- Chapter 7: In which the customer does not eat any pie

The small bell attached to the Pie Hole door announced that, on this slow night, a customer had just entered the restaurant. Olive Snook turned away from the table she was wiping down and smiled brightly at the man who stood surveying the Pie Hole critically. "Hi, and welcome to the Pie Hole! What can I get you?"

"What's good?" he asked casually.

"Today I'm recommending the peach cobbler, but really, all our pies are delicious!" the waitress answered. "Let me get you a menu."

"Thank you, Miss…" he trailed off, taking the menu from Olive but not following her to a table.

"Just call me Olive," she answered with a wave of her hand.

The corner of his mouth curled up into a slightly predatory smile. "Olive. That's such an unusual name. Tell me, Olive, are you unusual?"

"Me?" the waitress laughed, failing to notice anything strange about the customer. "Nope, I'm just your average gal, though my friends tell me I'm pretty good at singing."

"That's a shame," he said, raising a hand. "You can't defend yourself."

The lights went out, plunging the Pie Hole into darkness and sending Olive Snook's heart into overdrive. She scrambled away from the ominous stranger, not seeing how the sign on the door flipped from "Open" to "Closed," nor how the door locked itself. All her thoughts were on getting a weapon, so she ran into the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife in the block.

The man was right behind her, though, and when she screamed his smile grew wider and more eerie. "You stay back!" she warned him, brandishing the knife in the most threatening manner she could. "Or I'll use this knife!"

"What knife?" he asked mockingly, and with a flick of his fingers the knife tore itself out of her hand and flew into the far wall, buried up to the hilt.

Olive gasped at the sight, and turned to run out the back door, but somehow her attacker had managed to get to the door before she could. She tried frantically to backpedal, but in her haste she tripped. As soon as she had picked herself up off the floor, she was slammed into the wall by some invisible force. She struggled with all her might, but could not free herself from its grip.

"Now then," the man said, as cool and composed as though they were merely chatting about the weather. "Let's see just how your ability works, shall we?" and with a wave, he made a dozen knives float up in the air and point themselves at Olive.

The waitress had a terrified moment in which to contemplate how her life had gone so far; the things that she had done wrong, or wished she had done, or would have liked to have done again, and most of all, what it would feel like to be skewered by a dozen knives. Then, the stranger's composure broke, and he looked angry. Olive flinched, but the attack did not come – her attacker's anger was not directed towards her. Instead, he was looking off to the side, at the door to the Pie Hole, and as he snarled, Olive realized that there was someone else standing outside. Except – suddenly, he was not standing outside, but in the kitchen with them.

"Let her go, Sylar," the newcomer demanded.

"Make me," the killer answered, sending the knives flying toward his opponent.

Olive gasped, horrified at the thought of her new ally being stabbed – but the knives stopped halfway through their flight and, after a moment of hanging in midair, they dropped to the ground. The waitress wanted to cheer, but before she could make a sound, her rescuer dashed forward to hit Sylar, to grab him, something – but he was gone long before he could be reached. The second man turned, just in time to be caught by a telekinetic blast that threw him across the room.

"See you've got a new ability, Sylar," he spat. "Too bad it's not going to help you." And with that, he promptly disappeared.

Before Olive could get too worried about her rescuer abandoning her, Sylar rolled his eyes and said "Really? You're using that again? That didn't work out so well for you last time."

In answer, a strong telekinetic blast shot directly toward Sylar, trying to force him backwards. Sylar slid a few feet, then quickly shook it off – he wasn't going to be beaten with his own trick – but the other man was persistent, and his second attempt sent the killer into the wall and pinned him there.

Olive's rescuer reappeared in front of her, and she was illogically pleased to discover that he was very attractive. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Peter," he answered, but said more urgently, "Miss, you need to get out of here, now!"

Peter reached out a hand to touch her arm, but just before he could, Sylar broke free and charged at the pair. With his enhanced speed, Sylar was easily able to knock Peter off his feet, but now that they were fighting in close range, the hero's super strength gave him the advantage. After a few blows to the head, Sylar retreated to the far side of the room, but he was not ready to give up just yet.

With a flick of his hand, the killer tore the sinks out of the wall and hurtled them across the room. Even worried as she was about the situation, Olive had to choke back a slightly hysterical laugh – at least he's thorough, he throwing everything at us, even the kitchen sink, she thought. The pipes burst from the abuse and started pumping water into the room.

Peter reversed the direction of the projectiles Sylar had launched at them, and added to the mix several chairs and stools from the front room, but his opponent merely batted them away. Exasperated at not getting through, the empath shivered. He was inclined to ignore the chill he felt, writing it off as the effects of being soaked at night, or perhaps just nerves, but he saw Olive shivering, too, as she tried to stay out of the way of their fight, and that was when he noticed it really was much colder in the kitchen than it had been a minute ago. He looked down just in time to see his legs become encased in ice. Olive was suffering from a similar predicament.

"Shit," Peter gasped. Sylar had turned his attention to the waitress, who could no longer move to escape from him, and when Peter tried to hold him in place telekinetically, his grip lasted only a few seconds before Sylar shook it off. The killer resumed walking up to his prey, albeit more slowly.

Peter glanced down. He had to get out of the ice that was trapping him here, and quickly. Wincing slightly with the thought of what he was about to do, he raised his fist and smashed the ice with the strength he had gained from Niki.

It worked a little too well, shattering not only the ice but also his left leg. He fell to the ground and, ignoring the pain in his leg and the strange sensation of bone reforming itself, he searched for a weapon. He found several, scattered along the floor – the knives that Sylar had dropped before. Without hesitation, he sent them flying back toward the serial killer.

Sylar reacted at the last second, deflecting the knives and sending a flurry of kitchen implements at Peter, who ducked and disappeared.

"What is it with you and invisibility?" Sylar sneered, but his laughter was abruptly stunted.

Promptly after teleporting across the room, Peter wrapped his arm around Sylar's neck with the intention of breaking it. "Wrong again," he snapped, but he wasn't counting on Sylar's newly acquired speed. The killer whipped around and shoved outward, throwing Peter off-balance, and dashed across the room.

"Nice try, sponge boy," Sylar taunted, and when Peter tried the same trick again – teleporting in closer to Sylar – the killer was ready for him and punched him forcefully in the gut. Peter doubled over and Sylar ran across the room to finish off Olive.

At least, that was his intention, but the floor turned traitorously slippery under his feet. Peter, borrowing the power that had just been demonstrated to him, froze the water into a thin sheet of ice. Sylar tumbled over in an almost comedic manner, and was caught off guard when Peter came up behind him and got in a few solid blows.

With a sharp telekinetic blast, Sylar put an end to Peter's attack, but just as he was getting ready to make his next move, he perked up, listening to something neither of his intended victims could hear. "This isn't over, Petrelli," he growled, "I will get her ability – and yours, too." And with that last ominous promise, Sylar retreated through the back door and was gone into the night.

Peter stayed on alert, hardly daring to believe that Sylar was gone, while Olive grabbed a wooden spoon lying nearby. While she tried clumsily chipping away at the ice encasing her legs, she chattered at her savior, "I've just got to say how grateful I am! That was just the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Why, you're just like my own Superman! Except without the tights, which frankly I always found a little off-putting. What were they thinking when they decided on that costume? Although maybe the tight fabric is better for flying in, but I guess you'd know better than they would, huh? What'd you say your name was?"

Peter glanced over at the waitress, amused despite his worries, and answered, "Peter Petrelli. Who are you who talks so much when she was almost killed?"

She smiled, pausing in her endeavors to meet Peter's eyes and feel her heart flutter a bit, in spite of herself. "I'm Olive Snook. I just talk a lot naturally, and you know how it is, you get startled and fall back on old habits."

He smiled back at her. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Me? No, I'm fine, thanks to you of course. I wouldn't have given much for my chances if you hadn't shown up."

"Well, I'm here to help," Peter assured her, but a sound from outside drew both there attention outside. Adrenaline once more flooding his system, Peter stalked closer to the door, holding his breath for whatever came ahead.