Croissants, pear and walnut salad, baked brie, smoked salmon, baklava.

This was the menu Angela Petrelli ordered for her brunch with her son, Peter, her daughter in law, Heidi, and her two grandsons, Simon and Monty. It wasn't going to be a happy day, but she hoped it would at least be a pleasant day. Father's Day would be a dull ache for all of them; this would be Peter's second without his father, the first for the little boys without theirs. But, Angela was the matriarch of this family; she would be cool, calm, and she would hold it all together.

Her young charge, Corey Perredine, was helping the staff to set the table, something that amused Angela. Clearly the boy was not used to being waited on; he was raised to perform chores. At first Angela insisted that he refrain from doing so, but he'd slip into his old habits. Finally, she relented. Her staff adored the little boy, and she was quite fond of him as well. Today would not be easy for him either, she realized as she looked out at the veranda at him folding napkins. His father had left him several months ago.

Angela sighed and walked away from the window, sinking down into her favorite chair. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to have to face all of this by herself. All the strong men in her life—Nathan, Dallas, Jonas—were all gone. Even the ones on the periphery, like Charles and John, had left her as well. Hikaro was still there, but they'd never been close. They had butted heads, constantly. Angela had chuckled to herself when she had realized why: they were too much alike to get along.

While she was thinking of him, she remembered that she didn't like Hikaro's presumption in sending her granddaughter on that little quest with John's son. Gabriel was dangerous; even John himself had seen the warning signs. But Angela felt she couldn't interfere; doing so would mean exposing the secret. And Hikaro had clearly plotted for a long time to bring Claire and Gabriel together. He was a clever man. So Angela had to sit by and stew while her Japanese rival orchestrated the great scheme. He had more faith than she was comfortable with.

"Mrs. Petrelli?" a small voice aroused her from her thoughts. Angela looked up to find Corey standing a few feet away, staring at her.

"Yes? What is it?" Angela asked sharply, then felt some remorse for her tone.

"I think they're here, ma'am. I can smell them."

With a sigh, Angela lifted herself from the chair and walked over to Corey, taking his small hand in hers. "Very well. Come, dear. They'll want to meet you."

They had nearly reached the front door when they heard the knock. Corey grinned to himself. His nose never failed him.

Angela put on her bravest face and opened the door, immediately drawing Heidi into her arms for a hug and then embracing her two grandsons, cooing to them. Corey stood patiently off to the side and waited for Angela to acknowledge him. Finally, after affection had been distributed in appropriate amounts, Angela took Corey by the shoulders and stood behind him.

"Heidi, Simon, Monty, I'd like you to meet Corey. I've taken him in as a sort of pet project," Angela said that with the sweetest smile she could muster.

Heidi looked a bit skeptical, but she took Corey's hand. "Hi! It's nice to meet you."

"Very nice to meet you too, ma'am. Thank you," Corey replied, in his best Southern accent. Angela smiled. At least she didn't have to teach the boy manners.

"Hey everyone," came a voice from the threshold. Everyone turned to see it was Peter, smiling uneasily. Heidi returned the smile with confidence, but Angela's carefully made up façade fell. She couldn't hide her resentment well, and she knew it. But she steeled herself and walked over to Peter, kissing his scruffy cheek. "Hello, dear. I'm so glad you could come," she told him, but her voice was as cold as ice.

The two of them glared at each other, mother and son, but finally Angela broke off the silent confrontation and said, "Boys, why don't you go play while brunch is being finished? Corey, show Simon and Monty your room."

While the boys skipped away together, Angela took Heidi by the arm and led her into the house, assuming that Peter would follow, which of course he did.

"How have you been dear?" Angela asked softly as they made their way to the veranda.

Heidi sighed. "As best as can be expected, I guess. The boys seem to be doing well too, though we all have our moments."

Angela nodded. "I went through the same thing when my husband died. I stayed strong, because I had two boys to take care of as well." They now sat down at the table, and Angela raised her glass bitterly. "We're both widows now. We have to stick together."

Heidi nodded and turned to Peter. "How have you been?"

Peter glanced briefly at Angela before answering. "I've…tried to keep busy."

"We all have," Heidi agreed. "Then there are days like this where we just have to stop. But, it'll be over soon." Heidi took a quick sip of her water, clearly hiding the sob that was about to come upon her.

Peter laid his hand on his sister in law's. "You know Nathan wouldn't want you to grieve. He'd want you to move on with your life, and live open and honestly. And…speaking of honesty--"

"Peter, dear, I need to speak with you for a moment," Angela cut in quickly, getting up from the table and briskly walking into the house. Peter, having no choice, followed.

He followed his mother into the office, where she promptly closed the door behind him. She then leaned upon it, just staring at him.

"What?" Peter finally asked.

"Leave Heidi alone. She's been through enough. Don't drag her into your little drama," Angela said coldly.

Peter glared at his mother. "This isn't some 'little drama', Mom. Heidi has the right to know about Nathan!"

"No, she has the right to grieve believing that her husband lived a normal life and died in a freak accident. She has the right to be angry that he could have achieved great things but didn't."

"You blame me for Nathan's death; fine," Peter spat. "But there's no use keeping secrets. They all come out, eventually."

Angela shook her head in condescension. "Oh, child, don't you talk to me about secrets. You think you know everything there is to know about this family? You've barely scratched the surface." She now walked towards him, menacingly. "I know your type, Peter. A wistful, crusading, muckraker who thinks that his way is the best. But let me tell you something. Secrets are what can hold a house, and a family together. Secrets keep people safe and happy. Nathan understood that."

"And Nathan's gone, and you think that the wrong son died, right?" Peter retorted bitterly. "You've always put Nathan on a pedestal; why is that? What did I ever do to deserve so much scorn from you? The woman I grew up with was strong and had a sense of morals. Where along the line did you become such a vindictive bitch?"

With that, Angela slapped Peter across the face. He didn't even flinch. But she got into his face and hissed, "Nathan wasn't supposed to die in your explosion—yes, your explosion! He was supposed to stay behind to clean up the mess you made, just like always! And now…now, I don't what's going to happen now." Angela walked away from him, towards the window.

"Nathan was supposed to lead this big war we're about to fight, wasn't he?" Peter asked quietly.

Angela spun around. "How do you know about the war?"

He shrugged. "Nakamura told me. It was one of the arguments he used to persuade me to allow Claire to go with Sylar."

Angela chuckled mirthlessly. "Hikaro. Always one step ahead of me."

Then, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Angela answered tensely. It was Heidi.

"Sorry to interrupt," she began. "But brunch is on the table, and the boys are hungry. Maybe we should start?"

Angela put on her false, pleasant face and turned to Peter. "Yes, we're done with our conversation, aren't we dear? Refreshments now sound lovely."

But Peter, ever the "muckraker" as his mother called him, wasn't about to stay and keep up appearances. He walked over to Heidi and gave her a kiss. "I won't be able to stay, after all. Have a good meal, and give the boys a hug for me." With that, he left.

Heidi called after him, to no avail. She turned to Angela in surprise. "What was that all about?"

Angela shrugged. "It's the holiday, dear. It's made him emotional. Come. Let's go eat."

After they had finished their meal, and Angela sent Heidi and the boys away with a kiss and a hug, and after the evening fell and she'd put Corey to bed, the matriarch made her way to her bedroom. Sitting down at the vanity, she opened a drawer and took off the wooden paneling, to reveal a hidden compartment. Reaching in, she pulled out a rectangular object draped in white silk. She pulled off the cloth to reveal a picture in a frame. Tears came to her eyes as she looked at it.

"Oh, Jonas," she said in a shaky voice. "Our boy is gone."

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

"So, do you like it, Dad?" Micah asked his father.

D.L. stared in awe at the CD player his son had built and enhanced all by himself. He had an extraordinary talent. D.L. could only hope that he and Nikki would be able to give Micah all the chances to use those talents. It made him proud and sad at the same time.

He hugged his son to him. "I love it, son. Thanks." He smiled at Nikki, who was cleaning up the table after the special dinner she cooked for them. She smiled back and walked into the kitchen.

Nikki smiled to herself as she began putting the dirty dishes in the sink and wrapping up the leftovers from dinner. Things were finally beginning to calm down. She and D.L. had found jobs, and they were able to stay on top of the bills for the most part. They still didn't have the money to enroll Micah in a private school for the gifted, but he was able to skip several grades in public school; he was now at the tenth grade level. Niki didn't know if Micah faced ostracism from his schoolmates, because the boy did such a good job of keeping to himself. Oh well. It certainly wasn't the worst thing they ever had to overcome. Besides, today was D.L.'s day. He was happy. Micah seemed happy. Niki was happy enough.

As Niki wiped off one of the freshly washed plates, she cautiously raised it to her face and looked into it. She wasn't there. There was no smug face identical to hers; only her own somber visage.

But as Niki looked deeper into the china surface, she began to see something else there. Curious, she brought the plate a little closer and looked as hard as she could.

It was Christmas. It had to be, because there was a pine tree with lights on it in a room that Niki was familiar with. Next to that tree was an easy chair, and in the easy chair was a man that she paradoxically knew very well and not very well at all. It was her father.

He had a glass in his hand, filled with some dark brown liquid. She knew what it was. It had a high, bitter smell when it was on his breath. There was a little girl who looked to be about twelve years old huddled in the far corner. She was blond and frail. Her shoes were dirty.

The girl looked like she was afraid to move from the spot, and she was watching her father intently. Niki knew something was going to happen.

"Nine o'clock. I told you to come home at nine o'clock. Didn't I?" he asked in a tense, quiet voice, seemingly to the glass he was holding in his hand. The girl gulped and scrunched further into the corner.

"Well didn't I!?" her father bellowed, now bolting out of his chair. The little girl whimpered and grasped the walls with her hands.

"I-I'm sorry, Daddy! I l-lost track of time at T-Tina's! Her mother brought me home safe, right?"

"Don't you sass me, you little whore!" He now lunged toward the spot where the girl sat. "You were probably whoring around with that little slut Tina, weren't you? Never want to do what I tell you!" He threw the glass across the room and it shattered to pieces. She winced at the sound.

"Daddy, please! I'll never do it again, I swear!" She practically screamed at the man now towering above her.

With that, he yanked her to her feet by the collar of her shirt. "You lying whore! You never do the right thing! And I always have to beat it into you!" With that, he brought his hand back, and began to bring it toward her with surprising force…

"No!!!!" Niki screamed, dropping the plate.

D.L. and Micah rushed into the kitchen to find Niki kneeling in a puddle of broken china fragments, her head in her hands.

"Oh God. Micah, get the broom and dustpan from the closet," D.L. told his son, who quickly obeyed. Gently D.L. knelt down next to his wife and pulled her hands away from his face.

"Come on, babe. You're gonna cut yourself sitting in this mess," he told her. Taking her by the waist, he brought her to her feet and walked her out of the kitchen while Micah began to sweep up the broken plate. D.L. sat Niki down on the living room sofa and knelt down next to her.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"She protected me from him," Niki whispered back, her eyes red and wet. "As long as she was…inside with me, I didn't have to remember. But now she's gone, and…and…"

"And you're remembering the things your father did to you," D.L. gently finished the sentence. Niki nodded with a shudder.

D.L. sighed and patted her thigh. "We have to find help for you, Babe. You can't keep going like this."

She shook her head. "I'm afraid of what I'm going to find if I do. I'm afraid…they'll haul me off again like they did before. I'll lose you and Micah. And I'm not strong enough to go through that again," she said, her voice breaking into a sob.

D.L. drew Niki to him, gently stroking her hair while she sobbed. "You could never lose us," he cooed to her. "We're a part of you." He held her close, rocking her gently.

After a while Niki broke away and began to dry her tears. "Um, I should go clean up the kitchen," she said as evenly as she could.

D.L. shook his head. "No, you should go upstairs and get some rest. Micah and I will clean up."

"But...today is your day," she argued.

"It was a great day," he answered. "But I'm not going to have a happy time if I'm worrying about you. Now go on. Go to sleep. We'll handle it."

Eventually Niki gave in and went upstairs. She took a warm shower and slipped under the covers, watching the day drift into evening through the window. Truthfully, she was afraid to close her eyes for what she might find there.

Father's Day. It was a day of joy to so many people. To Micah, to D.L. But to her, it was a reminder of what had been ugly and diseased in her life. She wanted to rise above it. She wanted to let it go. She wanted to be a hero.

Eventually, she let sleep take her over, and, fortunately, found herself in a dull, dreamless slumber.

"That's the last of the shards, Dad," Micah said to D.L. as he emptied the dust bin into the trash can. D.L. was wiping off the kitchen counter.

"Great. Your mom will thank you," D.L. replied.

Micah sat down at the breakfast table and looked at his hands. He wanted to ask his dad, but he was afraid to. He didn't know what would happen if he did.

Finally, he couldn't take the silence anymore. "Dad?" he began.

"Yeah, son?"

"Mom's dad really hurt her, didn't he?"

D.L. gave Micah such an intense look that the young boy practically winced. But then the older man sighed and walked over to the table, sitting across from his son.

"Yeah. He did. You mom had to go through things no kid should ever have to."

Micah thought about it for a while, then said, "That's why Mom created Jessica, right? So that she wouldn't have to think about it?"

D.L. cocked a brow. His son was intuitive beyond his years. He sighed. "That's probably why. I don't know for sure."

"Is she ever going to be ok, Dad? I mean, are we ever going to be normal?"

D.L. chuckled and mussed Micah's hair. "I can walk through walls. You talk to computers. Your mom can pull a parking meter out of the ground. Once that becomes normal, I think we'll be okay."

Micah grinned. "I'm going to go say good night to Mom. Is that ok?"

"Yeah. Go say good night. I've got a few things to take care of."

After Micah left the room, D.L. remained sitting at the table, rubbing his temples. Niki was getting ill again, and that worried him. Before, she had had crutches to lean on: first the alcohol, then Jessica. But there were no crutches left, and she was now having to deal with the horrors of her past. D.L. could manage the house, and he could pay the bills, but could he hold them together as well? He didn't know.

He wanted to be a good father, better than the one he'd had. That was one thing that he and Niki were united on—wanting to break the tradition of neglect and abuse they'd endured. But, D.L. had to admit, he didn't suffer the way his wife had. His mother had done all she could do; she worked hard, provided for him, supported him the best she knew how. But there was an impassible gap in D.L.'s life: the lack of his father.

He didn't really know his father, though he had seen him before. His father was a sophisticated man, noble of gait and bearing. He was also wealthy, though D.L. and his mother usually didn't see much of that. D.L. knew his father also had a daughter from his "legitimate" relationship, but he didn't know anything about her.

There was only one particular memory that stood out for him concerning his father. It was around his 13th birthday, and his father had come to see him. His mother made him stay inside his room, but D.L. opened the door a crack so he could hear what was being said.

"You never come to see the boy, you never give him anything, and now you want to give him some rinky dink little watch?" he heard his mother angrily demand.

"I told you before, Viola. David is special. Everything I do, I'm doing in his best interest."

"Best interest, eh? Him having to go to school in old shoes, while all the other boys have their fathers buy them the things they need? You know, I never wanted anything from you myself. I was just a fling to you, and I don't care. But—he's your son! Take care of your own!"

He heard his father sigh. He almost sounded like he was talking to a child, which made D.L. angry. His mother was one of the strongest, smartest women he knew, and she didn't deserve to be treated that way.

"Viola, I don't expect you to understand. Maybe someday you will. Just please give my son this watch for me." There was a pause. "I'll go now. I have to get back to my family."

"Oh yes, that's right. Your family. Because we're no family of yours, right?" D.L.'s mother spat. "Fine. I'll take the stupid watch." With that, she shut the door on him.

D.L. quickly closed the door and jumped onto his bed, pretending to study. But his mother didn't come in. He heard her go to her room, then emerge a few minutes later. Soon after, dinner was ready, and she didn't mention anything about his father's visit.

When his mother went to her second job in the evening, D.L. got his chance. Quietly he slipped into her room and looked around, trying to find the present his father gave to him. He was about to give up when he remembered the drawer in the night table by his mother's bed. He slid it open, and saw the Bible his mother always kept inside, but nothing more. Then he noticed that it wasn't facing up, the way it usually did. Carefully he took it out, and realized there was something wedged between the pages. He opened the bible and found the watch his father had given to him.

D.L. sat down on his mother's bed and looked at the glittering timepiece. It appeared to be made of gold and silver, and it was quite heavy. The band on the watch was huge; it was clearly designed for an adult wrist, not for a boy's. Why would his father give him a watch that didn't fit him? But what interested him the most was that the numbers inside didn't look like any numbers he'd ever seen. They were odd stick symbols that didn't make sense to him. It intrigued him, and he wanted to keep it. But he knew he couldn't. His mother would decide what to do with it, and he didn't want to cross her.

So carefully D.L. put the watch back between the pages of the bible, and laid the book back in the drawer the way his mother had had it. He never said anything to his mother, and she never said a word about it to him. A few days later, his mother bought him a brand new pair of shoes and a new bookbag. D.L. didn't bother to look in his mother's bible again. He knew the watch wasn't there anymore.

Hikaro Nakamura sat in the drawing room of his New York suite and finished his glass of sake. He had no business transactions in the American city, but it was where his son Hiro had disappeared, and so he wanted to stay close. Just in case…he somehow found his way back.

Nakamura didn't know where his son was exactly, but he knew that it was far away, inaccessible. The days following his son's disappearance were hard enough, but today was the western holiday, Father's Day. It wasn't extravagant and overblown like some holidays in this country, but Nakamura nevertheless felt it when his chauffeur timidly approached him and asked if he could have the afternoon off to spend time with his children.

"Very well," Nakamura said without emotion. "I have no errands for today anyway."

The man profusely thanked him and left.

Now the day was almost over, and while Nakamura was grateful for it, the emptiness of the next days to come settled upon him like a dark, oppressive cloud.

His oldest child, his daughter Kimiko, now ran the business. And she was…efficient. If he wanted to retire, he certainly could. But the company was the only thing that kept him from arousing his attention…

Now, sitting in his comfortable leather chair, Nakamura remembered when he saw his old foe last.

Nakamura and his allies had dropped him at the Invisible Lake. It was cold, terribly cold. And it was bright. It was so bright, Angela had dipped her head against Jonas' shoulder to keep out the light.

But he didn't even flinch. With a measure of dignity, he walked into the crimson pit, and allowed it to cover him over with its diaphanous bars of iron.

Nakamura imprisoned him in the pit himself; he wouldn't allow anyone else to do it. And as he stood on the edge, he looked back at the man who was both his dearest friend and his bitterest enemy.

"You know this prison won't hold me forever, Hikaro," he told him. "I'll be back someday."

"I know you will, my friend," the Japanese warrior replied. "And we'll be here to fight you."

He smiled wryly and nodded. "There's something I need to tell you. Michiko will be furious, but it's better you hear it from me."

Nakamura's face darkened. He turned and looked up at his allies, who were staring back in unease. They didn't like him talking to the Destroyer.

He turned back to their prisoner. "Whatever it is, make it fast."

"Michiko is pregnant again," he said. "And she's not going to make it through this one."

Nakamura felt his heart drop, and for the first time, he actually felt the cold coming in. "Go," he whispered to him.

And he turned and walked into the pit. And it was done. Angela clung to Jonas. John cleared his throat and looked away. Charles just looked weary.

It happened as he said it would. Michiko gave birth to another child, this time a boy, and was gravely ill right afterwards.

Nakamura pretended to be surprised by it all. He sat at her bedside until the very end, holding her hand, telling her she'd live through it. Both of them knew the truth.

"Don't resent Hiro," was one of the last things Michiko told him. "It's not his fault."

"How am I going to face him again without you?" Nakamura asked, holding her hand against his cheek.

She smiled, almost dreamily. "You're not. Hiro is my gift to you. I live in him."

But now Hiro was gone, and that meant that Michiko was gone too. Nakamura sighed and got out of his chair, walking over to the window to look out at a city that wasn't his own.

But then the old familiar feeling came over him again, and he could see all the moments of the present in front of him, like many video screens all at once. In a small Tuscan village, there was an electrical storm, and a young Japanese man appeared out of nowhere, dressed in odd scraps of clothing. He was dirty, confused, and bewildered, but he was strong, and he was ready for anything.

Tears came to Nakamura's eyes. His son had returned.