "Yes. I wasn't going to tell you, but you and I are the only ones really monitoring this situation. On Wednesday, I went out to lunch with... Nathan, but before we left he said that he hadn't been feeling like himself lately. I responded with what I would have said to Nathan before all this, but he just stared off into space-"

"Maybe you're overreacting. Congress has a lot of issues to work on right now; he's probably just stressed out." Noah's reassuring tone held a hint of anxiety.

"No, it's more than that. When I asked him if he was listening to me, he started walking toward the cabinet on the other side of the room. He apologized and opened the cabinet. He said the clock in it had been distracting him because it was a minute and a half fast. He adjusted the hands, and acted like nothing unusual had happened."

"What? No. You're serious?" Now it was the anxiety that held a hint of disbelief.

"Would I make up a story like this, Noah?"

"It's been six weeks! We worried about this happening years down the line! What did Parkman do wrong?" Noah shouted the same thoughts Angela had thought on Wednesday at the Italian restaurant she and her suddenly clock-savvy "son" had decided to eat at.

"I don't know."

"What? No dreams, nothing?"

"I didn't say I was completely blank. What do you think I've been thinking about these past three days? Dreaming is another matter entirely."

"Fine. So what are your theories?"

"We have to remember that, as far as we know, we are the first people to attempt to completely change someone's personality through telepathy, clairsentience, and shape-shifting. We may need Mr. Parkman to come and touch up in some places. If that's not enough, we bring in the Haitian to wipe any memories that won't stay suppressed. It's not entirely for sentimental reasons that you need to find your old partner, you know."

"I know. Angela, he has Claire's ability. When Peter had it, he was able to recover all of his memories at once."

"Peter had Adam's help, and he knew that he had that ability. Besides, erasing memories of Sylar may not be necessary. As long as he thinks he's Nathan, things should be fine. In which case we need Matt Parkman, not the Haitian. I'm listing all of our options, not just the most likely ones. And you may have been right before: maybe we are overreacting. It could just be the overwork, or a phase. In which case, we have nothing to worry about."

"Are you convincing me, or yourself?"

Angela sighed, gazing down at a picture of Arthur and Charles when they took Kaito to his first baseball game in the United States. To think that those days were so long past... Everyone in the photograph was dead now, even the man behind the camera: Bob Bishop. "I hope I don't have to do any convincing. I hope it was a one-time lapse. Don't worry, Noah. I'll keep an eye on him. Good night."

"I'll hold you to that. Good night."

Washington, D.C.

Blood oozes out from the wounds of the lukewarm corpse as he moves it away from the intercom. He can hear his prey talking in the hallway. Noah and Angela have a plan, of course. Meredith is a wild card; he knows little about her except what her power is and who her daughter is. Claire is acting brave. Is it courage or bravado? He'll find out soon.

Angela -not Mom, most likely- hardly changes her expression as the building goes into lock down. Let the games begin.

"Arthur Petrelli is dead. No need to go to Pinehearst now," he says into the intercom.

Claire, predictably, is the first to respond. "Sylar?"

"Don't worry, Claire. Peter couldn't do it, so I did. Just like Mommy wanted." That disgust on her face, he's sure now that Angela isn't his mother. He continues, "I know I repulse you. Terrify you. You see me as a monster. And yet, you did this to me. And before the night is over, I'm going to prove to you, one by one, that you're all monsters. Exactly like me."

A click, and off with the intercom. He chuckles to himself. "This is going to be fun."

Senator Nathan Petrelli awoke in a cold sweat. He caught his breath and looked over at his digital alarm clock. Three AM, but after that nightmare there was no fatigue in his system. His eyes were wide and his heart was beating with more exhilaration that fear. That in itself was disturbing, and the dream...the dream was something else entirely.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep any more, Nathan switched off his alarm and pulled on some jeans and a T shirt that he had selected hastily from his dresser drawer. He switched on all the lights in the apartment. Screw the energy crisis; the dark brought back the image of that room full of carnage and cold machinery. The worst part was that he knew where that was and he knew what had happened there, but in reality he hadn't been there. Noah and Angela had told him about it. The disasters and Primatech and Pinehearst had helped win the President to his cause all those months ago.

Nathan was reminded of when Peter used to have nightmares as a little kid. "But it was all so real!" he'd say. Nathan would tell him to stop being such a baby; it wasn't real and Dad would think he was a wimp if he said anything about it to him. That brought back part of the dream all over again. He had been so sure that Angela Petrelli was not his mother, which was connected with knowing that Arthur Petrelli was not his father. But why, why would he think that? Of course, the answer was in the only thing Claire said to him from that cement hallway: "Sylar?"

Sylar was dead; he knew that with a conviction. That life is over. Sylar's dead. That life is over. Sylar is dead. Somehow those words sprang up into the back of his mind, though he knew with yet another conviction that they were not his. They were automatically followed by: You are Nathan Petrelli. Son. Brother. Father. Senator. Nathan Petrelli.

I know that's who I am, Nathan thought in confusion. He hadn't even been thinking about himself; he had been thinking about the dream. Why had who he was come into the picture? That feeling he'd had in the dream was the answer. How could that have come from his subconscious? All dreams came from the dreamers subconscious; he knew that much about science.

But that thrill... that thrill of the hunt... he couldn't have imagined that in his wildest dreams, and this one definitely qualified. So what should he do about this? His mother and Peter probably wouldn't react well. They'd dealt with prophetic nightmares; he'd sound pathetic in comparison. No, the best thing was the see if any more disturbing dreams came up, and if they did he could get counseling. Preferably somewhere the press wouldn't find him. With that resolution, Nathan turned on his laptop to check his email; it would help pass the time until morning.

You can't hide forever, said a voice even deeper down than those earlier thoughts that hadn't belonged to him. Those earlier thoughts that had been full of gaps somehow, gaps that some other part of him knew held the answers to everything in his dream. Nathan Petrelli knew that this second voice, like that thrill from the dream, came from his very soul.

Unfortunately, that was the conviction that no amount of email could get rid of.

A.N. Okay, so that was sort of an intro-type chapter. The next one should be a bit longer, and hopefully will be up soon. Please review! Compliments, suggestions, constructive criticism, and thoughts in general are totally appreciated!