A/N Hi, this was my first ever Heroes fanfic, published to AO3 (Archive of Our Own) a few weeks ago. It seems silly – but it never even occurred to me to use multiple fanfiction sites until I stumbled across this one! :P So now I'm going to bring my AO3 fics over here as well.

I'd appreciate any comments if you'd like to leave any (honestly – please don't be shy ^.^ ) I'm so in love with this show, and there will definitely be more stories to come!

The ( ) indicates a different POV :) (Because I couldn't get the asterisks to show up! So if anyone knows how to, advice would be appreciated.)

I REMEMBER YOU

The bustling, cramped and smelly subway carriage hurtled along the tunnels under New York, and Peter Petrelli looked about himself contently. Not that this was the most favorable of locations, especially with barely enough room to stretch his legs out or clean air to breathe, but compared to that day's horrific lunch with his father, literally anything else was an improvement.

"Lunch" was the guise he'd been lured out under, but Peter had hardly been surprised to instead be ambushed by one of Arthur's usual lectures on how his youngest son was "wasting his life" and "failing to live up to the expectations of this family". He had suffered through half an hour of it, barely nibbling through the breadbasket due to lack of appetite, before excusing himself with a fake call from his current patient. Not that his current patient, Mrs Barker, could have possibly phoned him while in the coma (he had felt more than a little guilty using her as an excuse) but it was just another testament to Arthur's utter disinterest in Peter's life that he didn't even notice. Or care.

So Peter had got as far from the restaurant as quickly as possible, driven by his recent craving to be around people. He couldn't explain it, didn't even think about it really, all he knew was that lately he just needed to surround himself in a crowd of emotions, relationships and feelings that sparked between the millions of people in the city. And so that was why he was currently riding the subway aimlessly with no decided destination in the middle of a busy and crowded afternoon. Somehow it was calming to be near lots of people. He found a sort of comfort in their proximity, and entertained himself imagining their lives and emotions, and sometimes he pretended that if he just concentrated enough, he would be able to actually feel what they felt...

The trundling carriage pulled into a stop and too many people piled inside the already overcrowded space. Peter had to fold his legs up to make room for more standing space, and watched with mild interest as the newcomers weaved themselves into the tight-knit formation. A dozen people shuffled past his feet, and Peter immediately felt himself drawn to one man in particular as his constant urge to help people kicked into overdrive.

What he noticed at once was that the air around this man was almost palpable with misery. Sadness, envy and hopelessness weighed heavy on his shoulders, and the secondary wave of those emotions hit Peter so strongly they almost suffocated him. The inexplicable urge to do anything to ease that pain coursed through him, but he didn't know how to or if he should even get involved. He knew from experience that some people didn't take too kindly to being approached by a stranger in this city.

He couldn't explain how he could actually (truly, for once) sense that man's emotions, but he could just feel them suddenly, as if they were his own. The guy was quite a pathetic sight and Peter hoped he wasn't staring too openly: he couldn't have been more than a few years older than Peter himself; tall and lean, but hunched as if self-conscious of his height; handsome but completely unaware of it, disguised behind neatly parted hair and a lumpy sweater-vest; shuffling his too-big feet constantly to avoid them being stepped on by the ignorant passers-by who seemed to be going out of their way to bump him; and attempting to balance a heavy-looking, over-flowing box that rattled as it swayed in his arms. And most upsetting of all was the perfect expression of calmness and composure on his face that he wore for the outside world, while his emotions secretly bubbled and steamed around him like a murky fog.

Suddenly Peter was very aware that his own face probably looked as if he'd seen a puppy be kicked, and so fought to rearrange his features into a more neutral expression. He honestly tried not to stare too much but couldn't tear his eyes away for more a few seconds, and each time he looked back the poor guy's luck just got worse and worse.

( )

Gabriel cursed internally as yet another careless person elbowed him out of the way painfully. He never could be sure if that happened to everyone else while on public transport too; only to him because he was taller than average; or just because it was another cruel joke the universe had dumped on him. It wasn't even the stinging pain in his ribs that annoyed him the most, which he suspected would form into a nasty bruise (like it had the last time he took the subway, which was why he tended to avoid doing so), it was the amount of people who had bashed into the box he was failing to defend from their clumsiness. Didn't they have any semblance of respect for his belongings...?! Of course not. Each time the contents clanked against each other or scraped as they were shoved, Gabriel winced and could do nothing but hope the pieces weren't getting too badly damaged.

But what was to be expected? He'd never been blessed with good luck. Not even normal luck. Sadly, Gabriel's fortune seemed to fall on the lower end of the spectrum. As did everything else in his pointless, pathetic life, and it infuriated him. For example; he'd been waiting on this particular order of clockwork for seven weeks before finally getting it. Seven weeks! In fact, he only had it now because he'd had to literally cross the city himself to remind the trader, who had stared thickly at Gabriel for an excruciatingly long time before collecting the box from where it had apparently been sitting under the desk for weeks. Right beside the mail pile. And it wasn't even a complicated order! In fact, he would even bet that it was the blandness of the pieces that had prompted the merchant to forget about him for so long. Or, he thought venomously again, maybe it was just fate playing it's usual game, as it was hardly fair for a day to go by without at least seven bad things happening to him...

( )

As the train rounded another corner with a particularly violent bump, Peter cringed as the man's box was once more jostled harshly and a small stream of it's contents spilled out onto the floor, bouncing with a tinkling, metallic tune. The calmness evaporated and a crest-fallen look crumpled up that face, and Peter just couldn't take it any longer. Almost before he even realised he'd moved, he was on his hands and knees on the ground beside the sighing and muttering man, helping him search for the bits and pieces he'd dropped. The form beside him froze at the closeness and Peter could have sworn it also recoiled, just a little. But he kept his concentration mostly on the task at hand, and didn't look up until he was finished.

"Here," he said kindly, offering out a handful of metal screws and dial-things. He had no idea what they were, but made sure to handle them carefully. "I think that's all of them, at least I can't see any others down there." He smiled at the man, hoping to cheer him up a little, but was met with the most shocked expression Peter had ever seen in his life. He quickly began to feel awkward under such an intense stare, and his knees began to ache against the hard floor of the carriage.

( )

Gabriel blinked deep, dark eyes, slightly magnified behind his think-lensed glasses. He stared wordlessly at the young, angelic face that was smiling right at him. Down on the dirty, germ-infested floor with him at his level. Holding out most of the dropped springs and ratchets with such a respecting touch. Heat began to creep its way up his neck and face, and Gabriel's throat constricted once he realised he was being asked to actually converse with this person. But he couldn't possibly talk. He just kept staring.

It couldn't be for him, he concluded eventually, certain he must have misunderstood the situation somehow. People didn't help strangers like this for no reason, it just didn't happen. At least it never had in Gabriel's lifetime, anyway.

He didn't even know how to respond to such kindness, and hated himself more for how pathetic that was. It wasn't until another loud screech of brakes seemed to shake him to his senses that he cleared his throat. "Th- thank you." His voice was very quiet, timid, and he cringed at that too. It seemed he couldn't do anything right today.

"You're welcome." He was graced with another smile, sweet and friendly, Gabriel thought, but there was something funny with his lip. It didn't work properly, but was nice, he decided. The handful was still being patiently held out to him, and Gabriel finally took the bits of clockwork and put them back into the box, careful not to brush those long fingers or soft skin once.

( )

If invisible people weren't impossible, Peter would have sworn by his reaction that Gabriel had been one his entire life. It was as if he'd never been looked in the eye before, let alone helped by a stranger. While this shared thought flushed pink in Gabriel's cheeks, it only served to further fuel Peter's ever-present need to help, and once they had both clambered clumsily back to their feet, he did just that.

"Why don't you take the seat? You need it more than I do." He said with a short chuckle, wishing he didn't feel so uncomfortable under that wondrous gaze. But those eyes were so entrancing, almost chilling, as if they could look right through Peter's skin and scrutinise every part that made up his soul. He wondered if maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to get involved after all, and if he was on his way to getting a punch in the face for his troubles.

He watched as Gabriel looked confusedly between the box in his arms and the recently vacated seat beside them. Again, by the looks of him it was as if he'd never seen an empty subway seat before (which was actually entirely possible in this city). "No. No, I couldn't..." The way Gabriel acted as though this was a highest honour he wasn't worthy of made Peter ache in sympathy. No, this was the right thing to do, and thankfully violence seemed out of the equation. Peter was glad he'd made the effort to help this man.

"Please take it, my stop is quite soon anyway." He lied. And in the innocent, too-friendly Petrelli manner, he reached out and patted a shoulder reassuringly.

( )

It hadn't occurred to Peter that a man who was shocked dumb by a smile might be uncomfortable with a touch, but Gabriel managed to act mostly normal, thank god. He didn't think his cheeks could survive any further blushing, let alone his ego. The touch was soft and foreign, and embarrassingly, Gabriel couldn't remember the last time anyone other than his mother had touched him.

After a little more persuasion, Gabriel thanked Peter again and gratefully took the seat and set down his heavy cargo, still anxious at the kind, seemingly genuine gesture. It was just so unfamiliar. Secretly he couldn't decipher the cause of his blushing reaction: was it just from being noticed for once? From someone caring just enough to be nice rather than crush his toes or bruise his ribs? Or was it because these things were coming from a man that couldn't be described as anything other than beautiful?

( )

Satisfied with the seating arrangements, Peter found a close by space to stand. Feeling better knowing he had done his bit to making someone's day a little brighter, his thoughts reluctantly returned to the head of the Petrelli family. The train swayed as it wound its way through the city, and Peter looped his wrist through one of the hand-straps in the ceiling and crossed his free arm to his shoulder, using his forearm as a chin rest.

Despite the many times he had insisted against it to Nathan, truthfully Peter couldn't stop Arthur's harsh words from instilling more and more doubt in his mind each time he saw him. Which was another of the reasons that he tried his best to avoid his father and his strict expectations. Peter knew his job as a hospice nurse made a difference in people's lives (or well, their deaths), and he didn't rely on praise and compliments to keep him going. But he deeply wished that his father's frown didn't haunt him on the days while he sat at a bedside, holding a hand for the simple reason of comforting someone who needed it.

Always one to follow his heart and do what's right, Peter would adamantly fight against the restricting ideals of his family if he believed it made a better difference to even one life. And his job did, he knew it did. This way he could do his bit to save the world one person at a time.

Take today for example: he could already feel a huge shift in the other man's emotions, and it warmed him to know he'd helped. The storm cloud above that neatly-sleeked hair was brightening behind Peter, he could tell without even looking. Wonder, amazement and utter gratitude radiated strongly off Gabriel, and Peter threw an imaginary middle finger up at his father.

He tried to casually peek over his shoulder at the seat behind him, wanting to get another sneaky glimpse of the eyes that still burned vividly in his mind, but instead found himself staring directly into them. Both men jumped and looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Peter laughed to himself, turning around fully smiling at Gabriel again now the jig was up. "So are you a collector?"

Gabriel looked up, surprised yet again (Peter vaguely wondered if maybe that was just his normal face), and his dark eyes blinked rapidly while he processed that yes, this stranger was indeed addressing him. Then his gaze dropped to the box on his lap that Peter was eyeing.

"Sort of. They're for my shop. I'm a watchmaker." He spoke with a tender, gentle voice again, his tongue prolonging the "r" as his voice trailed off. Impressively groomed, heavy brows lowered and Gabriel seemed to retreat into himself as if he wished he hadn't said that. Again, Peter was almost winded by the sudden force of self-loathing this man felt for himself and, apparently, his occupation.

"Really? That's awesome. I'd love to have that sort of patience." He said encouragingly, hoping that some interest in the field would be appreciated.

( )

Gabriel lifted his gaze back to Peter's bright one, intrigued. Lovely eyes, he noted. Wide and trusting with long, dark eyelashes. Somehow this man had a way of making Gabriel forget about everyone else crushed around them in this tin can. He almost made Gabriel feel special , which was a secret wish that he had harboured all his life but never even got close to. Sadly, he doubted he ever would.

"It's not so much patience as understanding. Watch making is a very precise craft, very intricate. You could have all the patience in the world, but if you don't understand the piece then it's pretty much pointless. Every one is different, you can't just use the same method on them all..." His voice had sped up over his short-lived ramble, before hurriedly dying again. His face burned more and he couldn't ignore the feeling of stupidity rolling over him. Of course this man didn't really care about his craft, he was just being polite (for some strange reason that Gabriel still didn't understand). It still unnerved him, although the novelty of being chosen to be talked to out of the dozens of other people in here made him push away the nasty thought that maybe this was some kind of prank.

Rather lacking experience in flirting, any attention directed his way from either man or woman was enough to make Gabriel giddy. He didn't even know if this qualified as flirting, but it was more than he had experienced in a long time. And maybe he just wanted to imagine for just one minute that anyone that attractive could really be interested in him. It sure seemed that way, at least. "Anyway, it's not for everyone. Watch making, I mean. I know it's a pretty boring, useless job..." he shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

( )

Peter tried not to frown at that last part. He got the uncomfortable feeling that "boring and useless" was a phrase drummed into Gabriel from an outside source to make him feel worthless about his profession. That thought was a little too close to home for his own liking.

"Well I think that's a really cool job. Special. Unique." He said defiantly, almost as if Arthur and whoever had put Gabriel down could hear them. Gabriel scoffed and threw Peter a look that said he was really beginning to think he was a crazy guy who started strange conversations with random men on trains. "No really," he chose to elaborate. "You get to make people happy by fixing what's important to them. Never underestimate the sentimental attachment to a watch – ask my brother if you don't believe me..." Peter said with a laugh, remembering Nathan huddled on the staircase at home with tears in his eyes. He'd just been dumped by his girlfriend at the time, who had broken his prized, 21st-birthday-present-Rolex, and Nathan had moped and cried for his watch rather than the girlfriend. To this day Peter couldn't recall her name, as Nathan never mentioned her, but the Rolex however was a tragedy he was still to recover from. Peter wondered idly if this timid watchmaker could have been able to fix it and spare his brother all those years of heartbreak.

( )

That was sweet, Gabriel mused. He was sweet, this guy who was purposely trying to cheer him up. He allowed a smile to lift his lips, just momentarily, and was rewarded with another asymmetrical one in return. For the next few conversation-less minutes Gabriel enjoyed just watching this unaware stranger from the back as he swayed in time with the carriage. What a strange little man, he thought happily. With such a lovely face, kind, open and inspiring. And he had a sneaking sense that his personality matched it perfectly. It had been years since anyone had looked at Gabriel the way Peter just had repeatedly, let alone a complete stranger. It was so bizarre, and Gabriel itched to get his head around this guy.

His nimble mind worked fast as he surveyed Peter intently, as if trying to see how he worked... what made him tick... He was kind-hearted (clearly), optimistic, eager to please, afraid of letting others down, he wanted to prove his worth because nobody appreciated him... he wanted to be special... to be extraordinary... There was a faint niggling behind Gabriel's forehead as if a rogue idea were forming all by itself, and if he just allowed it to, it would work itself into fruition. He was coming onto something here, something important, he just didn't know what it was. Like a sixth sense that he had nothing to compare to...

And then his concentration was suddenly blown by the jarring ticks of Peter's irritatingly off-time watch. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it rattled around his head and he yearned to look around inside it and put things right. He tried to ignore the sound, after all there must have been dozens of watches in the carriage, yet somehow he could hear only one, as if his hearing had honed in on that particular fault.

After ninety three ticks it all got too much, and he blurted out without much forethought, "Your watch is broken." He waited patiently (after all, if Gabriel was anything he was patient) for Peter to realise that he was the accused. Perhaps amused that Gabriel had started the conversation this time, Peter's lopsided lip twitched a little and he tucked his long, shiny fringe back into place behind his ear. He leant back to hear better, the disobedient hair untucking itself again to swing with the momentum of the train.

"What, sorry?"

"Your watch. It's running slow." Gabriel gestured to the large, sturdy piece decorating a slender wrist, and watched him lift it to check the numbers. They were the same that the wall clock displayed for all the travellers.

"Is it?" A little frown dimpled his brow.

"Just half a minute." Gabriel added quietly and wishing he hadn't bothered talking at all. Now that his concentration had been broken, the incessant ticking had faded back into the blur of everyday sounds. But the noise still echoed in his head. How fascinating.

( )

Peter looked down on the watchmaker, impressed. "How did you know that?" Gabriel just shrugged modestly, shy as before and more than a little pleased seeing Peter's impressed face. "See, I told you it's not a boring job – it's like you have a superpower or something." He joked and they both sniggered at the ludicrous idea.

"You could come by my shop sometime? I can fix it for you." Gabriel offered, biting his lips together in a sweet, hopeful smile that made Peter's eyes crinkle. Funny how in such a short while the very air around that man had brightened so much. Peter had been drinking in the feelings in the time between talking, feeling them seep through him as if Gabriel were a fire giving off heat. And now he could so clearly feel hope, gratitude and intrigue directed towards himself. Perhaps even a little attraction...? He couldn't be sure, as it had been so long since Peter had had anything close to a successful relationship (long or short lived), that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be wanted that way. Regardless, drinking up Gabriel's feelings was making him high, and he didn't really mind what the other man felt for him, just as long as they were good feelings.

Maybe he should visit him at his shop? Maybe it would be nice to see him again...? Even just to check up and see if he's any happier in his life? Maybe he could stop by a few times and they would become friends? So many times Nathan had criticized Peter for his rush of judgement, but he didn't care. He thought he could get to like this man, that there was definitely something special about him beneath all the desperate need to be looked after. Rarely had Peter ever felt so in sync with anyone else's emotions, not even Nathan's. Maybe destiny had something to do with it, he wondered. "Yeah, I'll do that." He smiled, and the air between them definitely fizzled with possibility.

Peter watched the lights flashing past the windows being reflected in those glasses while Gabriel fumbled in his pockets for a little metal case. He produced a business card from the otherwise full stock, clearly not having many opportunities to give them away, and Peter took it happily. They smiled at each other again, unknowingly being tied together by the inevitable string of fate, until Gabriel blushed once again and broke the contact, standing up as the train slowed.

( )

"This is me." With the box tucked as securely as could be under his arm, Gabriel shuffled awkwardly on the spot for a moment. It took Peter until the third nodding gesture to understand, and this time he resumed the seat without protest.

Gabriel found himself torn. He needed to leave and get back to the Grandfather clock that needed it's mainspring replaced before that evening, but at the same time he didn't want to leave the foul-smelling, claustrophobic carriage. He might never see this guy or his nice smile again. He didn't even know his name.

( )

Gabriel hovered for brief moment (in indecision? Peter wondered) before coming to a decision and blurting out one last "thanks", and being swept away onto the bustling platform before Peter had a chance to reply. He turned to watch him through the window, but despite his towering height, Gabriel had disappeared into the faceless sea of commuters as if he'd never been there at all.

So Peter just sat with the seat still warm beneath him, the lingering trace of another person. It was almost as if Gabriel's new found happiness had hovered behind too, because Peter let it fill him up, discarding every inkling of doubt from the dreaded "lunch", and he buzzed off it the entire journey home.

He did mean to go and get his watch fixed, he really did. But the next few weeks sped past in a blur of family and work dynamics and he never had the time to even think about his watch. And when Mrs Barker peacefully passed on and Peter was introduced to his new patient, a kind, elderly man called Charles, it was love at first sight when he met Charles's beautiful daughter, and slowly those half-formed thoughts of that sad, lonely man from the train who needed saving slipped from his mind. The business card got lost somewhere in his apartment, and he didn't even notice. Gabriel became just a fond memory like so many other people Peter selflessly helped in passing, and he so humbly assumed that the watchmaker wouldn't even remember him. Nobody else seemed to.

( )

But Gabriel didn't forget about the caring, beautiful stranger with the nice hair who had taken the time out of his day to be kind to him. Over the next few weeks his mediocre life continued as normal: boring and uneventful. He tried not to dwell too much on particular thoughts, but every time the bell above the door tinkled a little spark of hope erupted in his chest, only to die a harsher death each time it wasn't him gracing his doorway.

The bruises on his ribs and toes had long since faded when he eventually gave up waiting. Why should he expect anyone to remember him? That kind guy had probably forgotten all about him, and he doubted they'd ever meet again anyway. But he didn't really mind: unfortunately, being ignored was hardly a new thing for Gabriel Gray. But this time he had something to compensate for the rejection: a lovely, heart-warming memory of wide hazel eyes and a funny squint lip. And, best of all, kindness and encouragement . Those feelings were so inspiring, and leaked slowly through him until one day it could only be called "determination". Determination to do something more with his life, to be something more... Even if he never saw that face again he knew he'd never forget it, and would always treasure that fateful half hour on the subway.

( ) ( ) ( )

Little did he know that in just over half a year's time, he'd come face to face again with the caring, beautiful stranger with the nice hair. Far away from his clocks and his over-protective mother, in a different life, as a different person, Sylar would pause for a second as he finally caught sight of the face of the man he was chasing. So many thoughts would speed through his head, and for a moment he would forget that he was "Sylar", that he was special now and powerful , and that he had killed so many innocents to get to where he was. For a moment, there on top of the school stadium, losing his reality in that frightened, hazel gaze, he would be transported back to that afternoon six and a half months earlier. The one where small smiles and a few kind words from a stranger had given him hope for his own future.

Peter wouldn't recognise him - how could he? Over time his memory would have faded, but he would still be able to recall a gentle man with a shy smile and a longing to be liked. None of that would resonate with the serial killer towering above him. But Sylar would never forget that face - how could he ? Everything, down to that gorgeous curve of overgrown fringe was exactly the same. The image of him was imprinted in his memory, and there used to be a time when he had pictured that face every day when he was sad or lonely and needed a happy thought.

Then he would suddenly be brought crashing back into the present, to the fear and terror he had caused on such an honest face, and he'd feel the slightest flicker of a long-forgotten emotion: regret. But there would be no time to dwell on that as Peter, still as self-sacrificing and naïve as he was the last time they met, would grab hold of him and send them both plunging to a messy, painful death for the sake of an innocent. And when Sylar would pick himself up, aching and bleeding, he would cast a forlorn look over the mangled body that had cushioned his fall and died for no reason. Such a waste. It didn't have to be this way...

But it would be too late now. He couldn't go back to his old life. He wouldn't go back to his old life. Not after so much he had finally gained, how far he had come.

But despite those thoughts, Sylar would hate himself (a habit he had purposely crushed soon after reinventing himself) for leaving the little man behind and trailing footsteps through his blood. He would remember the time when they had last been side by side on the ground, scrambling for cogs and ratchets on the dirty, cluttered floor of the train. He would remember the time when the innocent who Peter had selflessly tried to help had been him.