Set after 2.11 Powerless. A hypothetical Season 3. Canon-based.

More drama and action. Main focus on the Sylar issue. Claire, Peter, Nathan, Mohinder, Elle and others included.

.

Rating: T

.

How many days will it take to land?

How many ways to reach abandon?

You and I

Lyrics by Interpol

.

Chapter 3: Truce

Spotting him there was a pure coincidence, a stroke of luck. After keeping low for the first few days, only killing a man with a pretty pointless ability, Sylar wanted to see the real stuff, if only from afar. It was all there: regenerating, telepathy, time traveling, teleportation, and the way of getting everything for free. But in reality, he was no real threat to them, for even if he had wanted to attack them in the open, he would probably have lost.

So he kept the wrong shape for his own safety and watched from the distance as the scene played itself out.

He had heard each quiet whisper, listened to each of their heartbeats, trying to decipher the emotions, and the two kids were really heartbreaking – if he had a heart to begin with. Eventually, the crowd left and he was still toying with the idea of digging up the dead body just to see if they had left the brain intact for him to find. And there it was: a strangely emotional beat and when he stood by the grave, the voice was unmistakably Nathan Petrelli.

For some reason, the clan Petrelli seems to lack the ability to remain dead.

Sylar tosses in the bed he's taken from another special, along with his ability (to solve cryptograms for God's sake) and his outward appearance. If reaching perfection is the goal of evolution, he has certainly perfected the art of identity theft. But he knows he's meant for more. That's what's paining him.

If nature did not intend him to be like this, he wouldn't even have the ability. Dissecting brains and taking their powers is what he was born to do. It's no more a crime than eating or sleeping. And he needs to eat; the hunger is clenching him so badly that it's driving away the sleep.


Nathan is going through the kitchen cabinet, criticizing the way he has organized his stuff. He can't get mad at his brother, not yet, but he feigns annoyance as he shouts back from the couch.

"The coffee is on the rightmost shelf." Some more rummaging and a pot plummets to the floor. Peter winces – every sound has been louder to his ears for the last two days. He had picked up whispers and breathing in the burial service and blocked it out in the house. Now, this bang almost kills him.

"Found it."

He tries filtering out the blend of various noises of New York City and nearly succeeds when a buzz breaks his concentration.

He knows it's Claire by the time he opens it and she's just standing there, with her bag on the floor, face expectant and slightly nervous.

Peter swings the door wide open. Nathan nods at her from the kitchen counter, acknowledging.

"I'll make three."

-

It's an odd family breakfast. Probably owing to the fact that they have never been a family in the first place. The toast is good, though, compliments to the cook. It continues to be a bit awkward till Peter winks at Claire enigmatically, pointing out that this must be about the third time the big brother has ever seen a stove, earning a little chuckle from her and a protest from Nathan."Hey! I know my way around the kitchen."

"So that's your secret superpower?" – "Very funny, Pete."

Usually, that's the part where Lyle throws his bagel at Claire. It's not all bad, right?

The atmosphere stays relaxed, until Nathan's phone starts ringing.

-

One call and the world turns upside down again. That's all it takes. One short phone call, one name, and fear floods their reality, washes away all their effort and light jokes.

Peter pokes uncomfortably at the remainder of the food. She's not too keen either.

Sylar.

The mere mention of that name ruins the taste of his coffee and makes the struggle even more pointless. "So he's out there? Are you sure?" Nathan taps a pen against the table, not really needing the answer. It's all rhetorical for him.

The cell phone slaps shut. "Matt told me there's a meeting with Mohinder this afternoon."

Peter changes looks with Claire, casting doubt on the enterprise. Who knows what it's really about?

"Dr. Suresh? Seemed like a sensible fellow to me." He notices the glare his daughter is casting on him.

Her fork hits the plate. "Then leave me out of it."

"I can't. You're already in."


No taping, no bugs, no mind reading, no weapons – no display of active powers from either party or the deal is off.

The meeting takes place in a controlled environment. Both sides agree on a closed office space and they all arrive at the said location at 12:30 sharp. Peter, Claire, and Parkman take their seats across Suresh, Elle, and Bob. Noah is left out as an unreliability.

It has finally come down to this – choosing sides before the pandemonium breaks loose, and maybe it already has. No one is especially happy with the current situation. Hell, they should all be fighting on the same side.

The war is postponed due to a new threat looming in the horizon. And for the sake of survival, a truce is made to exchange the information. The parts that really matter are kept in the back pocket. Everyone has something to hide.

The discord is slowly dissolving.

In turn for letting Peter absorb Molly's power they demand ten fresh samples of Claire's blood. Matt argues that they have no right to traffic with gifts. The powers belong to those who own them, not the Company. Even though Peter could use her ability to catch the killer, he would also gain a dangerous advantage over the rest of them.

Nothing ever changes. In the end, it's still about power and domination, not about saving lives.

Peter rubs his eyes in the effort of staying calm. He's always hated politics.

-

Ultimately, they can't agree on anything for that matter. There's been relatively low number of deaths and the killer has been careful to hide his trail. Chasing Sylar is useless if you don't know who to arrest.

"We can't just let him get away like this," Elle declares heatedly, fingers itching for some more bravery. This time, oh... this time she's sure to get him.

Claire snorts, scornful. "You should've thought about that before you let him slip through your fingers."

"Shut up, blood bank!" The hatred between the two blonds leaks into the room like nitromethane, ready to explode at the smallest spark.

Bob touches his daughters arm, forbidding. Peter glares at Elle, eyes glowing with menace as his fists tighten under the table.

"I think we should all calm down," Mohinder says, a little too protective over his female companion.

It's all simple in theory. But the paranoia has already become a part of their lifestyles and knowing that Sylar could be anywhere and anyone, doesn't make it any easier to cope.

-

On their way out, Claire jumps before Bob, blocking the doorway with her twice as small body. Mohinder looks at her, surprised, and Elle turns back from the lobby.

"I want to see my father." The cheerleader has surely grown sassier over the time. As the seconds pass, she's becoming vaguely aware of the whole group's attention on her.

The fat man smacks his lips, studying her with his head tilted as if she were a restless wild animal. He pats her shoulder as he articulates the words slowly, evenly, and the tone takes her back to the first grade.

"I understand your concern, Claire. But that is not possible right now."

"You're lying," she spits, shrugging off the chubby hand. "You have no right to keep him prisoner."

Claire. Peter is pulling her away. Matt's warning sounds clear in her head. They don't need this right now. But she's past the point of caring about the consequences. She yanks herself free, takes a few steps forward until she's a mere inches away from the man. She falls just a feet too short.

"I'll make sure he gets the message."

Elle glares at her as they pass. If looks could kill, they'd both be dead by now.


Anthony Hawkins is walking down the street. Everything is normal. Fine even. If you choose to ignore the fact that he has not been to work for over three days, doesn't take any phone calls and completely refuses to recognize his friends and family, he's just his usual self.

The red hair and skinny face drifts along with the flow of pedestrians, looking for something and nothing in particular, listening to the sounds of traffic and the crowd rushing by. He ends up in Kirby Plaza, filled with new people who know nothing about that epic night but the police reports and tape around the crime scene. It's as if everything lies forgotten.

The building looms over the whole scene, catching a glimpse of the fading sun as it reaches up to the sky. Like it knows something. Anthony feels dizzy.

It is well into the afternoon when he returns, fishing for the keys in his pocket. And suddenly, he's no Anthony at all. Freckles disappear from his hands and a broken watch emerges. He can't hear the footsteps coming from behind or stop the keys from dropping to the ground. Sylar turns around with apprehension to see the grim face of the Haitian before he blacks out completely.

-

By chance – and fortune has been on his side ever since Gabriel became Sylar ­– he comes to his senses in the middle of the ride, trapped in a van, rapidly driven towards the great unknown. There's a bag pulled over his head and his hands and feet are firmly tied. He can't breathe, can't move and it's sure that this time there's really no escape.

Even as he feels numb, tranquillized, without his powers, his mind is well and functioning. Instinctively, he remains still and listens to a familiar voice talking on the phone. Delving deep into his memory, he recognizes Noah Bennet congratulating somebody on the efficiency of the tracking system. They've got him and they are almost at the destination.

Like a predator caught in a cage, blood pumping in his veins, he's desperate for a way out. But they must know better by now. No loopholes, this time. Or so they think.

The speeding ends in an almost car crash and as the vehicle skids sideways, something heavy bumps into the windshield.

He's back. For an instant, he hears the sounds of the street again and the sirens drawing near, the force in his fingers returning.

The Haitian is out a mere second, but the damage is already done: all they find from the backseat is some cut rope and an empty bag. They could spend hours raking the streets, hoping to spot their escapee, but they know it's hopeless. Students, waiters, businessmen congest the avenues. He's gone.


The hunt has always excited him. Tracking down and stalking his victims, he would eventually plunge and get what he was after. Being hunted is an entirely different matter. The sensation is new to Sylar and he feels unsafe and deprived from his secret identity that seemed so foolproof before. Turns out that fools can be very clever.

He thinks about the conversation he had overheard. Something had located him without a single lead and handed him to the enemy. He has been careful, but now he's alarmed. And he doesn't like that feeling.

Time for counteraction.

After doing enough thinking on his own, he dials the number and waits for someone to pick up the phone. Finally, the long toot is interrupted by a male voice. Something about the rasp voice in the receiver tells him he must have been sleeping.

"Hi, Peter."


To be continued…

- - -

Notes: About Peter's ability to absorb Sylar's powers, it has been bugging me for a long time and it was never fully explained in canon. I figured that he can only absorb them when they are being actively used on him, for example. It seemed to make sense, since he got the telekinesis from him but nothing else so far…

- - -

The next chapter will have more Peter in it. Until then, take a minute to drop a review. It means a lot to me to know that people are interested and following the plot.