Author's Note: This is mainly pitted as a short answer to my feedback supplied by Flame Rising. Yes, I realize the fact that he will probably not see this, but I need to answer it. I admit it affected me, probably not as much as he intended, but it did. (Why else would I be responding to it?) I sensed through the writing that He truely enjoys flaming, and it seems to be his nature. I realize he cannot be stopped, nor will I even attempt. It would only fuel him further. Though through the ill-intented message to drive me away, I saw something of use. Yes, actual usual content from the malice. So, I thank Flame Rising for the brutal truth. I don't quite care for the message, it did not require the malevolence he seemed to put into it. A simple 'proofread your work' would suffice. I would delve further into this topic, but those who are actually anticipating an update for this fiction deserve one.

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Angela had returned to the guest room, and managed to convince Heidi to get some sleep. The poor woman had suffered enough for one night. After minutes of quiet discussion and particularly pleading on Angelas' behalf the younger woman sighed heavily agreeing. She then patted her husband's hand gently and leaned over his bed, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. Angela only smiled weakly as her daughter-in-law reluncantly removed herself from the room.

The eldest Petrelli female then took over the seat that her daughter-in-law once sat in. She would take the first night watch: the first of many. She closed her eyes and let her head sink a little bit, and the fatigue washed over her.

Memories of the night they just endured paraded through her mind relentlessly. She could do nothing to stop them, and nearly wept as she relived them with as much intensity as the first time around. She thought she had Nathan convinced that he made the best decision. Her plan was going exactly how she wanted it.

If it was not for Claire, Nathan would have left New York City that night. Angela knew this was troubling Nathan, but knew in the end he would succumb to his mothers' wishes. It was Claire though that he found strength within himself to sway from Angela's and Linderman's plans. The illegitimate daughter in the end won out, but it was not in the best interest for Nathan, Peter, and the world. That naive girl did not understand what they were trying to do: neither did Peter.

Hours passed by her as she remained in this semi-catatonic state. It was not until she heard faint noises coming from the limp form infront of her. She snapped out of her trance instantly, peering over to her son. His good eye was open and he seemed to be staring at something near the foot of the bed.

Angela naturally followed his line of sight and saw a tall black man at the foot of his bed. He was dressed in a white suit, casual, but not too casual. The haitian, Angela let go of a breathe she did not realize she was holding and smiled faintly towards the silent man.

"I cleaned out the wife's memories of Mr. Petrelli." He spoke frankly. Angela sighed, one less obstacle to worry about. She then eyed up the man, why was he in this room? Usually he came and left without a word on this kind of mission, Angela rarely saw him. In fact the last time she saw him was that night he showed up on her door step. He had called her earlier with Claire's disappearing act.

"They asked you to erase my memories of Dallas too." She stated quietly in revelation. The Haitian only nodded and advanced towards her. Angela did nothing to stop the man, he was just doing what he was told. Nothing wrong with that, that was the goal of the indivduals who worked for the company. It was ran more like a military operation than a company, a covert one.

The man placed his hands over Angelas eyes, and with that she felt the memories of Dallas Petrelli fade away. It only went as far as what happened this very night, the Haitian was kind enough to leave everything else: both the good and the bad. She would always have those.

"Peter!" She snapped her eyes open, slightly disoriented at first. Who called out her son's name? "No! Peter!" There it was again, she blinked a few times then realized where she was. Angela was instantly out of her chair and focusing on her eldest son. She placed a caring hand on his forehead, letting her fingers run through the crispy black strands that once was soft and clean. The hair seemed to be brittle, as she ran her fingers through it and the strands broke off, more hair to be regrown.

"Shhh..." She whispered, leaning down connecting her forehead with that of Nathans'. His head felt hot against her, He was running a fever. She pulled back just slightly to notice a thin layer of sweat over his face as his expression twisted and untwisted in agony.

She retreated from the room momentarily to grab a couple of supplies. As she scrambled through the house, she happened to catch a glance at one of the many clocks. 7:43 AM. Heidi must have gotten up and gotten the children ready. They were most likely on their way to school now. Angela had the house to herself.

Within two minutes she managed to grab and dampen a wash cloth, and a thermometer. She returned to the most heartbreaking scene to a mother. Her son had attempted to curl himself into the fetal position, but failed. He managed to turn onto his unburnt side, his fingers curled tightly around the comforter, his knuckles were white. His face expressed a mixture of agony, exhaustion, and fear.

Angela was instantly at his side, easing him back onto his back. He cried weakly in protest, and weakly fighting back. She placed the warm damp wash cloth on his forehead, and it seemed to calm him a bit. His protests died down, and he seemed to have passed out from the exertion.

Angela sighed heavily and placed the thermometer in his ear nearest herself. She waited for the beep impatiently. Once it finally did she had it out so she could read it before she even mentally thought she should pull it out. Her eyes locked on the four digit number with dread: 103.2.

Shit.