Crash and Yearn

by kandisi

"We can't both crash here, so someone's gotta fly, or someone's gonna die." When Peter allows Hesam to temporarily crash at his apartment, Sylar puts on quite the ridiculous show in an effort to convince Hesam to vacate the apartment and Peter's life. However, the plan turns when Sylar and Hesam get a little too close for Peter's liking... Slash, Peter/Sylar.

2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a long while! Sorry, I've just had so much going on these past couple years.

Anyway, please do read up and drop me a review (so long as it's not a flame, lol.)

Crash and Year
Chapter 2
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He looked around. He was on a stage, and out in the audience were various people he knew from all over the world.

There was a big, metal suitcase in front of him, and to his right, Hesam was standing with a suitcase in front of him, too. In front of them both, Sylar was standing, along with Noah.

"Okay, Sylar," Noah said, speaking into a microphone. "Which piece of baggage is too much for you?"

"Well," Sylar said, looking back and forth between Hesam and Peter. "I don't know, I'm still thinking about it."

Noah nodded. "Well, I'll just read them again for you and we'll see what the audience has to say," he said, looking down at the card in his hand. "First one... 'I once put tinfoil on my windows because I thought Nathan Petrelli had spies watching me'."

The audience laughed.

"Hey," Hesam pouted, folding his arms. "I had just reason to believe that! I didn't know whether or not Nathan had Peter spying on me too back when Nathan was making all those crazy speeches because Peter was acting really freaky!"

The audience laughed again.

Noah chortled, looking down at another card. "Next one... 'My life in itself is nothing but one big closet'."

The audience booed, loudly.

"What?" Peter muttered.

Sylar formed a disgusted expression. "Oh, now that's pretty bad," he said, backing away from Peter even though a whole nine yards was already separating them. "Sorry, Noah, that's way too much baggage for me."

The audience cheered, Claire specifically, as she was up front in a red cheerleader's uniform cheering Hesam on.

Peter supposed what was happening made enough sense, but he still didn't get it. Why was he on a talk show?

Wait. What? Hesam ran to Sylar, and that meant... Wait. Sylar had chosen Hesam over Peter...?

"Now Sylar, reveal your baggage," Noah insisted.

Sylar opened the suitcase.

"...You're an insane psycho killer with superpowers?" Hesam muttered. Then, he shrugged it off. "Oh, that's fine, since you're fine."

Peter growled. "This," he said, his hands filling with purple flames, "is ridiculous!"

He began shooting fiery violet flames at everyone in sight—with the exception of Sylar—before he shot some electricity at some people and threw others around with telekinesis. Then, he radioactively disintegrated his suitcase and super-sped over to Sylar, punching him in the jaw with super-strength.

"Damn, Peter!" Hesam gasped. "This explains a LOT."

Peter didn't know what happened next—the details, anyway—only that he cut Hesam's head open.

"Peter," Sylar groaned, snapping his jaw back into place. "You're right, this is ridiculous."

"Why?"

"You're having another one of those dreams where you have all of your powers again, aren't you?"

Into his pillow, Peter mumbled, "Huh?"

"Peter... wake up..."

Peter opened his eyes, and looked up.

"Morning, Peter..."

Peter furrowed his brow a little, as everything came into focus. It was a guy, in a hockey mask, holding a knife.

Peter stirred for only a moment, nuzzling his face back into the pillow and closing his eyes.

Then...

"...What the?!" Peter jumped up in bed, nearly falling out of it.

Sylar laughed, "Got you."

Breathing heavily, Peter cursed to himself, sitting up in bed and throwing a pillow at Sylar. "You..." slam. "Ahh!"

"He up yet?" Hesam asked, having just opened one of Peter's bedroom doors with a baseball bat.

Peter was, sure enough, fully hoping he was still asleep, but the fact that what was occurring suddenly made no sense to him told him otherwise. "Alright," he said, running a hand back through his unkempt hair. "I know I probably shouldn't ask, but... what the hell are you two doing?"

Shrugging, Hesam said, "Oh," and playfully swung the bat. "We decided to wake you up, since you apparently forgot to set your alarm."

Peter frowned with a glare. "Yeah, and that required a mask and a baseball bat?" He glanced at the object in Sylar's hand. "And a knife?"

"Hey," Hesam said, pointing at Sylar. "It was his idea."

Sylar laughed. "It was not, Hesam," he said, picking up the pillow Peter had earlier thrown at him. "It was your idea," he shouted, throwing the pillow at Hesam, "and you know it!"

After having caught the pillow, Hesam laughed, and threw it back at Sylar. "Was not!"

Peter was far from amused. "Sylar, take off the hockey mask and put the knife away," he said politely, albeit irritably. "Hesam, stop swinging that and put my brother's baseball bat back where you found it."

"Okay," Hesam replied, returning the bat to the top shelf in Peter's bedroom closet.

Peter arched an eyebrow. Hesam wouldn't have known that bat was in there, unless...

"Sylar," Peter said, throwing the covers back. "I don't know whose idea it was to give me this stupid wake-up call, but I don't really care." He stood from the bed, throwing the covers back over it. "Anyway, if you want to wake me up tomorrow like that, be prepared to get hit in the face by something harder than a pillow."

"Yes, Peter..."

Peter dropped the sheets, turned around, and snatched the mask from Sylar's face. "I should have known it was you," he said, shoving the mask back against Sylar's chest. "After all, everyday's a Halloween when you're around."

"Geez," Hesam whispered to himself. "Is he always this..."

"Bitchy?" Sylar asked.

"...I didn't say anything."

Peter extended his arm out to the side, pointing to the doorway. "Alright you two," he said with a forced smile and genuine sarcasm. "Out."

"You're no fun, Peter," Sylar said. He put the mask back on, turned, raised the knife in his hand, and chased Hesam out of the bedroom. Hesam faked his horror the whole while, especially when Sylar began to fake-stab him.

The bedroom doors shut.

Pssh, wait until he stabs you for real.

Peter went back to making his bed, frowning the whole while. So what? Sylar and Hesam were best buddies now? And what was up with Sylar's behavior? Hesam's, too. They didn't normally act like this. Granted Sylar was still a little insane and Hesam a little colorful, but they both acted moonstruck when in one another's presence.

Now, all Peter had to do was figure out which one of them was the moon so the lunar cycles would cease and thus the lunacy.

"Well," he said to himself, "I could just take away the sun and wait until they both become starved for the light, and then... wait a minute..." He blinked consecutively. "...I'm thinking like Mom," he muttered, shuddering. "Then again, those dreams I've been having are a little crazy... Sylar, maybe you empathetically obtained my ma's ability and then I accidentally took it from you and now you're playing a big joke on me..."

That was a long-shot, since Sylar had promised him no more abilities through any means of obtaining them, but there was that one time when...

Peter huffed, and opened the nightstand drawer.

"Sylar..."

"Yes?"

"Does... uh... Peter, does he..."

Sylar set his silverware down, and turned in his chair. "Does he what?"

Staring through the glass of Peter's bedroom wall, Hesam asked, "Does he trim his own hair?"

"What?" Sylar, not knowing why Hesam would be asking such a thing, turned fully, and noted the expression on Hesam's face. Was he watching Peter change?

Sylar immediately stood from his chair. "What, exactly, are you doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out why Peter's talking to himself while pacing back and forth with a pair of scissors," Hesam replied, continuing to stare through the glass. "...And why he's... putting the scissors to his... wrist and... going into the bathroom..." He stood straight up and made a quick move for the doors. "Peter, don't do it!" he exclaimed, trying desperately to open the doors. "Sylar, he locked the doors! Quick, help me break them down!"

Hesam stepped back. However, he tripped backwards as if he had slipped on a banana peel before he had the chance to kick in the doors.

In reality, the doors weren't locked, and Hesam had not slipped. No, that had been Sylar's handy work, since he had a good idea as to what Peter was doing...

Having heard all the racket, particularly Hesam's exclamations, Peter emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth. He wondered what all the fuss was about, and why Hesam was on the floor, so he decided to find out.

The doors opened.

"Guys," Peter said, looking down at Hesam, "what's going on out here, or should I even be asking?"

Hesam sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "I saw you with a pair of scissors," he said, pointing to Peter's left-arm, "and you were jamming them into your wrist or something right as you went into the bathroom."

Peter, momentarily, said nothing. But then...

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Oh, that had been the perfect response, Sylar thought, because now Hesam wouldn't say anything more about the topic and Peter could go on his merry way brushing his teeth. Or, he could keep pulling a naïve Claire by inadvertently poking himself with sharp objects for no reason at all other than to watch himself heal.

Not like... Sylar had done anything like that...

"Peter," he muttered, folding his arms. "Didn't we talk about this?"

"Talk about what?" Hesam asked, standing from the floor. He really, really wanted to know what the heck was going on, and make sure he hadn't banged his head too hard.

"He has a habit," Sylar said, while Peter waved the toothbrush at him warningly. "A habit of unconsciously poking himself with pointy objects."

Slowly, Hesam's eyes shifted from Sylar, to Peter. "Right..."

Peter frowned. "I do not have a habit of doing that," he said, making a few more angry gestures with the toothbrush. "Those scissors wouldn't cut my hair, so I was checking to see if they were broken, or if they were just really, really dull because of how old they are."

Sylar, for the life of him, smiled. That had been a nice save, and he enjoyed watching Peter's attempts to manipulate others. That was rare, but when it came to protecting his secrets, Peter never saw farfetched as too far.

"Oh," Hesam said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sorry I freaked out then, but..." He sighed, faking a drawn-out yawn. "Never mind, I think I only got around a half hour of sleep last night..."

Peter smirked. "See, I was afraid of this," he said, placing his free hand on his hips. "I don't want to have to worry about being late to save someone because you crashed the ambulance."

Hesam blinked. "Uh, yeah," he said, blinking a few more times. "If I crashed the ambulance, with us inside, arriving late should be your primary concern."

"Exactly," Peter said.

"Peter, will you cut that out already?" Hesam asked, waving his hand. "That's a toothbrush, not a magic wand."

"Thank you." Sylar pat Hesam on the back a couple times. "I'm gonna have to remember that one."

Peter put the toothbrush back in his mouth, smiling sarcastically in unison. After checking the time, however, he removed the toothbrush from his mouth just long enough to say, "Someone's got less than twenty minutes to either call in or caffeine it up."

He turned and went back into the bedroom, but not before adding, "And no more peeking through my bedroom wall."

Hesam folded his arms. "You must have special powers to be able to live with him."

"I must admit," Sylar said, staring through the bedroom wall while Hesam stared at him, "that I have often wondered that myself."

"And was he unable to get back to sleep last night?" Hesam asked, beginning his walk into the dining space. "I always thought it would be a cold day in hell when he took a day off to relax."

"I'm fairly sure he was talking about you, Hesam."

"...I guess you're right," Hesam muttered, pulling out a chair at the dining table. "I'm not as big on coffee as Peter, though, and when he made that 'caffeine it up' statement I was thinking about... never mind." Then, he jumped in his seat when he heard a loud noise, which in all actuality had been Sylar in the kitchen, slamming the waffle maker shut.

"I forgot about that," Sylar said, staring Hesam down. "So... yes, what has Peter been 'up' to that he wouldn't want me to know about?"

"Besides the caffeine thing, nothing."

Tingle.

"You know," Sylar said, pouring a fresh cup of coffee, "I think you really should take off from work today..."

Hesam swallowed. A bite of his waffles, that is. "Nah, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Peter's always getting onto me about not putting enough heart into our job," Hesam replied. He looked down at his plate, huffing. "And he's right..."

Sylar gathered the set of coffee mugs, walking back to the table. "Don't tell me Peter actually tries to lecture all of his colleagues like that."

Hesam shrugged a shoulder. "Sometimes," he said, "but usually just me." He placed his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "I don't know, usually Peter keeps to himself but when he does have a conversation with someone that includes more on his behalf than the words 'I'm, fine, thanks, yes, no, good, morning, or night', it normally is something like that."

"Like that?"

"Yeah, the weird stuff," Hesam muttered, his eyes having shifted a little.

Sylar chuckled, placing a coffee mug in front of Hesam. "What is it with you and all this talk about the 'weird stuff'?"

"I don't know, Peter asks me that all the time," Hesam replied, taking another bite of waffles. "Mmm, these are really, really good, by the way."

"Thanks."

"Anyway." Hesam took a quick sip of coffee. "Regarding the weird stuff, it's what I've always said when... when, well..."

"...Weird stuff happens?"

Hesam nodded. "Pretty much, but usually it's what I say to describe things other people would say God was behind or something."

"Interesting," Sylar said, pulling back his chair and taking a seat. "So tell me how that works."

"Well..." Hesam stared downwards momentarily, gathering his words together. "It's like this," he said, looking to his right, where Sylar was seated. "In my line of work, I sometimes see what a lot of people would call 'miracles,' but the way I look at it, even miracles have to have a rational explanation, and when there appears to be none, it strikes me as weird."

"Interesting," Sylar repeated, furrowing his brow. He could actually relate to this. "And what do you think the closest thing to a rational explanation for miracles is when there appears to be none?"

"I think," Hesam said, tapping the tabletop with his index finger, "that there's always a rational explanation. If there appears to be none, it's only because it appears to be that way, so the only explanation for there not being one is that there is one, only people don't know what it is because they either don't understand it, or don't want to take the time to figure it out."

"You definitely have to take off from work today," Sylar said between blinks. "That actually spoke to me more than anything I've heard Peter say in the past four weeks."

Hesam laughed. "So, what, you actually want to hang out with me, or did you really just want to dig up some dirt on Peter?"

"Both."

"Well, at least you're honest."

"Don't get me wrong," Sylar said, taking another sip from his coffee mug. "I know plenty of people in various parts of the world, but I've known them for so long they're getting sick of me, and I can tell it's vice-versa on my behalf."

"Doesn't... sound like those are very good friends to me," Hesam muttered.

"They think they're good," Sylar mumbled. "But they're not."

Hesam finished up his waffles, continuing to watch Sylar, who suddenly appeared to be in a very contemplative state. Initially, Hesam had truly thought Sylar was a nut job, because it wasn't every day that a guy busted the front door down to fake being on crack. Now, however, it seemed like Sylar was just an average guy who had been royally fucked over by more than one person. That made sense, and it would explain everything. If Sylar had previously lost a few friends, or worse, a few girlfriends, then he had every right in the world to want someone to talk it over with. Peter, already playing the partial role of the best-friend and fulltime role of the hero, had probably become sick of listening and also didn't consider listening all that important.

And maybe, if Sylar could learn more about Peter through Hesam, maybe Hesam could learn more about Peter through Sylar...

"You should do it..."

"What?" Sylar asked, coming out of his state of contemplation. "I didn't hear you."

"Oh," Hesam said, coming out of his state of contemplation. "I decided to call in."

"That's—"

"Great," Peter said, loudly. He hadn't overheard Sylar and Hesam's conversation at all, but his watch was running an entire six minutes late, which meant he was, too.

"Peter," Hesam said, somewhat nervously. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, quickly pacing into the kitchen. "I just realized we're running a little late, I mean... I thought it was only 5:10, and it's already 5:16, so we have less than ten minutes now."

Sylar groaned. "I told you your watch was getting slow, and that I would fix the damn thing if you really wanted me to..."

"I told you," Peter said, "that you don't have to."

"I said I'd do it."

"And I said you don't have to. Really. You don't."

"I will."

"I said it's fine and you won't."

"Okay." Sylar smiled sarcastically. "I don't and I won't."

"Good."

Hesam recoiled in his chair. There was something about Peter and Sylar's random arguments that seemed weird. Every single spat they had, no matter how big or how small, seemed to have a secret behind it. Hesam wasn't quite thinking that Sylar had some deep, dark and horrible secret whereas watches were concerned, but he did think Peter really sucked at playing down both his own emotions, and that of others.

Either that or he was an enormous jerk who liked to humiliate people by exposing their weak points.

"Hesam, make sure you leave your earphones here because I don't want you listening to music on your cell in the ambulance again, because you're gonna get someone killed again if you do."

Sylar blinked. "Again?"

Looking at Peter, Hesam whispered, "Jerk..."

Sylar was looking at Hesam curiously, however, and Hesam knew he needed to clear his name immediately.

"I didn't get anyone killed," Hesam said to Sylar, though the loudness in his voice implied he wanted Peter to get the message, too. "A little over a month ago, a dispatch call came in about a code blue, and I was listening to some music when Peter and I weren't on active duty – we still had over twenty minutes before our shift started. Anyway, Peter was walking to the ambulance with some coffee, and heard the dispatch when he got there. He freaked on me, and I'm talking crazy freaked on me."

Peter frowned at him. "Hey!"

"Like I was saying," Hesam said, after having waved his hand at Peter without even looking at him, "Peter freaked on me and said we had to go. When we arrived on scene, the guy was already dead, and Peter kept saying if I had gotten him there sooner the guy would still be alive."

Peter insisted, "Well maybe he would still be alive."

"And," Hesam said, taking a very, very quick sip of coffee. "There were already six other paramedics there, and the guy had cut his arm off from above the elbow – I am talking tons of blood, everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, the ceiling, the hacksaw... and his arm was right there in the middle of the floor."

Smash.

"Interesting," Sylar said.

"Hesam," Peter hissed. He had broken something, but he neither knew nor cared what it was. "I told you not to do that," he said with a growl. "Especially around me!"

Hesam could feel himself shrinking in his chair. "Peter, I—"

"No," Peter said, growling once again. "I hate it when paramedics, EMTs, doctors, nurses, exedra tell 'hospital horror stories' and glamorize them like that!"

He smirked, "Humph," shaking his head. "Talk about disrespecting the dead."

Silence.

Thirty seconds.

"And so that's why you never talk about work," Sylar muttered.

Silence.

Sixty seconds.

"Well," Hesam said.

Silence.

Three minutes.

Sylar swore he heard a few crickets.

Peter continued to stand there, staring, drinking his coffee.

Hesam grumbled inaudibly, but he didn't have the guts to say anything. Peter... he was scary sometimes. It was the weird stuff, Hesam knew, and not of the unexplained miracle variety, just of the unexplained weirdness variety. That's just it. Peter. He was weird. That was the explanation.

...The simple explanation.

And Peter was not simple.

Silence.

"Time," Sylar said finally, looking down at his watch.

The silence continued, though Peter was moving around a bit more. Sylar and Hesam could hear him breathing, even.

"Sylar," Peter said, setting his empty mug down and pointing to the kitchen floor. "I'd appreciate if you could 'pick' this up if you know what I mean."

Sylar huffed, "Sure."

"You broke the bowl," Hesam said.

Peter nodded. "I know that, but I have to go to work, and so do you or I'd say you should do it."

Wow... "In that case, I can do it, then."

Peter furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Like you said, I only got around twenty minutes of sleep last night, and I could crash the ambulance and you could get hurt."

"Hesam, I'll be fine."

"I could get hurt."

"You'll be fine."

"You might be unable to save someone's life in time."

Peter blinked. "...Point," he mumbled, but... "I don't think you're really as exhausted as you're making yourself come off as, I think you want to play hooky so you can..." Wait. "...No, go get your things right now and let's go, you're not skipping out on your job so you can chill in front of the X-Box all day."

"I don't want to." Hesam stretched out his arms, dramatically yawning the words, "but I'm sooo tired I'm about to fall asleep right here..."

Sylar chuckled.

Peter unfolded his arms, and began walking towards Sylar.

In a scarily sweet voice, Sylar said, "I don't think you want to get off the 'H' just yet, Peter."

Wait.

"...Please oh please tell me that's not the explanation," Hesam begged.

"I'm not on heroin, Hesam," Peter said, placing his hand on Sylar's shoulder. "He was making a rather stupid inside joke."

"...Then what does the 'h' stand for?"

Peter squeezed Sylar's shoulder.

"Hell," Sylar replied.

"Oh." Hesam supposed that, under the circumstances, Sylar's inside joke made perfect sense as long as he was inside Peter's apartment with Peter.

Peter took another glance at his watch, adding the additional six minutes and realizing he was an entire one minute behind schedule. "One question, Hesam," he stated.

"Yeah?"

"If you stay here and play hooky—I mean, call in that you're sick—are you planning on screwing around?"

Hesam tilted his head. "You mean do I plan on goofing off or getting into your personal things or something like that?"

"Yes." Peter nodded. "For the most part. It's not like I was actually asking you if you were gonna try to sleep with someone in my apartment or anything, because you would never do that," he said, laughing. "Right?"

"Uh, no," Hesam replied. "That's just weird."

Peter laughed again. "I know." He placed the flats of his hands on the table, leaning forwards and down as he turned his head to look at Sylar's face. "Just like I also know that Sylar wouldn't try anything like that anymore than he would try to kill anyone," he said, grinning. "Right?"

Sylar huffed, "Right."

"Right," Peter said, placing his hand on Sylar's shoulder once again.

That was odd, Hesam thought, because he had only once ever seen Peter quite so eager to keep randomly touching another person, and that was Nathan. Maybe that was it. Sylar was a brotherly figure to Peter. That would explain things. If so, Peter was definitely playing big brother now, in more ways than one, but maybe he was trying to be more like Nathan now?

What was strange, however, was the way that right after his 'right', Peter had turned to walk away, only to walk back to Sylar and touch his shoulder again.

Having read Hesam's thoughts without actually reading them, Sylar said, "Now that he's off the 'H' and the 'LD', he's getting on the 'F', because the 'F' was always, always Peter's favorite, and trust me—there's nothing he loves more than a good—"

"Flight," Peter said.

Hesam raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Inside joke." Peter lightly pat Sylar's shoulder and stepped back. "Nothing important, it's all derived from those 'silly comic books' I read."

"Huh."

"Anyways, I gotta get going," Peter said. He picked his red gym back up from the floor, slinging the white strap over his shoulder. "Hesam, just so you know, I find this incredibly sad."

"I already knew that," Hesam said with a shrug. "But just so you know I really do plan on catching some much-needed Z's."

Peter frowned inwardly. Hesam probably was planning on doing that. All this time Peter had been worried about the weird stuff, when all Hesam probably wanted was to take advantage of a friend's couch and fellow-crasher so he could veg out in front the television and share college stories and dumb stories about Peter with a fellow crasher.

Peter also figured Sylar had, in some way, put Hesam up to this, and since Sylar would have no interest in behavior of the college dorm variety that meant he wanted to hear hospital horror stories about Peter in another attempt to empathize with him. Well. That was okay...

"Okay," Peter said, standing in the front doorway. "I'm heading out, okay?"

"Okay," Hesam said.

"Okay," Sylar said.

"Okay," Peter said, smiling in a strange way that made him resemble a father who was leaving the kids home while he went to work, knowing that the kids were planning on skipping school. "But as for not okay, if any of my stuff gets messed with, or if anything gets broken, or should I—for reasons I can't fathom—come home from work to find my apartment a complete disaster, you're both grounded."

The front door slammed.

"Well," Hesam said.

The front door opened. "By the way, grounded translates to ass whooping."

The front door shut.

"Well," Sylar said. "What should we do first?"

"Let's get into Peter's stuff."

"Alright."

"Hmm... Hmm mmm... Hmm hmm... Hmm, hmm hmm, mmm..."

God, will he shut up?

"Hmm... Hmm hmm, mmm hmm..."

Peter gritted his teeth.

"Hmm hmm... I sit and watch... as tears go by-ah-aye-eye..."

"Will you stop that?"

"What is it?"

Peter turned his head to the left, and frowned. "James, you have got to be joking, right?"

"If you're talking about the humming, I only do that because it's better than the intolerable silence," James replied. Peter had nothing to say in response, as usual, and only began to—once again—stare at the receiver to await incoming dispatches. James hadn't been surprised when Hesam had phoned in; everyone needed a break from driving Peter Petrelli around, and from the intolerable silence which was sitting in the ambulance with him.

"Say Peter..."

"Yes?"

"So I hear Hesam's crashing at your place."

"Yes."

"How's that working out?"

"Fine."

James took a sip of coffee, staring at Peter out of the corner of his right-eye. "How's your other friend doing?"

"Fine."

"So," James said, staring out the windshield while he pictured something in his mind. "You're not worried your crashers are going to wreck your apartment while they crash."

"No."

James continued to stare out the windshield; the television of his mind flipping through some interesting channels. "Hesam crashed at my place once, and man, it was crazy..."

Peter remained silent. He hated it when whoever he worked shifts with chose to deal with the tolerable silence by badmouthing coworkers, or worse, gossiping. Most of them knew better than to try that with Peter, since if he caught any inkling that he was going to hear some derogatory hearsay, he would speak up with a single phrase to inevitably ensure the return of the tolerable silence.

"It was only for several days last year when he was moving into his new apartment," James said as he sat back. "But yes, it was crazy..." He smiled, making himself more comfortable in the driver's seat. "On the second night," he continued, earnestly, "I introduced Hesam to this one friend of mine, and they really hit it off, and as you might know Hesam isn't one of those guys who like to be alone when he's down, much less when he's happy."

Peter exhaled, loudly, hoping James would get the message—the message being he did not need nor want to hear James's dumb story.

"Hesam and I had different schedules, so he hung out with my friend the next night when I had to work," James said, taking another small sip from his coffee cup. "Hesam took him to all these really, really neat and crazy places I'd never heard of, and my friend had so much fun..." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Hell, Carl hangs out with Hesam more than me now."

Peter looked to his right, pretending to be interested in something he was looking at through the window, even though the only thing visible through the passenger's side window was a brick wall.

James knew, of course, that Peter was really interested in what he was looking at in his own mind.

"Hesam has a ton of friends," James said. He hadn't looked at Peter once, he just stared at that television in his head. "He's one of those guys who can hand out his number to drunk people in a bar and actually get calls the next day. He has this insanely weird charm that's not really charm at all, it's more of this dark horse thing."

Peter was getting very, very close to making sure the tolerable silence returned.

"And you know what they say about dark horses," James went on to say, "which is that when a person's in need and the white knight's nowhere in sight, the dark horse is gonna ride right on in and,"—he slapped his thigh—"bam! Ride right on off with the person in distress to save them."

"So," Peter said, finally. He was still looking out the window, but surely James didn't care. "You're telling me that Hesam's an unappreciated superhero."

"No." James laughed. "I'm telling you he's a paranoid sociopath with a conscience."

What. The. Hell?

"James," Peter said, blinking, "what the hell?" He smirked, his smirk nearly transforming into a laugh. "Actually, what the hell are you on?"

"But it's true," James replied with seriousness, pursing his lips into a momentarily smile. "If Hesam thinks you're out to get him in any way, he's eventually going to get you without even knowing it. He calls it his 'involuntary defense mechanism against the weird stuff'..."

Peter blinked again. "...I'm listening..."

James nodded. "Yeah, and because he's not actually trying to do bad stuff, he comes off as this great guy who's willing to listen to all your problems and offer you constructive advice," he pointed his finger at Peter, "and he'll scold you when you refuse to talk about problems as a means to make you think them over... but..."

Peter shrugged, though the shrug's manner was very insistent. "But?"

"But it's all part of the defense mechanism," James said, poking Peter in the shoulder. "He wants others to feel better because it makes him feel better about them, and he feeds on the entire 'process' of it, turning it into this huge deal." He looked at his coffee cup, smirking. "The guy can turn a trip to the local Starbucks into an adventure, but he only does that for unsuspecting victims..."

"I'm..." Peter huffed, ruffling his hair at the same time. "Okay, I'm really confused right now by whatever it is you're trying to say about our friend."

"I'll try to simplify it a little," James said. He turned his head, staring out the windshield, more images filling his mind. "My friend Carl was the unsuspecting victim of Hesam's process, and Carl, he was processed... and now..."

"...Now what?"

"Carl," James whispered, "is gay for him now..."

Peter's mouth fell open, and he truly didn't know what to say. "Uh, yeah... okay..."

"Don't you get it?" James asked, while Peter mouthed the word 'no'. "That's the process, Peter – to make you feel so good about yourself that you feel just as good about him, and it's addictive. There ain't no coming back from the process once you've been through it."

"Pssh." Peter sat back, knocking his head lightly against the seat. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've heard, from any of you guys, about any of you guys." He stared through the windshield, seeing nothing but the other side of the glass. "Process," he muttered. "Yeah, Hesam's unintentionally making guys gay for him as part of his defense mechanism or whatever, and to boot, he's sociopathic."

"Peter..."

"Yes?"

"You ever heard that saying on how the road to darkness is a journey, not a light switch?"

"What about it?"

"Hesam turns the road to light into a journey, and then flips the light switch off..."

"Which means?"

"Which means," James began, then inhaling quite the deep breath. "That once the unsuspecting victim's been on the really fun journey, Hesam stops talking to them and takes another person on the really fun journey, leaving the previous unsuspecting victim to pine, bitch to their other friends, and become so insanely jealous they start staking Hesam in order to be re-processed."

"I don't thi—"

"But he will only process you once," James said, poking Peter in the shoulder again. "And once you've been processed, you are screwed."

Peter lightly slapped James's hand away. "Right... So, Hesam has a 'process' that's basically showing a new friend the amazing wonders of Starbucks or Houlihan's, but it's really the evil work of a dangerous psycho?" He leaned forwards, patting James on the arm. "Do us all a favor next shift and lay off the hearsay, because that's what you're on and you need to get off of it."

"You are gonna be sorry, Peter," James said, slowly shaking his head side-to-side. "Hesam also is definitely not psycho. Like I said, he's a sociopath with a conscience, meaning he keeps putting people through the process in order to understand them for his own gain even though he knows the process hurts them, but since he feels bad about it later on and does everything to correct the effects of the process, he has a conscience. Get it?"

"Wait. What?" Peter blinked a few times. "I..." A few more blinks. "...Who's normally subjected to this process?"

Holy shit, Peter Petrelli was gossiping at work. James was going to win some serious cash and he knew it.

"Well," James said with casual ease, "he prefers to process vulnerable individuals."

"...Go on," Peter mumbled.

"That was pretty self-explanatory, Peter." James shrugged, staring out the windshield while Peter stared right out it with him. "The most susceptible to the process, however, tend to be guys who don't have that many friends."

"I have plenty of friends."

"...I didn't know you'd been through the process."

"...I haven't," Peter said, though his eyes were very shifty.

"Peter..."

"I haven't been through the process," Peter said firmly, folding his arms. "Well, not with Hesam, at least," he muttered. "But 'the process' itself sounds familiar – I just can't see Hesam doing that."

It was James's turn to blink. "Oh man..."

"What?"

"Peter, I..." James sighed. "Okay, don't get me or any of the other guys wrong, but we were afraid you'd been through the process before without knowing it."

"...What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That you have some crazy friends."

"Well, yeah..."

"But don't worry about it, Peter," James said, patting Peter on the arm. "We've all been through the process at least once in our lifetimes, most of us just don't realize it."

"Still, I can't see Hesam working that process."

"He does, Peter, he does," James insisted. He pointed his finger again, making a few gestures with his hand to further accentuate his point. "Hesam works the process, and he's damn good at it—better than anyone—it's like his special ability or something."

"Well," Peter said, nervously tapping at his thigh, "what happens when... two people with that ability hang out?"

"Open season?" James laughed. "But no, people with the ability to work that particular process are very rare, but I saw what you're asking about happen a couple times when I was in college."

"And?"

"Double negatives, hence, the process does not apply."

Peter did not like the sound of that for some reason. "I don't get it."

"You know," James said, "the whole 'met your match' thing."

"...Excuse me?"

James shrugged. "Yeah, the 'equality' thing or whatever, I guess. When I saw it before, those times when I was in college, those guys became inseparable for a while but ultimately had big falling outs."

"Why was that, they just get tired of each other?" Peter asked. He was strangely interested in learning the details of 'the process', but was hoping he didn't appear as interested as he was.

"Of course not," James replied, poking the thin air. "In both cases, the weaker half of the duo eventually fell victim to the process themselves, and then... it was revenge time..."

His eyes having widened, Peter whispered, "Revenge time?"

"Pssh, hell yeah," James said, visibly shuddering as he recalled the events. "Since they each had the special ability to work the process, the guy who got processed understood it, and got very, very pissed when he realized he'd fallen victim to his own game."

"But... it wasn't that bad, right?"

"Actually, in one of the cases, a dude got shot, and in the other a guy mysteriously fell off a building."

"..."

James stroked the stubble on his chin, appearing quite contemplative. "Yeah, that's right, Frankie went to jail after they found out he'd paid the guy to shoot Ethan... and after Davis 'fell' from the parking garage Cole disappeared the same week but... supposedly flew across the globe and changed his identity..." He clapped his hands together a single time. "Man, I can't believe I ever forgot about that!"

"So about the process, though," Peter said, picking up his cup of coffee. It was cold, but he didn't care. "Figuratively speaking, if Hesam were to have this 'special ability' to work what you call 'the process', and I had a friend who could work it, too, and Hesam and my friend 'happened' to be hanging out right now... should I be worried?"

James nodded firmly. "Definitely." After tapping his chin in thought for a few seconds, he added, "In fact, since you'll definitely be taking a few days off pretty soon, I suggest that until it's all over you find another place to stay."

"This is ridiculous, James." And it was. Hesam, Sylar, dark horses and white knights, the weird stuff, dark roads and light switches, the process... Really, it was ridiculous. James was seriously over thinking this stuff, but then again, so was Peter. "Okay," he said, rubbing at his forehead. He felt a migraine coming on. "One more thing about this, and then we are going to stop talking about it and never mention it again."

"Alright."

"If I were to say, hang out with Hesam as an unsuspecting victim, is there any chance he might work his process on me?"

James, once again, shrugged. "Maybe, but part of the process for Hesam is unintentional on his behalf, and since he knows you semi-semi-well, I don't know if he'd find you applicable for the process."

"Well, I'm gonna find out anyway," Peter said, giving the nod of affirmation. "I want to see if there's actually anything to any of this, or if it's all just a bunch of BS that's been constructed of way too much hearsay between coworkers."

After taking another sip of his cooling coffee, James said, "Whatever you do, be careful, though, and if you get the slightest idea that Hesam might be working the process, you have to find the nearest fire exit immediately."

Peter sighed, "Alright."

Silence.

James blinked. That was strange... suddenly, the intolerable silence with Peter had become tolerable, and that in itself was a small miracle.

It was a good thing Peter wasn't say, a mind reader, though.

In that case, Peter would know what James was really watching on that windshield-mental television of his.

"The process...?"

Hesam nodded. "Yeah."

"So, who started that?"

"I have no idea," Hesam replied, chucking with a shake of the head. "I know everyone has some stupid rumor going around about them at work, I just can't believe that's what's being said about me."

Sylar placed one elbow on the small, circular table, his expression curious. "Tell me again what exactly 'the process' is supposed to mean."

Hesam rolled his eyes. "To be honest, I'm not sure I even understand it myself," he said, twiddling a coffee coaster between his fingers. "I think it started the first time a group of us went to Houlihan's, and I made friends with someone there that none of us knew. I don't know, I just have a tendency to make friends easily, and, because of that, some of my colleagues came up with this thing about 'the process'."

Sylar laughed at him. "So, I'm guessing 'the process' amounts to nothing more than being too talkative, too trusting, or both," he said, while Hesam laughed again, too. "If that's the full extent to your trust issues with certain coworkers, I would say you have nothing to worry about."

"I guess you're right," Hesam said. When the sun began to rise higher in the sky, he squinted and put on his sunglasses. "That's better. Anyway, have you ever had a problem like that at any of your jobs?"

Sylar laughed once again. "Uh, no." He continued to laugh, silently. "My primary job was repairing watches, and it was more of an inherited family business, thus, I worked alone."

"Sounds awful."

Sylar frowned. "Well," he said, getting ready to retort, but when he thought about it, realized he couldn't. "...Okay, so you're right," he muttered, looking off to the side for a few moments. "But it wasn't horrible because of the solitude, it was horrible because it was boring and meaningless."

"Maybe the solitude is exactly why it was boring and meaningless," Hesam insisted.

"Oh, I see your point," Sylar said, though his voice was rather on the sarcastic side. "If I'd had a few coworkers to repair watches with me, I'm sure the actual job would have been so much more interestingly meaningful."

"Hey, it's possible," Hesam smiled at him, "since you never know how something's gonna work out until you test it out, right?"

"In theory, yes, only when I—"

"Don't say you already tried when you were a teenager," Hesam said, before Sylar had the chance to say exactly what Hesam knew he was going to say. "Whatever went down in places like,"—he shuddered and scrounged his nose—"high school... does not count, because if they did, the world would have its solution to overpopulation and everyone left would be politicians or the assassins out to get them."

"And how," Sylar asked, "would living in the past in that sense solve overpopulation in any way?"

"Because if anyone tries to relive high school in their head for too long, they're going to die from an overdose of bad memories."

"Not everyone had a crappy time in high school, Hesam."

"I know, but even the cheerleaders can become politicians or assassins, and we all know the ball players can."

Sylar blinked. "...Damn," he said, then taking a sip from his latte. "I was really hoping I'd be able to argue with you on that one."

"What is it with you and all this debating?" Hesam asked, although as politely as he possibly could. "I know I still don't really know you all that well, but you seem to like turning even the most random, humorous topics into something to debate over."

Once again Sylar wanted to argue, but then he would only be proving Hesam's point. "Fine, I've had a very crappy life," he said. When Hesam had nothing to say to that statement, Sylar figured this was the point where he was supposed to say more. "Like you said, my friends really weren't very good friends. My relationships also weren't very good, and neither were my parents, and, like I said, my job 'sucked', too."

"What about Peter?"

"That's..." Sylar's eyes shifted from right to left. "...a really, really long story."

Hesam shrugged. "I'm not asking you to tell me some long story or anything, but I am pretty sure the two of you didn't meet in an institution."

"We met in Texas."

"Huh?"

"It had to do with a girl we were both interested in," Sylar said. He had promised Peter he wouldn't 'expose' himself or Peter, but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to manipulate the truth. "I'd actually known her a little longer, but Peter arrived in time to disrupt my attempts at getting to know her better, and ran away with her."

"She an ex?" Hesam asked. If so, must have been some ex.

"She's definitely not an ex," Sylar said, silently laughing as he had before. "Anyway, I met Peter again at a mutual friend's apartment, and we had a... really bad fight. After that, I met him at Kirby Plaza so we could have it out and see who won once and for all..."

"Woah," Hesam said with widened eyes. This was very interesting, and he knew he would never hear these sorts of details from Peter. "Who won the fight?"

"In the end, no one really did, because another mutual friend got involved to stop the fight, along with Nathan."

Hesam had always guessed Peter had some crazy friends, but suddenly, they... didn't seem so bad—if they cared enough to keep their friends from fighting each other, that is.

"I didn't see Peter for a while after that," Sylar said, lightly shrugging one of his shoulders, "because I had to go south of the border for a while and he had to go to Ireland." He wanted to laugh again, though not because of his words, but because of Hesam's priceless expression. "When we did meet again, it was through his mother, and I tried to apologize to him for the fights, but he... wasn't himself at the time, so he began fighting me again nonetheless."

"And..." Hesam lost track of his own words yet to come. He knew that, more than likely, this story was even longer and more complex than Sylar was leading him to believe, but the lack of detail only added to his confusion. "Well," he said, right after taking a sip of his frappuccino through its green straw. "It sounds more like you were rivals for a while than friends."

"Yes, that's hitting the nail on the head, I would say," Sylar said, exhaling a relatively deep breath. "But then, you might also say that by the next time we crossed paths, both our lives had hit rock bottom, and we were both in a very dark place for a while."

"At least you both got out of there, right?"

Sylar huffed again. "While I feel I managed to get out of there, I sometimes don't think Peter really has."

"I know this isn't any of my business," Hesam muttered, staring down at the table. "But... it has a lot to do with Nathan, doesn't it?"

"In some ways, yes," Sylar replied, unconsciously pressing his knuckles against his forehead to lean on his hand for a few seconds. "I must admit I'm not really comfortable talking about that any more than Peter is, though..."

"Sorry," Hesam said, sitting back in his chair, "I know it wasn't my place to ask you about that, or to ask anyone else."

"Is Peter really doing okay from what you know, though?"

Hesam began the process of nodding, but then stopped. "I would say yes but I can't because I really can't say that I'm one to know. Since the day I met Peter, it's like... I don't know, he lives in this 'other world' that no one else's a part of, no one me or any of my friends are a part of, at least."

"I can only imagine what kind of rumors go around about him," Sylar said. He had wondered before, but Peter had never been partial to talking about a day at work in great detail.

"Some really weird stuff's been said about him, but I'm admittedly guilty of that too..." Hesam sighed, taking another sip of his frappuccino. "The sort of stuff that's gone around about Peter at work isn't the usual funny sort of stuff that goes around about most people there," he said, setting his beverage down and reestablishing eye-contact with Sylar. "The rumors about him have generally been on the more bizarre side, ranging anywhere from his secret life in the CIA to his alien origins."

Sylar formed a funny expression, chuckling. "That seems like the usual stupid funny stuff to me."

"It is," Hesam agreed. "But those are just the generally bizarre rumors..."

When Hesam hesitated to go on, Sylar asked, "And what are the generally 'general' rumors, then?"

Hesam muttered, "That he's crazy..."

Sylar smirked, waving his hand at Hesam. "That's nothing, and I've told him that. He's told me that sort of thing was being said about him at work, but I told him people only say that because they have a habit of labeling anything or anyone they can't understand or explain as 'crazy'."

"Agreed," Hesam huffed, feeling rather guilty for having done exactly what Sylar had said on more than one occasion, though he figured everyone had at one point or another. "But," he said, automatically regaining Sylar's full attention, "it's actually a lot worse than you might know, in Peter's case. Like this one time, he went an entire month without talking to anyone, and everyone else began talking about his test results."

Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Test results?"

"...Never mind."

"Hesam..." Sylar stared at him, impatiently.

"Sylar," Hesam said, calmly. "I know you and Peter are really good friends, or two guys with a lot of history at the very least, and I don't mind telling you funny stories about him from work, but," he shrugged, "personal stories are different."

Sylar frowned, and once again, he didn't get this guy. Hesam was happy, and nice, but not so happy and nice that it was sickening, just annoying. He was also friendly and, to a slightly lesser extent, considerate. He was mature, but not too mature. Sylar supposed the word or words he was looking for were 'functional', 'balanced' and 'normal', which he found to be strange, perhaps only because he had not met anyone who fell into all three of those categories since... well, ever...

So how did one go about manipulating functional, balanced, normal persons?

"How did that test work out for you?" Sylar asked.

"Most would say great," Hesam replied. "And, nice try."

"Nice try at what?"

"Nice try at trying to get me to tell you what kind of test it was by asking me about my results."

"I'm not stupid," Sylar laughed. "It was obviously a psychological assessment of some sort."

"...How did you figure that out?"

Sylar took a sip from his latte cup, held it up, and pointed to it with his other hand. "What kind of cup is this?"

Hesam gave Sylar the odd look. "...a coffee cup?"

Sylar nodded. "So, when you see a coffee cup, what would you normally think its contents were made of?"

"...Coffee?"

Sylar nodded once more.

Hesam sighed. "I don't get this, what's the point?"

"You appear normal, so most people are going to assume you think like a normal person," Sylar replied, throwing one arm over the back of his chair. "In other words, your 'I did great' on the test response coupled with Peter's not-so-great results were all I needed to draw up a rational conclusion."

Hesam nodded, then removing his wallet. "Okay," he said, holding the wallet up. "What do you see here?"

Sylar already appeared bored enough to kill. "A wallet," he said.

"So, what would 'normally' be in it?"

"Money, ID," Sylar said, still appearing bored enough to kill. "Credit cards, debit cards, business cards, membership cards. Photos. Possibly notes."

Hesam tossed the wallet to Sylar, who took a look inside...

"..."

"See," Hesam said, smiling smartly. "Things aren't always as simple as a coffee cup, and even if they are, the cup might have something else in it, or nothing at all." He suddenly turned around. "Hey, I told you we'd run into each other here again, Ernie!" he shouted while waving his hand. Then, he turned to face Sylar once again. "So yeah, that was just my way of saying I never took that test at work in the first place, which is exactly why most would say it worked out great for me."

Sylar set the wallet down, and couldn't help but recoil in his chair. Inaudibly, he whispered, "Did I just get manipulated?"

Hesam chortled. "I'm sorry," he said, placing his wallet back into his pocket. "I didn't mean to come off as a major smartass or anything just then, so I am sorry if that annoyed you."

"No," Sylar said. He was confused, however, and it was showing. "I'm not annoyed, I actually found that metaphorical demonstration very interesting."

"You really like the word 'interesting'."

"That's because I like interesting things."

"You may want to be careful with that," Hesam said, finishing up his frappuccino. "After all, bad things can be interesting, but they can't be good, so even if the good things aren't always interesting, it's still better to put the good stuff over the interesting stuff sometimes."

"I... suppose you sold me on that one," Sylar muttered.

"Hey, watch this!" Hesam held up his empty frappuccino cup, aimed, and threw. "...Score!"

Sylar pushed his empty latte cup forwards. "Try that again," he said, "but this time, don't really try."

"Huh?"

"Take a long shot."

Hesam did, and when the cup mysteriously landed in the garbage can from over ten yards away—when it hadn't even looked like it was going to make it there—he only had one thing to say...

"Huh, well that was interesting."

"Hey, what's with Peter?"

"What isn't with Peter?"

They laughed.

"Nah," James said. "He's hung up on the process."

"What process?"

"Hesam's process."

"Well, hell," Ron said. "As if the guy didn't have it hard enough already."

James turned his head. "Yeah, just look at him over there..."

Peter was seated in the cafeteria, at a table next to the windows, alone (well, mostly alone). He hadn't touched his food, though the window was getting plenty of attention from him.

"Hey," James said silently, gesturing to Peter with a tilt of the head. "Let's go sit with him..."

Ron shook his head, and went right back to eating.

"You chicken?"

Ron nodded. "Yes," he said between bites of his green beans.

"Okay guys, what did I miss?" Manuel asked, taking a seat next to Ron.

Without actually looking to the right, James pointed to the right.

Manuel furrowed his brow, but then took a look. "Peter? What about him?"

James smiled a boastful smile. "He talked to me."

Together, Ron and Manuel laughed.

"Sure," Ron said, laughing up a storm. "What word or words did you get? 'Fine', or 'fine, thanks'?"

"Hey, that was uncalled for," Manuel said, though he was still laughing nevertheless.

James folded his arms over the table, leaning forwards. "Peter," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "gossiped, in the ambulance today..."

Ron's eyes widened. "Woah, you can't be serious."

Manuel smirked. "I don't believe it," he said, unwrapping his ham sandwich. "I've worked several shifts with him before and seen him in the locker room plenty of times. He never says anything more than a one word response unless it has to do with his actual job. That's why when he first upgraded to paramedic he was called the ghost."

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Ron uttered. He looked at Peter, who was still staring out the window. "Some of us would be in the locker room, telling a funny story or something, when suddenly... Peter would appear there out of nowhere, just like that... disappearing just as quickly... just like that..."

After swallowing a bite of his sandwich, Manuel said, "Uh-huh, it was like he had walked in while invisible, then teleporting away, though I know the main rumor early-on was that he could fly because of the way he'd go up to the roof and be gone when no one had ever seen him come back down the stairs."

"Alien or not, he had a full-fledged, non-work-related conversation with me this morning," James said, "and I am going to prove it so I won't have to pay my rent this month." He gathered his tray, and stood up. "C'mon guys, I need witnesses."

"I really don't want to," Ron muttered.

Manuel bumped Ron with his elbow. "Don't you get it?" he asked, slapping his thigh right over the pocket. "If we don't, James can tell everyone he won the bet, and our wallets will lose fifty bucks apiece. At least this way, we'll know whether or not he's trying to scam us."

"I guess..." Ron sighed, picked up his tray, and along with Manuel, he followed James's lead to the table Peter was seated at...

The process... So, what? While I'm at work, Sylar and Hesam just gonna hang-out and 'process' each other all day? I still don't get it—what the hell is the process, again, anyway? Trying to understand someone to make yourself feel better, or something? Everyone's guilty of that in some way, aren't they? Besides, I don't really give a damn if Sylar wants to hang-out with Hesam just to dig up some dirt on my work life, and Hesam only wants to goof off.

Peter nodded to a barely noticeable extent, continuing to stare out the window.

That's right, and either way, Sylar and Hesam are not each other's types, friend-wise, or otherwise... Yeah, I should be way more worried about Sylar trying to cut open my friend's head, but hopefully he's just reading some dumb book while Hesam plays some dumb game on his dumb X-Box... Sylar knows better than to open his mouth, anyway...

Peter blinked a few times, his brow furrowing.

...then again, maybe Hesam's using Sylar to dig up dirt on me, and maybe Sylar wants an actual friend so badly he'll actually... Peter swallowed. ...go to a strip club with Hesam, or to dinner... to the movies...

To bed...

Peter's eyes widened.

I'd never thought about it, had I...? I've only been thinking about making sure Sylar doesn't kill again, I've never really thought much about the possibility that he really could leave me any time he feels like it...

Peter began to fidget.

If he did ever leave me, I would... I would just...

"Die!"

Bam.

Peter jumped in place; spinning at the same time as his back hit the wall.

"Oh, hey Peter." James smiled. "Didn't mean to scare you or anything."

Peter exhaled a long sigh, running a hand back through his hair. "James, what the hell was that for?"

"Oh," James said. He picked up his lunch tray, then pointing at the table. "There was a gigantic roach crawling right next to you."

Peter looked down. "...I see." He shuddered a little on the inside, since something about that roach felt highly symbolic of something he couldn't quite pin; he only knew that whatever the something was, it was bad.

While James took care of the roach's remains, Ron and Manuel took a seat in the chairs across from Peter.

"So," Manuel said.

Peter said nothing.

"Slow day today," Ron said.

Peter said nothing.

"So," Manuel said again. "How you doing, Peter?"

"Fine," Peter said.

"How's your temporary partner working out for you?" Ron asked.

"Fine," Peter said.

"How's your week been so far?" Manuel asked.

"Fine," Peter said.

...

James returned to the table just in time to break the intolerable/tolerable silence. "So," he said, taking a seat in the chair at Peter's left, "have you thought much about what we talked about earlier?"

"Not really," Peter replied. He turned his head, and went right back to staring out the window.

Ron and Manuel both looked at James with matching expressions, painted over in annoyance, and disbelief; the disbelief that James and Peter had engaged in an actual, non-work-related conversation.

"Do you remember what we talked about earlier?" James asked, nudging Peter.

"Yes," Peter said.

Ron whispered something into Manuel's ear, nodding thereafter. "What did you and James talk about this morning, Peter?" he asked.

"Neh," Peter said.

Staring at James, Ron and Manuel smirked in unison.

...

"...Good job on the code blue yesterday, Peter," Manuel complimented. The intolerable silence had become too much for him.

"Thanks," Peter said.

...

Well, damn.

James frowned. "Well what about Hesam and... what's his name, Skyler?"

Peter turned his head away from the window, briefly locking eyes with James. "Everything's fine," he said, gathering his full tray and empty coffee cup. "I really need to get going, nice talking to you guys."

"Yeah," Manuel muttered. "Nice 'talking' to you, too, Peter..."

When Peter began to walk away, James shouted, "Your friend's getting processed right now!"

Peter halted his footing.

"If you're not careful," James went on to say, "your special friend's gonna become Hesam's processed friend."

Peter's grip on his tray tightened. He turned around, slowly walked back to the table, and looked down on his three colleagues. "Guys," he said, sweetly, "I don't really want to talk about this, and you really don't want to either, okay?"

"Okay," Ron and Manuel said in unison. They had been quick to respond.

Peter stared down at James. "Okay?"

James placed one elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, muttering, "Okay..."

"Okay then," Peter said. "See you later." He smiled, nodded, and walked away.

"Holy..." Ron shivered. "I thought he was gonna kick our asses right then."

Manuel rolled his eyes. "I don't think he's a bully, he's just... I don't know, not very social at work."

"If he's this not very social at work, I'd love to see how not very social he is away from work," Ron said, picking here and there at the vegetables on his tray. "No, actually, I wouldn't love to see."

"Well you know how he is," Manuel said, taking another bite from his sandwich while Ron shook his head at him. "He entertains the idea that people are what they are or whatever, so yeah, guess he was just born that way."

"Right." James gathered his tray and stood up. "I'll tell Peter not to be a drag, just to be a queen."

Ron forced a few chortles. "Yeah, you tell him that and he'll kick your ass for sure."

"No he wouldn't, because he couldn't."

"...Yeah he could." Manuel laughed, recalling quite a few events. "The guy's ripped off car doors and taken down actual gangsters during in-progress robberies, and I hear he spends most of his time off working out. Not to mention, I hear he also has one hell of a nasty temper to go with those killer abs."

James rolled his eyes. "Peter is harmless, and even if he has the ability to beat someone up he would never do it because he has one of those moral compasses that points north."

"Actually, I don't know about that," Manuel said. Peter looked at him and the others from across the cafeteria; chin raised and relatively dark smile on his face, though Manuel was the only one who noticed. "Peter's always struck me as one of those guys with a moral compass that never stops spinning, and while the arrow may pass more slowly over north... if you're around him the split-second it's on south, he might just kill you."

"Well thank you 'Dr.' Perez," James said dramatically. As if there weren't already enough paramedics and nurses trying to play M.D., he thought, shaking his head. "You guys mark my words... I am going to prove Peter Petrelli is talking—make that talking and gossiping—in the ambulance, and I still have the rest of our shift to cover with him."

Ron chortled at him. "What are you gonna do, James?" he asked, imitating a camera with his hands. "Catch him on Candid?"

"I just might," James replied. Ron only laughed at him again, while Manuel waved a hand at him. That didn't matter, because he was going to prove them wrong. "Like we all know," he said pointedly, "Peter Petrelli is doing something on the down low, and if it's not drugs or hits for the mafia, or the new Dr. Coolidge, it's gotta be a guy..."

"Well," Ron began, removing his wallet, and from it, a ten dollar bill. "I still say he's not from around here, so I'm sticking with secret identity via alien or spy, identity theft, or witness protection."

Manuel slapped a ten on the table. "I'm still sticking with messed-up childhood and/or Borderline PD."

"And I'm still sticking with average Joe on the down low with a dude," James said, thus walking away from the table and into his next scheme...

Scene 0: Whose Line is it, Anyways?

.o.

"So, what kind of movies do you like?"

"I'm actually more partial to books."

"Even so, you still gotta watch movies sometimes, right?"

"Not especially."

"But surely you have before."

"Of course I have."

"Well, what do you like?"

"I would guess anything with a plot that does not involve general, all-around idiocy."

"...That really narrows down the choices, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Huh, look at that."

"What about it?"

"Does it look any good?"

"Hmm... well... the plot sounds interesting enough, but it doesn't really seem like it would make too much sense when you actually watch it..."

"Ha, so you do watch movies!"

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"You've obviously seen it."

"No, I haven't."

"That was a lie."

"And how would you know whether or not I was lying?"

"Lie-detection is a special ability of mine."

"...No, it's not."

"You've still seen it, and I know it, and I know it because you are definitely a suspense-thriller type of guy, maybe an old-age, medieval type who'd give stuff based around the times of King Arthur and Becket a run."

"...You've read those?"

"Well, hell, who hasn't?"

"Interesting..."

"Don't say 'interesting', like I said, when you want to say 'interesting', say something else instead."

"Right, I'll just say interesting things are 'something else'."

"I didn't mean 'something else' literally, I meant like... you know, 'cool', 'awesome', 'slamming,' 'tight', exedra."

"That's stupid."

"Just give it a try, will you? Remember what you said about theorizing and testing?"

"Fine, but like I said, in place of words like 'cool', 'awesome', 'slamming', and 'tight', you have to say 'interesting', then."

"Okay, I will!"

"Alright."

"Hey... check out that one over there... damn, she is so, so 'interesting'."

"She looks so, so amazingly 'cool' to me."

"I know, and... ssh, she's coming over here. Play cool, I mean, 'interesting'."

"Alright."

...

"Hey guys..."

"Hey."

"Hello."

"Take your time, I don't know what I want yet."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, we're just looking for something... 'interesting'."

"Really? Like what?"

"We want something that's really 'cool'."

"Hmm, well, have you seen the new Jackass?"

"...Excu—"

"Yes, that movie is really, really... interesting..." Nudge. "...Right?"

"Yeah, it's cool."

"I know, right?"

"Hey, you two gonna pick something or what?"

"Oh, yeah. We are. Hmm... well, how about that one?"

"Well it looks... slamming and," he lowered his voice, "tight, but..."

"But what?"

"...Just get the damn thing."

"Okay, interesting."

"Cool, let's go."

"You two are so cute."

"Thanks, so are you. I like you're top, it's really interesting."

"Aww, thanks!"

"Yes, and your watch is 'hot'."

"You are too adorable."

"Yeah, I love how he accessorizes the different shades of black, too, so can you guys hurry up?"

"Hey! Now that was so not interesting."

"...Are you nuts?"

"You shut your fucking mouth or I'm gonna show you how to 'accessorize' the different shades of red, asshole. ...We cool on that?"

"..."

"Cool. See ya'."

"Hey, you guys got numbers?"

"Hell yeah."

"Yes, we do have phone numbers."

"Well, here's mine for you to use yours on."

"Interesting."

"Awesome."

"Sexy."

"Even more interesting."

"Really cool. And your watch really is hot, and I'd love to... get all up in that thang?"

"Oh, that's a definite possibility..."

"So, are you weirdoes going to 'get all outta here' now?

...

"Woah!"

"Oh my God!"

"Come on, let's go."

"But woah, that runaway shopping cart hit that guy out of nowhere! It practically ran him over!"

"Huh. Guess it's 'the weird stuff'."

"Guess so... but that was the most interesting trip to Redbox I've ever had."

"That actually was relatively cool for my first trip to Redbox."

"I'm still gonna set up Netflix at Peter's apartment."

"Cool," Sylar said.

"Yeah, interesting," Hesam said.

"That's your line now, I suppose."

"What's your line, then?"

"It's cool."

Laugh.

"Interesting."

Laugh.

0.0.0

"Emma," Peter said, standing in the doorway. "...I have a problem."

"Is it with Sylar again?"

"Nah, well, sort of," Peter replied, solemnly. He shut the door behind him, and was about to sit down on one of the exam beds, but he realized he had forgotten something very important. Thus, he closed the blinds, and then he sat down.

"Peter..."

"Yes?"

"Didn't we talk about that?"

"About what?"

Emma sighed. "The hiding thing."

"Hiding thing," Peter muttered. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, that. Really, nobody cares, and I just don't want people spying on us or eavesdropping, because it could give them ideas."

"I think they are getting ideas," Emma said. Peter looked at her questionably, and she could only sigh again, breaking eye-contact with him just long enough to scribble something down on her clipboard. Then, she looked up. "Peter, when you ask me to come into exam rooms with you and then pull the blinds down, that's giving everyone ideas."

"Huh?" Peter blinked. "Oh, about us?" he asked, chuckling. "That's not a big deal, as long as they're not getting ideas about our abilities."

"Well, what is it you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know if you've heard, but Hesam's crashing at my apartment for several days."

"...While Sylar's there?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, that's the problem."

Emma knew it was a problem, really, especially whereas Sylar was concerned. In the past, he'd had little to no respect for 'people with abilities who were weak', and even lesser respect for 'people who were not special'. She also knew, however, that Sylar wasn't that guy anymore, and that she could not allow herself to form opinions on the man who had ultimately saved her life based on what others who still bore grudges against him had to say.

Funnily enough, Peter was guiltier of slandering Sylar than anyone else was, though if anyone else resorted to similar tactics, Peter would always make sure they silenced themselves abruptly so he wouldn't have to resort to silencing them himself through violent means. Because of this among other factors, Emma knew how much Peter truly cared for Sylar, but what she couldn't understand was why Peter wouldn't admit it.

"Peter," she said, shaking her head a little. "You're not really worried about Hesam, are you?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You're worried about Sylar, aren't you?"

Quickly, Peter replied, "No, of course not." After a moment of silence and a moment of Emma staring him down, he muttered, "Okay, I sort of am..."

Emma nodded; taking a seat across from Peter, on the other bed located within the exam room. "And why is that?"

"Well... it sort of has to do with something some of the guys were telling me about Hesam and this 'process'..."

"Process?"

"Yeah," Peter said, placing the palms of his hands on his knees. "Not that I believe any of that hearsay that goes around about anyone here or anything like that, but I've had several guys all telling me the same story today, which was about Hesam's 'process'." An odd expression surfaced upon his face. "Supposedly, he likes to play hero for guys and show them a good time, but it's only part of his plan to make them feel good so he can feel good about himself, and once he's achieved his goal, he kicks the guy to the curb so he can do the same thing with someone new, and he does this over and over and over again."

"...Peter, that's—"

"And I hadn't really thought about it, but it's true," he said, almost as if he were talking to himself and not Emma. "Hesam always keeps in touch with all his friends, but he only pays a lot of attention to someone in particular for so long until he just... I don't know, starts paying all that attention to someone else."

"Peter, that's—"

"And I also hadn't thought about it either," he said, staring at the wall behind Emma, "but Sylar does work a similar process, only for him, it's more about understanding a person to make himself feel better before he moves onto the next, though Hesam's allegedly doing that, too..."

"Peter, that's really—"

"Messed-up, I know," he said, smirking loudly. "But what's more messed-up is that I never saw it before, and I gotta tell you, Emma... If Sylar and Hesam really are out there, right now," his eyes shifted, "processing one another... then maybe they're gonna do that thing that happens to three friends where two of them team up to poke jokes and stuff at the other friend..."

"Peter, you—"

"Need to do something about it, yeah," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Emma. "You're absolutely right. I just don't know exactly what to do, since I've never been in this situation before, you know... where my coworker's trying to 'get to know' my... yeah or whatever..."

"Peter, are you—"

"No, definitely not," he stated, folding his arms across his chest. "Just because I'm a guy who slept with a guy who's gay doesn't make me gay, right?"

Emma just stared. "..."

"Right," Peter said, nodding firmly before a brief moment's silence went by. "...Right, Emma?"

"Peter," she said, exhaling a very deep breath of air. "I know what you're really worried about, and honestly, I think you're just using this 'process' issue to give yourself an excuse to be upset with Hesam and Sylar so you don't have to be upset with yourself over your own feelings."

His head tilted to the side. "...What?"

"I know it's none of my business, but as your friend and a friend of Sylar's, it's my opinion that if you don't move past denial and into acceptance that Sylar is more to you than a..." She held up three fingers, forming the symbol in sign language for the letter 'F'. "...then you just might lose him, Peter."

He looked away. "Sylar would never walk out on me, not for Hesam, or anyone else," he whispered.

"I may not be able to hear you, but something tells me you didn't sound very sure of yourself just now."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" he asked, hoping his voice hadn't produced any red sound waves or anything, since he knew he had sounded ruder than he had intended. "Am I just supposed to gather all of my friends up and make an announcement to all of them that I'm 'in love' with a guy they either hate or don't know?"

"If your relationship with 'that guy' is important enough to you, maybe you should," she replied.

"I can't do that," he said under his breath. "Everyone—including Sylar—would only laugh at me, or tell me I'm insane, and anyway..." He folded his arms again. "I'm really not worried that Sylar's gonna fall for Hesam of all people because the idea of that is even more insane than I am for having thought for even a split-second that they could become so much as friends."

"You're not insane for—"

"Anything, I know," he said happily, smiling. "Thanks, Emma. I knew I could count on you to help me straighten things out, and now, I know just what to do..."

Emma groaned inaudibly. Once Peter got to know someone, he sure did love to move his mouth sometimes.

"And what's that?" she asked.

"I am gonna spy on Sylar and Hesam, and find out more about this 'process' stuff," he said before he stood up, walking to the exam room door.

He then looked back at Emma, smiled brightly, and in sign language, he said, "Thanks talk for never I could done it out with help that of yours."

Emma sighed. Peter didn't really know how to please a woman with his hands, it seemed. She knew that had been a crude thought, but what Peter did not know was that she'd had a number of talks with Sylar, and while—as a loyal friend—she didn't want to offend Peter or get involved in his personal business, she did think that what he was doing to Sylar was relatively cruel.

And the fact that Peter Petrelli would actually gossip at work about his coworkers... that said a lot.

"I'm glad I could help you," Emma said with a smile.

In sign language, Peter said, "You are the best, thank you for having that glove with me."

Emma chuckled. "You're welcome, Peter."

Smile on his face, Peter opened the exam room door, and stepped out into the hallway.

...To see seven different guys trying to peek through a single crack in the blinds, all at once.

Peter's smile turned upside down.

He was going to have to start having his talks with Emma in the storage closet, wasn't he?

0.0.0

"So, what is this place, exactly?"

"Some of the guys and me came here after one of my friend's friends insisted it would be a lot of laughs."

"And was it?" Sylar asked.

Hesam smiled at him. "Definitely," he said, holding up the small booklet which had been on the table. "Trust me, you won't ever forget this."

Sylar shrugged. What the hell, he thought. Even though this seemed more on the ridiculous side than the fun side, maybe it would be eventful in some way. He was about to ask Hesam for more details regarding the strange club they were currently in, when suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the music started.

"Oh yeah," Hesam said, sitting back in his red, cushioned chair.

The lights began to flash on and off, from blue to red and back again. As the lights flashed, the starry curtains on stage parted, and a man stepped into view—wearing handcuffs, and a blindfold. Also a very, very odd spandex uniform.

Sylar raised an eyebrow. Before when he had thought 'what the hell' he had been thinking along the lines of 'why not', but now... seriously, what.. the.. hell?

"Hesam," he whispered. "...What the hell is this?"

"Ssh, just listen, it's about to get really good."

Eyebrow still raised, Sylar slowly turned in his chair; away from Hesam and toward the stage.

The ebony-haired man on stage continued to stand there, in silence, before then, the star-imprinted curtains behind him parted; revealing some sort of... wall... a brick wall. Some rather bizarre music sounded from the speakers, and a set of women—who appeared to be identical twins—walked through the wall; the papier-mâché bricks scattering around them. In gypsy outfits, the blonde twins approached the man on stage, dancing while snapping their fingers.

A large cloud of smoke filled the air around the performers, and suddenly, the man on stage was free of both his handcuffs, and the blindfold. Also, a microphone on a silver stand had appeared before him.

"What the?" Sylar muttered. He knew that, even if he wasn't the sanest person on Earth, this was still very, very out there; even for him.

Into the microphone, the man on stage said, "Some instances noted at this time were of snakes being found frozen on the road, chickens refusing to enter their coops, pigs rooting at their fences, cows breaking their halters and escaping... rats appeared to behave as though drunk."

Sylar blinked. Wow, that had been from Van Nostrand's Scientific Encyclopedia.

"The study of abnormality often sheds light on the workings of the normal," the man on stage said, throwing one of his arms into the air, looking up. "The fear creates a dreamlike state; it helps to see the concrete world corroborated." He threw his other arm up, staring straight ahead as his hands fisted. "The place-specific notations seem to demonstrate an effort to maintain a sense of reality and a sense of identity while in transit, as if my identity and sense of control were at risk, as if I were, like a Star Trek character, being "beamed" from one location to another, with my molecular reconstruction at the new location less than certain..."

"Huh." Sylar tilted his head. This was so... "Cool."

Hesam whispered, "I know, this is interesting, right?"

The young man on stage picked up the microphone. "When within these settings, alien creatures appear, horrifying diseases are unleashed, and psychotic transformations occur, everyday life is gradually unmasked as potentially out of control and horrific," he said into the mic, huskily. "For the suggestible among us it can take an entire night of bad dreams to reinstate a sense of normality."

He extended an arm, curling the fingers of his hand slowly, one by one. "If we stop to think about it, we even bond with our most trivial possessions, some of which over time become tied to us through such a complex network of associations and memories that they seem almost to possess souls," he said, the wall behind him beginning to crumble, the glitter beginning to rain down. "The phobic response is inextricably blended with emotions and thoughts of death, separation, and loneliness. The psychological and cognitive impact is real, and so is the aspect of reality—this precariousness of existence—that is stirred in the consciousness of the sufferer. I remember the strange, sad, and doom-laden expression on my father's face..."

Sylar continued to watch the show with interest and even fascination, while Hesam continued to watch with glee and amusement.

From behind the man on stage, fiery red flames shot up from the golden figures on the floor in front of the crumbling wall. "One listens for a reassuring sound and hears nothing. On the one hand, this is the most adult of feelings, being face-to-face with nothingness. On the other hand, it is something utterly primal, animal, and infantile, as a sensation of... abandonment." Another cloud of smoke engulfed him, and when that smoke began to clear away, he was floating—in the air—by the transparent wires which were seemingly propelling him from the glitter-sheathed floor. "But then one also has to be prepared to dismantle all that has grown up around these fears and to face their personal significance and usefulness. Then, all the dark images and memories turn into a thick cloud of smoke easily whisked back into the bottle of the imagination," he said, a crash of thunder ringing forth through the building as bright lights flashed throughout it. "I observe this lightening of my load with amazement..."

The wall behind him blasted to pieces; the papier-mâché bricks littering the stage.

The curtains closed, and the lights dimmed; fading to blackness.

The audience, at this point, began to applaud. Or snap their fingers.

"...That was," Sylar whispered, his jaw gaping, "...amazing."

Hesam turned his head to face Sylar. "See," he said, smiling as he nodded. "What did I tell you?"

"I'm not sure I remember right now but I'd love to hear you repeat it."

Hesam couldn't remember, either. Thus, he opened the pamphlet on the table, and read away...

0.0.0

"Well well well... is someone actually looking at their cell, in the ambulance?"

"...We have like, a whole ten minutes before our shift starts again, so it's not... that big of a deal..."

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Keep talking Peter, James thought. "So... what are you doing on that cell-phone of yours, anyway?"

"Nothing," Peter muttered, though he was clearly using the touch-screen features.

"You wouldn't happen to be..." James smiled big. "...using a GPS feature, would you?"

"...No."

James sat back, once again watching that mental television of his. "You know," he said, closing his eyes and emitting a rather euphoric sigh. "You have every right in the world to be using that feature if you are..."

Peter said nothing; only continued to stare down at his phone, punching in something on the keypad.

James waited, patiently. He knew what was coming, and here it came...

"What the..." Peter murmured, his dark eyes widening.

"Hesam took your buddy to one of those really, really crazily fun places, didn't he?" James asked, knowingly. "God help him if it's one of those psychic reading places, the scientology lab, the assessment center, or even one of those bizarre poetry book-club readings."

"...And... what if it is?"

"Then it appears we just found out who the 'weaker link' between your two friends is," James said, "and it is not Hesam." He presented the poor soul next to him with a very apologetic look. "Also, if your buddy's single, Hesam probably will try to set him up with a hot girl before this is all over—that's also part of his process."

Peter growled. "Alright. That is it." He turned his head to the left, looking James in the eyes; poking him in the shoulder this time around. "Hesam is a fucking fruitcake and whatever the hell it is he's up to I am gonna stop it before he has to chance to run my 'buddy' through that goddamn process!"

Damn.

James whistled. "Why so angry, Peter my friend?"

"Because," Peter seethed, his eyes narrowing. "Hesam is trying to...!" Wait, he couldn't finish that sentence... Not the way he had initially intended to finish it, at least. "...He's up to somethin' bad—I just know it—and I am gonna go stop it right now."

"...Wait... are-are you..." James couldn't believe it. No. It wasn't... it wasn't possible. "Are you..." He swallowed. "Are you actually going to take off from work...?"

Peter opened the ambulance door, pushing it open with an unnecessary amount of force. "I guess I am," he replied, hopping out to the pavement.

James stared at him; eyes widened, face paled, jaw dropped. There were no words for this. The apocalypse was officially here...

"...Oh, and if you say anything about this to our colleagues, I'm going to have to kick your ass," Peter said, slamming the door.

And oh, what to do now? What was James to do? Would he respect Peter's wishes, do the mature, friendly thing and keep his mouth shut... or, did he reveal his official 'proof', collect his winnings... and the possible ass-kicking?

"...Peter could never kick my ass."

He was going with the latter.

0.0.0

"Okay, I must admit... I truly do not see this point to this."

"You didn't see the point to the last place, either, and that worked out interestingly enough, didn't it?"

Sylar chuckled. "I suppose it did."

A door opened, as a voice called out, "Gabriel Gray, Hesam Malik?"

"That's us," Hesam stated, as he and Sylar stood from their seats in the waiting room. "By the way, Sylar, you still haven't told me what's up with the whole pseudonym-thing."

"I'll explain it later."

Sylar and Hesam followed the woman into the back, where a variety of different rooms were located.

"Alright," she said, looking down at the clipboard in her hands. "Mr. Gray, you're in," she pointed to her right, "this room, and Mr. Malik, you're in the room three doors down."

"Cool, I mean, 'interesting'," Hesam said in a perky voice. "That's just like the band, isn't it?"

Sylar said, "Then what...?"

Hesam chortled. "I'll explain that to you later," he said, holding up his hand. "Well, good luck."

When Hesam stared at his own hand, to Sylar, and back to his hand again, Sylar looked at him oddly. He sighed, grabbed Sylar by the wrist, and turned the palm of his hand upright; giving him 'five'.

"Oh," Sylar muttered.

Thus, he entered one room, while Hesam entered another.

Having already taken the papers the female employee had handed him, Sylar shut the door, and took a look around the room he was standing in. There were some interesting—or 'other' word—posters plastered all over the white walls, to the point where there were more posters than white on those walls.

"Huh," Sylar uttered, shrugging. "It's slamming, I guess."

He took a seat in the single chair behind the single desk. He was about to pick of one of the writing instruments from the pencil holder, but then, remembered he did not require one; not when one bore the ability of thoughtography. However, thinking back to the way he had killed Joe Macon... he didn't want to think about it... While he had yet to tell Peter his real reasons for toning down the use of his abilities... whenever he did use them now, since having moved in with Peter while trying to move on from his past in the process, he was reminded of however it was he had acquired the ability in use and the person it had originated from.

It didn't matter. It wasn't as if Peter was interested in his feelings, anyway, because 'Sylar' only had 'thoughts', and not 'feelings'. Humph, he would show Peter, teach him another long-overdue lesson...

Getting back down to current affairs, however, Sylar placed the papers on the surface of the wooden desk, and his hand over the paper. A luminous, golden glow surrounded his hand as, one by one, he answered the questions, and imprinted away...

Meanwhile, Hesam was in the process of bubbling away, although with a pencil; which was strangely a #3 pencil and not a #2, but all-in-all, he knew this wasn't a typical day.

For him, it was just a typical day of the week.

-Please answer the following questions honesty, and to the best of your ability.

"I'm obviously doing that," Sylar said.

"Like they're gonna know if someone doesn't," Hesam said.

1. I am very talkative in most social situations.

Yes

No

"Well," Sylar mumbled. "Around people I know, perhaps, but not in most situations, I suppose..."

Yes

No

"Well," Hesam mumbled. "...of course." He laughed.

2. To a great extent, my life is controlled by accidental happenings.

Yes

No

"No, there are no accidents in fate, just the tactical coincidences hidden by the mask of life," Sylar said.

Yes

No

"This is obviously one of those spirituality questions," Hesam said.

3. I will consider myself successful if, and only if, I've accomplished certain things in my life.

Yes

No

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Anyone in their right mind knows how to answer that."

Yes

No

Hesam rolled his eyes. "Anyone who says yes to this one has self-esteem issues."

4. I often place other's needs ahead of my own.

Yes

No

Sylar frowned. "Everyone's ultimately out for themselves most of the time..."

Yes

No

Hesam smiled. "Any good guy does."

5. Sometimes I get caught up in my daydreams.

Yes

No

"People who spend all of their time daydreaming are ultimately people who can't make things happen," Sylar muttered. "...but everyone gets caught up in them sometimes because everyone likes to dream about what they are going to make happen, and Peter can definitely make things happen."

Yes

No

"That's not practical, I live in the real world," Hesam said. "...but L-O-L, I know how Peter would answer this."

6. Most people abandon their moral standards in difficult situations.

Yes

No

Sylar huffed. "Not every hero's last name is Nakamura."

Yes

No

Hesam titled his head. "Most people at least try not to, don't they?

7. When faced with challenging problems, I often have trouble finding a solution.

Yes

No

"No," Sylar said. "Live or die, the choice is mine, and the solution's always one or the other."

Yes

No

"Well, hell," Hesam said. "I'm not a doctor."

8. I see the things that I own as expressions of who I am.

Yes

No

"Hmm, possibly, but my abilities don't define everything about me," Sylar said. Then his eyes shifted. "...much less my watch."

Yes

No

"My electronics and great clothes are totally expressions of who I am," Hesam said.

9. I always notice what people are wearing.

Yes

No

"Yeah," Sylar said.

Yes

No

"Nah," Hesam said.

10. I would describe myself as an optimist.

Yes

No

Sylar smirked. "I'm a rationalist."

Yes

No

"I'm an idealist." Hesam smiled.

11. I believe most people are honest.

Yes

No

"Most people are idiots who aren't even honest with themselves." Sylar sighed.

Yes

No

"Hmm, well, many people are secretive, but that doesn't make them liars, and 'most people' aren't politicians or psychopaths." Hesam shrugged.

12. I am satisfied with how I view myself.

Yes

No

-Are you?

Sylar wasn't answering that trick-question; he was too smart for that. That was a black and white question, and as something always either was or wasn't, that was a trick question...

Yes

No

Hesam bubbled away. "Round it down to a darker shade of grey and it would be a no," he said, "but I'm in the lighter shades, so yeah."

13. Other people see me as kind and gentle.

Yes

No

To the piece of paper, Sylar whispered, "I'm about to tear you up."

Yes

No

Hesam pat the piece of paper. "I should hope so."

14. When I get what I want, it's often because of luck, or other factors out of my control.

Yes

No

"Real men make their own luck," Sylar said.

Yes

No

"This reminds me of that Titanic quote," Hesam said.

15. I like to carefully consider every alternative before I do something.

Yes

No

Sylar nodded. "It's always a good idea to consider the variables, one always has to account for variable change, and there are alternatives to killing people..."

Yes

No

Hesam shook his head. "Spend too much time thinking like that and a person would literally drive themselves nuts with that jazz."

16. I am very social.

Yes

No

"Some people don't know when to stop talking," Sylar muttered.

Yes

No

"Some people really should talk more," Hesam said.

17. I spend a lot of time trying to avoid failure.

Yes

No

Sylar hissed. "Only a loser wouldn't."

Yes

No

Hesam chuckled. "I spend more time thinking about how I can succeed than how I'm gonna avoid failing."

18. I find public displays of affection annoying.

Yes

No

"It is annoying," Sylar said.

Yes

No

"Why would it be annoying?" Hesam asked.

19. I care more about how things look than how they work.

Yes

No

"That is ridiculous," Sylar stated.

Yes

No

"It's not like people are machines, and machines aren't even puzzles," Hesam stated.

20. I tend to focus on what I should do more than what I want to do.

Yes

No

-This is another trick question, as people should want to do what they should do and should do what they want to do if they are, in fact, normal human beings.

Sylar smirked.

Yes

No

"...What?" Hesam blinked.

21. I can usually understand what other people are feeling.

Yes

No

"Of course I can understand," Sylar said. "Understanding what a person is feeling is different from relating to it or actually feeling it."

Yes

No

"Most people tell me I don't have a clue." Hesam giggled.

22. I normally respect other's authority.

Yes

No

-This questions in itself is contradictive, as a person should ideally acknowledge the authority they have over their own lives in contrast to whatever authority others may or may not have upon them.

Sylar wondered what idiot had designed this test.

Yes

No

"I don't get it," Hesam whispered to himself. "Do they mean the cops?"

23. I enjoy spending time engaging myself in abstract thinking.

Yes

No

"Absolutely," Sylar said. "Without conceptual thinking the implausibility of yesterday wouldn't be the reality of today."

Yes

No

Hesam laughed. "Maybe when I'm drunk."

24. I often think in shades of grey, rather than black and white.

Yes

No

-This test is clearly biased toward cluster B, and when do you people tend to upgrade to DSM-V, anyway?

Sylar shook his head again. This was pathetic.

Yes

No

"Yep," Hesam said. "Too much black and white thinking will give you the crazies."

25. I enjoy rough sex.

Yes

No

"...What the hell?" Sylar uttered. That question was not cool.

Yes

No

-Is she hot?

Hesam laughed out loud. That question was interesting.

Fifteen minutes later...

-(Optional) Please write a brief description of your thoughts on this test.

-If you had asked me to rate it on a scale, my rating would be a '1'—regardless of the numbers included in that scale—because, as I have stated, it was highly biased toward dramatic and eccentric behavioral patterns, and as so many of the questions incorporated the words 'sometimes' and 'if' into them, one would be inclined to answer them based on what they 'honestly' believe and not what they 'honestly' know... which, I assume, was the overall goal of this test: to prove no one actually 'knows' anything about themselves and thus must have 'something' wrong with them.

Sylar sat back.

-It was okay.

Hesam sat back.

When Sylar exited the room, Hesam was already waiting outside.

"So," Hesam said, snazzily. "What did you think of that?"

"To be honest, I don't really see how anything 'cool' can come of 'that'," Sylar replied.

...However, something really, really cool did come of it.

As Sylar and Hesam walked out the set of automatic, double doors, Sylar said, "I still cannot believe this."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't think it was possible."

Hesam laughed. "Well, clearly reality begged to differ."

"So what does reality have to say now?" Sylar. He didn't even know. And that was a new one for him.

"It says," Hesam said, standing still on the sidewalk, holding up his hand, "that we are gonna go and celebrate."

Sylar gave him five.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please drop me a review if you have something nice to say!