Long time no see, eh? So sorry about the wait, I know it has been an outrageously long time since my last update and I beg your patience. I wish I could say that I just got lazy or lost interest, but that's unfortunately not the case. They say life imitates art and, well, that doesn't work out so great when you write character death. Just a few days after posting the last chapter I had my own world rocked and shattered by a traumatic personal loss. I think you'll understand that it was hard for me to get back into the swing of this story, especially having to pick up at a chapter that has so many parallels to my real life. Life is not always so grand, my friends. I hope this chapter works out…tried not to go too over board emotionally but it was difficult to reign myself in. Thanks for reading, I hope not too many folks gave up on me and my story!

Peter had always had a special talent for savoring the small pleasures of life. He regularly stopped to smell the roses, he had done his share of singing in the rain, his eyes were consistently drawn toward the sunny side of the street. His family knew him to be quite the slug-a-bed, prone as he was to lingering in quiet revelry over the pleasant homey warmth of a down and cotton cocoon. The sights, sounds and smells of a home as it yawned into the business of morning were delightful to the young man of simple tastes. This morning, however, as his dry and heavy eyelids cracked open he did not see the cheery sunlight pouring into every corner of the cramped apartment. He did not inhale deeply as the first heady waft of percolating coffee tickled his nose. The thought of snuggling deeper into the welcoming embrace of his tangled blankets could not have been further from his mind.

"Please let it have been a dream," his whispered prayer escaped from between trembling lips. His eyelids snapped shut. "It had to be a dream." For indeed, what danger could ever befall Nathan Petrelli? Handsome, strong, athletic, popular, protective Nathan. He was too big to be brought low, too important to play fodder for a newspaper obituary. What mortal concern could hold at bay the goals and aspirations of a man like his brother? Life could not be so cruel as to cut down such a man in his prime; other people, maybe, but never Nathan.

Yet even as Peter extended a shaking hand to check the date on the wrist watch at his bedside he struggled against the vicious assault of memories; strong, solid, life like memories so very unlike the ephemeral and fleeting qualities of dreams. He wasn't grasping for details or attempting to make sense of conflicting frames of imagery. Everything was painfully clear, down to the feel of newsprint under his fingertips and the coolness of the hardwood floor as he had silently walked across to his bed, ignoring the calls of his guardian. His eyes were comically large; his lips were drawn and tightly clenched as he reluctantly turned the watch's emotionless face to his own.

One glance at the date and the world crashed around him.

The watch fell from limp fingers as dawning horror stole all color from his already pale skin. His breathing became short and hollow, fingers clinging to the short hairs at his temples. "No no no no no," his mantra of disbelief crescendoed as he threw off the suffocating blankets and leapt out of bed, stumbling over books and shoes as he bound over to the table. It was still there, Nathan's grinning face staring blankly at the ceiling.

'Presumed dead…' He steadied himself against the hard edge of the table as the words repeated in a maliciously unending loop, each cycle a heartless punch in the gut, a solid slap in the face. 'Presumed dead…' They swooped mockingly about him like eager vultures, biting and clawing until he was emotionally raw and bleeding. He wanted to shout and kick and punch against the roaring wave of pain threatening his thin veneer of composure but grief cannot be cowed or dissuaded. It engulfed him, bowing him to his knees with its crushing intensity. The mask of horrified shock swiftly crumbled as a churning stomach propelled him into the small bathroom, where his body expelled, it seemed, all the food he had ever eaten. 'Dead. Dead? Nathan is dead. Dead?' His stomach empty, Peter let his forehead rest on the blessedly cool porcelain rim without a thought to sanitation. He struggled for the word to appropriately describe how he was feeling. Grief-stricken, certainly. Sorrowful. Dissolute. Yet there was something else that entirely escaped definition. For all his years of infatuation with the written word, he couldn't assemble the words to correctly describe his…inability to understand that Nathan was dead. It wasn't denial; it simply did not make sense. The words sounded awkward on his tongue and in his mind: Nathan is dead.

"Oh God," he moaned, scuttling away from the toilet until a slick spot on the tiled floor sent him crashing him onto his back. He chocked back a sob as he slowly curled his upper body into his tented legs, hugging his knees to his heaving chest. He jumped slightly when a large warm arm gently circled his shoulders. Ignoring the instinctual concern warning him against unseen threats from the rear, he allowed the strong arms to press him to the broad expanse of a warm chest. He knew it was Luke, but, dear God how he wished it was Nathan.

He had been running into his brother's open arms from the moment he had gained mobility and the realization that he would never again find the security of that familiar bulwark tore through all thinly constructed blockades against the torrential sobs he had been attempting to hold back in some misguided perception of propriety. The dams broke as he leaned against the substitute shoulder, shedding tears for the man that had been, but more importantly, for the man who would never be.

Luke rubbed his back soothingly and all he could think was that two-year old Monty would never know his father. Would they still feel the heavy absence when the boy started Little League? Would oppressive loss haunt the child through years of science projects and Boy Scout meetings, as he learned to tie a Windsor knot and drive a stick shift?

He was pulled to his feet and he wondered who would walk Claire down the aisle on her wedding day. Who would dance with her in her father's stead?

Luke led him into the dining area and he was plagued with the image of Heidi crying into the pillows of her empty marriage bed, alone with her memories in the silence of her haunted room.

"I know this is difficult," Luke solemnly interrupted his scattered thoughts. "I can't imagine…I mean, I, ya know, lost my parents but his is…" his voice trailed off but Peter understood. It was different. Nathan wasn't old or sickly. He hadn't lived a full life. He was only 30 years old and his death did not relieve him of any profound suffering.

Still, the worst aspect of Nathan's death, the thing that tore out Peter's heart and ground the still pulsing organ at his feet, had nothing to do with the pre-maturity of the event. "It's all my fault," Peter whispered, tormented eyes cast down to the warn tabletop. "I should've been there."

"Hey," Luke harshly objected, thrusting a finger in annoyingly close proximity to Peter's moist nose, "none of this self-deprecating crap, got it? Your brother knew what he was doing when he sent you here. He knew the risks he was taking, but, oh I dunno, I guess he figured protecting his family was worth any consequence. I'm not finished," Luke's arm shout out to pull Peter back into his seat after the teenager had thrown himself away from the table mid-harangue. "Roll your eyes all you want, kiddo, but you're gonna listen to what I have to say. This," he placed a steadying hand on the low hanging shoulder of his companion, "was not your fault."

Peter slowly shook his head side to side, wishing more than anything that he could believe the older man's comforting words. "Do you have any idea what kind of people Nathan was fighting against, Luke?" He asked softly after several long moments of indulging in quiet melancholy. "People who could rip his head off with their bare hands. People who could infect his mind and force him to do horrible things to himself. People who could burn him to death without so much as a flint." He looked up and was glad to see Luke looked as sickened as he felt. His voice cracked as he continued. "Do you know what Nathan can…could…do? He can fly." He snorted humorlessly, colorless lips contorting uncontrollably. "A single bullet could bring him down. He can't heal. He can't shoot lightening from his fingertips. He was defenseless. Do you know what I can do Luke?" He met Luke's eyes with a slightly mad gleam burning out from his own. "Anything." Luke didn't make a move to stop him when he jumped up to pace the short distance from the sofa to the dining table. The boy's volume was as erratic as his movements as he tried desperately to help Luke understand that the blame was all his own. "I can freeze time, shoot beams from my eyes, I…I'm super strong, I can move things with my mind…I can't even remember all the stuff I can do. And where was I, Luke? Was I out there fighting at my brother's side, protecting my family? No. No, I was hiding," he spat out the words with obvious repugnance for his perceived cowardice. He finally stopped his furious movements to hunch over the table next to his now standing friend. "Nathan was putting his life on the line and I was laughing and joking and dating. Damn it!" he exploded loudly, punctuating his passionate outburst with a succession of powerful raps against the smooth wooden surface. "I should've been there."

Luke, either choosing to ignore or genuinely not noticing the generously sized divot in his table, grabbed the nearly hyperventilating boy and gently shook him. "Is your brother an idiot?"

Peter snapped to attention at the mere suggestion of idiocy on his brother's behalf. "What?"

"Is your brother," he enunciated clearly, "an idiot?"

"No," a bewildered and slightly offended Peter vehemently denied, "what the hell are you talking about?"

"I assume he knew all about all the stuff you just told me, right?" The diner owner barely acknowledged Peter's confused nod, choosing to take advantage of the boy's momentarily befuddled state in order to force him onto the low couch. "Knowing everything that he did and being the sharp guy that he's always been, he still made the choice to send you here, Pete."

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Peter mumbled into his cupped hands. Luke's secret gentleness panged at the aching helplessness dripping from the boy's every word. "What do I do now Luke?" he asked in a heartrendingly small voice, wide hazel eyes darting up in the hopes of finding some miniscule source of guidance. Nathan would have had plans, schematics, flow charts already in the words. He'd know exactly what Peter's next step ought to be and there was always a measure of comfort to be had in the knowledge that the decision was out of his hands.

Unfortunately, Luke's thoughtful scratching under the brim of his cap did not produce a similar air of confidence. Neither was the man's hesitant suggestion that Peter attempt to spend a few hours in the diner appreciated by the traumatized young man.

"What does anything matter if Nathan's dead? Food? School? My freakin' identity? Screw it all, Luke. Obviously it was all worth crap anyway 'cause I wasted six months of my life here and Nathan's still dead."

Luke dodged as an errant pile of books flew across the room, riding the waves of Peter's emotional outburst. "I thought you were supposed to be some kinda smart kid, huh Peter? Why d'ya bother reading books all day if you don't even know what the word presumed means?"

Luke's words were unexpected to say the least. The much feared and long dreaded prospect that his brother was anything other than hale and healthy had been so world shattering to the already stressed boy that he had never stopped to consider that the newspaper could be…wrong.

"Just si'down for a second, alright. Stop…hovering, just sit. And listen. Now what I wanna know is what happened to make you give up on your brother. For months all I've been hearing is about how your brother was gonna come back for you any second. Plans for when the war is over. You had something that's a rare commodity these days kiddo. Hope. Faith. Those are hard to come by and once you loose 'em they don't come back so easily. So don't give 'em up if you can help it, lunk head." His expression softened and he laid a comforting hand on the stiff shoulder beside him. "Don't bury your brother until you have to."

Peter's eyes blinked rapidly, an outward manifestation of his inner turbulent cogitations. Luke's words were met with approval by his naturally optimistic leanings, fertilizing that seed of hope that would never truly abandon a character such as Peter though the maddening pressure of ugly truth threatens it at all sides. The stalwart seed bloomed, unfurling its shoots and grasping vines and setting them on a desperate search through the boy's mind for additional sources of hope. "My mom hasn't called," Peter announced robotically, the bulk of his cognitive functions continuing to work at spinning the events of the past day in a positive light. "She-she promised that if anything happened to the family she would call me immediately." A small, tight smile stretched his whit lights, though his eyes didn't echo the expression. "and she hasn't."

"That's good."

"Yeah. And besides, those guys, the opposition, they weren't after blood they wanted money and power, they don't get any of that if Nate's dead but if they took him for ransom or as a bargaining token…"

"That's…possible, I guess."

Peter turned to the older man, arms outstretched plaintively. "He could be out there somewhere, Luke." He leapt to the pile of clothes at his bedside to begin rummaging furiously for something decent. "I need to do something."

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" the exasperated guardian sighed as the boy began tearing about the room, absentmindedly shoving his belongings into his army surplus duffel.

Peter turned to offer Luke a look of unbelief. "You can't honestly expect me to stay here? I'm gonna go find him," he said, thrusting a shirt into the bag with a force that ripped the handle, "and whoever took him, I'm gonna make them pay."

Luke was panicking. He had promised Nathan that Peter would by no means leave the city until he heard from Nathan himself, yet how was he to stop a boy who could easily heft him over a shoulder? "C'mon Peter, think about this. Where are you gonna go? You have no leads, no substantial information. This is crazy. You know the whole needle in a haystack bit? Well, your haystack is made up of billions of people."

"You're right," Peter grudgingly admitted, to Luke's immense relief. "I have to call home, find out what they know." Luke lunged in front of his houseguest, slamming his hand down on the receiver before the boy could reach the device. "What the hell, man?"

"We both gave our word, kid. We promised your brother that you would stay here, without contacting your family, until we hear from him. Directly. I know this is hard for you…"

Peter cut him off with a brusque "Spare me" as he headed for the door.

"What if it's a trap?" Luke nearly shouted, winning Peter's attention. "If someone has your brother, they could be waiting for you to do exactly this, to get caught up in emotions and do something stupid, hand yourself right over to them. What do your family's sacrifices of the past half a year mean if these guys get their hands on you?"

Neither man spoke for a couple minutes; Luke holding his breath and praying that he had sufficiently scared the kid to keep him out of harms way; Peter struggling with the reality that Luke was entirely right. Finally a scowling Peter dropped his hand from the doorjamb and broke the stony silence. "So what do you suggest?" Peter fumed, "should I go about my day pretending that I don't have a brother who may or may not be dead? I can go feel up Rory or make Kirk fall of his stool to avoid looking at me. That would be pretty Jess of me, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not asking you to do any of that, especially the groping bit, got it? But the way I see it you have two choices. You can sit up here and work yourself into a frenzy over what might be or you can go downstairs and numb your mind with thankless, unskilled labor. What'll it be?"

The all knowing wisdom of the teenager is generally hard pressed to admit to reason as presented by an adult, so like all good bratty teens Peter smothered his appreciative acceptance with a heavy layer of sarcasm. He smirked and as he pulled a clean shirt over his head muttered, "Well, Vanna, I think I'll take door number two."

15 minutes into his voluntary shift and the distracted server was already regretting his choice. Every cheery "Good morning!", every bit of jocose banter set his teeth grinding and forced him to bite back bitter diatribes. As painful as human interaction might have been, scrubbing down tables or working in the kitchen meant that the boy with the figurative knife in his belly was left alone with his thoughts and though Luke had been able to coax that hope to life with his level-headed logic, Peter's traitorous thoughts insisted on wandering down dangerous paths.

'Are his slippers still in the hallway?' He thought as he started another pot of coffee.

'He never took me on that camping trip he always promised.'

Reminding himself that there was a very real possibility that his brother was alive served little purpose without Luke around to coach him into acceptance.

'But what if he is…'

'What if…'

"Look alive, Jimmy Dean," a loud voice interrupted his torturous wanderings. The shout gave the absentminded boy just enough time to stop himself from backing into Lorelai Gilmore's lap.

He muttered a grunt of an apology to the young mother, completely ignoring her explanation that Jimmy Dean was the perfect nickname for him because it was a combination of James Dean the rebel and Jimmy Dean the meat product. "You work with meat! Eh, eh? Pretty good, huh?"

"Did you order yet?" was his only response. As he finally went into the kitchen with the girls' orders Rory cast daggers at his retreating form, utterly miffed that her boyfriend wasn't trying to win her over from her obvious silence.

"He didn't even notice that I'm not talking to him," she vented to her mother in a harsh whisper.

"Sweets, this is Jess we're talking about," Lorelai soothed, "the king of the single syllable. He probably thinks you're trying to be more like him and we all know that imitation is the highest form of flattery."

"Not funny," Rory pouted, discreetly watching Jess as he moved about the diner. "He's so frowny today. I wonder if something's going on."

"1) Frowny? And 2) once again, this is Jess. Is frowny was a word, he would always be it."

"You don't know him like I do, mom," Rory disagreed. "Oh, shhh here he comes, act natural."

If Peter wondered why Lorelai was posing dramatically when he walked up to their table by the window, he didn't comment on it. "Here ya go," he said shortly, about to turn away from the table without another word when Rory called out to him.

"So, are we gonna talk later?" she asked awkwardly, wishing her mother wasn't currently watching her so intensely.

"About what?" he asked impatiently.

"About what?" she echoed, a bit too loudly as evidenced by the number of heads that quickly swiveled in their direction. "Um, oh, yeah about last night when you were a major jerk to my grandma. It was like 12 hours ago, Jess, don't play dumb."

Peter clenched his jaw tightly, sending withering glares to the townsfolk watching the argument unfold with eager expectation. "Not a good time, Rory."

"Ror," Lorelai interposed as she saw the look of righteous indignations rising over her daughter's open face. "I'm as big a fan of public scenes as the next girl, but maybe Jess is right. You can talk about it later."

Between his girlfriend's heavy, teary-eyed stare, the fervent whispers of the far too interested crowd and Luke's concerned yet unsure demeanor, Peter had had enough. He cursed loudly, causing some of the more sensitive diners to cluck disapprovingly, and threw his pad and pen down on the counter. "I don't need this right now, Luke," he murmured to the sputtering man. "This, all this crap," motioned toward the general area of the diner, "is the last thing I need right now. I'm outta here, don't follow me."

"Remember what you promised," Luke shouted after him as he stormed around the full tables. "Peter! I swear, this kid…Peter!" To no one's great surprise, a few spare moments after Jess' abrupt departure Rory was setting the door chime jingling as she tore after him.

Luke watched, helpless, from the window as Rory caught up to the overwhelmed boy, tugging his elbow to get his attention. 'Well, at least if Rory's hanging around he's less likely to do anything dangerous,' he rationalized, 'I hope.'

"Luke," Loreali appeared at her friend's side, watching their respective teenagers disappear into the trees. "Since when do you call Jess Peter?"

"I'm supposed to be the one who's mad, Jess!" Rory argued pettishly as she followed him deeper into the wooded area. "You can't just be irrationally mad when it was my grandma who was seriously offended last night, that's not how this thing works, buddy."

"Geeze, Rory, I said last night I was sorry, alright?" he exploded, "I honestly didn't want to hurt your grandma, but right now I'm dealing with something that's so far beyond…" His voice caught in his throat and he leaned his head against the rough bark of a tree in order to compose himself.

Quickly realizing that the situation was more serious than she had thought, Rory stepped up behind the young man, laying a soft hand across his lower back. "Jess? What is it?"

Peter turned around so that he was facing the petite young brunette. His go-to phrase for when the girl got curious "I cant tell you…" was ready on his tongue but the compassion in her eyes, the clear yearning to help a boy she cared for so deeply, stilled it before it could escape.

Sensing his hesitation Rory took his hand in hers, offering comfort even without knowing the source of his pain. "You don't have to tell me everything Jess, just enough so that I can help you. I'm pretty smart, you know."

Peter smiled, and though small, it was genuine. "Yeah I know you are." He sighed. "I just…I got some news this morning. From back home."

"Bad news, I take it?"

"Possibly. I wanted to go home and find out for sure, but Luke doesn't think its such a great idea."

Rory laughed. "Since when do you do what Luke says?"

"Why Rory Gilmore," Peter grinned wolfishly, "Are you encouraging me to directly disregard my uncle?"

The girl shrugged pleasantly, "Mom made the coffee extra strong this morning. I'm feeling quite bold and reckless. And besides," she continued, throwing her arms around the slim shoulders of the boy she knew as Jess, "I can tell that whatever is going on has you really upset. If going to New York is going to fix that, then you should go."

Peter knew that Luke had been correct about going to back home. It wasn't safe. It very likely wouldn't end well. He knew that Rory didn't know all the facts about his situation, and as rational as she was, if she did know the truth she would probably be spouting out warnings along with Luke. Still, she said what he wanted to hear.

"And I'm coming too," she announced, interrupting his musing.

"Rory…" he groaned. He certainly couldn't teleport or even fly if she was tagging along.

"I'm not going to leave you to face this on your own, Jess. Don't start. We can take my car, Luke doesn't even have to know where we are."

She had a good point, but Jess knew it wasn't her logic that half an hour later had them both in the car built by her ex-boyfriend, heading toward the exact place he was banned from going. 'Its those damn blue eyes,' he mused laughingly as he watched her sing along to mixed tape made by her mother in high school. 'Just like Heidi, one flash of those baby blues and they can get us Petrelli guys to do anyting.'

Heidi…Nathan…Peter dropped his head against the cool glass on his right. In a few hours he would know his brother's fate one way or another. Every one of Peter's best memories, every milestone or achievement, featured Nathan. Images flashed through his mind as swiftly as the telephone poles they passed on the highway. Peter's 8th birthday when Nathan bought him a bike and then dedicated every free moment for the next week to teaching him to ride. Vacations at the Cape, swimming together through the cold waters. Flying together, so free, so blissful. Huddling together over their father's open casket; but no, the overly made up corpse lying in the silk lined casket wasn't their father. It was Nathan, a cold and lifeless shell of the man he had once been, waxen faced and just as neatly dressed as he always had been in life.

He sat up with a start, happily surprised to find the haunting image gone. They were parked at a gas station, a small four pump concern attached to an incongruously busy restaurant. He stepped out to stretch his legs, assuming Rory had stopped in for snacks or to use the restroom. He was glad to see he was correct when Rory walked out from behind a dingy door with a nauseated grimace. YUCK, she mouthed to the freshly napped young man from across the pavement, gingerly holding the key at an arms length away. He was busy chuckling at his prissy girlfriend as she went to return the delightful object when a man on a cell phone caught his eye. He was standing a few car lengths away, but the short wavy hair, the set of the shoulders, even the way he held his phone unnaturally high…there was only one man who talked on the phone like that. He was afraid to hope, but…he caught a glimpse of the man's side profile and a grin broke out across his face. Aviator sunglasses, just like the kind his brother so liked to wear. They were just a little under an hour away from Stars Hallow, it made perfect sense, he was probably on his way to reclaim Peter. "Nathan," he whispered, his mouth dry with excitement. He started walking over but broke into a jog as he drew closer. "Nathan," he called happily. "Nate!" A hand on the broad shoulder made the man turn, but as he did Peter choked on his bubbling laughter. It wasn't his brother. Not even close.

He shook his head slowly and walked away, feeling foolish and embarrassed but most overwhelmingly disappointed. For a moment he felt conclusively that his brother was alive, that he was within his grasp, solid and real. But he wasn't. It wasn't him. The image of his brother's corpse took it's place. It was everywhere he looked, everything he saw.

"Jess…" a quiet voice spoke into his ear, a small hand tucked under his arm, steering him gently towards their car. "Are you…"

"Just drive," he wearily drawled, "Please, Ror, just drive."

Peter would have bet that his day couldn't possibly get any worse, and yet not ten minutes later, when Rory's car suddenly lurched to a stop and refused to start up despite her most endearing coaxing, he discovered that he was wrong. "Well, at least we're not too far away from that gas station," Rory said brightly, "I can't believe I didn't bring a cell phone, but I'm sure we can find a phone there. I'll call my mom to pick us up, and she can warn Luke too." Peter remained quiet, as he had been since the encounter at the gas station. Rory didn't understand what had happened, she saw Jess run up to the stranger but when he saw the man's face, well she had never seen the boy look like that. He looked like he had just lost his best friend in the whole world.

"So…do you think that's what we should do, Jess? Or should we call a tow truck straight off? I mean, I don't have any money but I'm sure my mom can arrange something…" The pair had gotten out of the car and were backtracking their steps on foot.

"You should call your mom and have her pick you up," the boy suddenly spoke, turning to look at her with eyes that spoke of loss and resignation. "I shouldn't have dragged you out here." He grew quiet. "So yeah, call Lorelai. Wait for her at the station."

"And you'll be…"

"Maybe you'll think it's strange but…I just feel like walking."

"All the way back to Stars Hallow?" she asked incredulously, testing his temperature with the back of her hand. "Are you sick or just crazy? That will take hours."

He smirked, a comforting bit of familiarity for the girl who was growing increasingly concerned for her still mysterious companion. "I'm…well I'm not okay and I'm not fine, but I am healthy and sane. I dunno, I just really feel like I want to walk. To just…think."

He felt her delicate hand slide into his and he knew that if he was walking, so was she, even though she hated exercise and the sun made her freckle. A sudden rush of appreciation, and perhaps not quite love but something exceptionally close to it, filled him completely, momentarily dulling the sharp pain of the ever-growing certainty that he wouldn't be seeing his brother again. "I'm really sorry, Rory," he said suddenly, twining an arm around her shoulders. "For everything I've ever done that I haven't been able to share or explain to you. You deserve better."

She reached up to press a soft kiss against his pliant mouth, "Lets not talk. I think you were right. Let's just walk."

It was indeed several hours before the pair dragged their weary, exhausted bodies back into the familiar streets of their hamlet. The day had been cool and over cast, the highway almost entirely empty. Neither regretted their decision not to call for parental assistance, but then they hadn't faced the adults in their lives yet.

"Well, at least we had this time together, 'cause somehow I don't think mom will be too keen on us seeing each other for a while," Rory predicted as Jess walked her up to her house.

"You think it'll help if I tell her that it was all your idea?" Peter suggested jokingly.

"Like she'd believe that."

"It's true!"

"Entirely beside the point."

The couple had been prepared to fend off an outraged Lorelai the moment she caught whiff of her daughter back in town, but their expectations had been thus far disappointed. Even as Rory peeked into the rooms of her house, she remained un-assaulted by motherly concern. "I think I'm feeling a bit neglected," she remarked snarkily.

"She's probably sitting with Luke, forcing him to listen to her ranting and raving…poor Luke, now I really feel guilty." He easily dodged her badly aimed mock-punch.

"That's my mother, Artful Dodger."

"My apologies, Fagin, sir," he said as they walked across town to his temporary home.

"I told you not to call me Fagin," she admonished with a sharp poke in the boy's side.

"Hey you earned that moniker today, you evil mastermind. Corrupting this humble youth for your own gain." The pair laughed quietly as they drew near the diner, not noticing how unusually empty it was, especially for a Saturday evening. The small brass bell tolled as they walked through the door, fully aware that two very unhappy people were undoubtedly awaiting their arrival. In the same moment that the young couple breezed through the front door Lorelai stepped through the curtains that portioned Luke's apartment.

"They're here," Lorelai shouted up the stairs, a strange mixture of anticipation and surprise upon her face.

"How mad are you right now?" Rory asked with a grimace.

"Oh plenty mad," the older woman said, though she certainly didn't appear to be suppressing any violent desires. She didn't have time to elaborate before Luke also stepped out from the hanging partition.

"Luke, I can explain all this," Peter began, but he was interrupted when Luke raised a silencing hand, a strange smile twisting his lips. Luke stepped away to join Lorelai behind the counter, making room for a third figure, approximately Luke's size and girth, to step into the dining room. He had the same wavy hair and severe set to his shoulders that had so confused Peter only hours ago. The clothes were a bit worn and he didn't have his favorite sunglasses, but that face…it had been one of the first sights to welcome him into the world, it meant security and safety. Those hands had steadied him as took his first toddling steps. There was no mistake, he was sure; but was it real?

"Am I dreaming?" he asked, chin trembling with suppressed emotion, not daring to move lest the image shatter like so many broken window panes. "Are you really here, are you alive?"

"Pete," he called in a voice that was deep and resonating and entirely Nathan. He opened his arms and Peter rushed into that familiar spot, burrowing his face into the crook of his brother's neck, praying that if it was a dream may he never wake up.

I really tried to edit this but I stayed up way to late doing this because if I didn't I don't know if it would ever get done hehehe so I'm sure I missed some. Please review, let me know what you think  And hey, this was a pretty long chapter, don't you think? That deserves a review, no? hehehe thanks for reading