Chapter Ten
"Christmas Morning"
After his dream, Peter didn't catch a single wink. His abrupt awakening near 3 AM had stirred Claire for a moment, before he quietly used the power of persuasion to lull her back into slumber. That's where they stayed for the rest of the night- Claire lightly snoring at his side, and Peter wide awake, boring holes into the ceiling with his intense eyes.
Racing the digital bedside clock had become somewhat of a game. He'd try for the thousandth time to go back to sleep, adjust his pillow a bit, find a comfortable spot. Distract himself from the grisly images still burned behind his retinas. Then, he'd glance over at the red digits, seeing how many more minutes had ticked by until Christmas morning granted him the mercy of day.
Lucky him, to be stuck waiting for daybreak only four days after the winter solstice. Just as Peter was about to start ripping the long hair from his scalp in agony, a spark of sunlight shot through the window blinds. He sat up in bed and peered at it with bloodshot brown eyes. The clock was nearing seven AM. That meant sunrise in the wintertime.
Dawn. Salvation. A new day rising. Blah blah blah. To him, its greatest worth was an excuse to get up.
Peter didn't have the strength to even smile. Though his mind wouldn't let him rest, his muscles felt as if they were made of Jell-O. Lying soundlessly around all night had placed a lead ball in his gut, which he felt immediately when he stood up. Moaning, Peter stumbled around the other side of the bed, past a still-sleeping Claire, and clumsily out the bedroom door.
Fortunately, he had his bearings straight enough to close the door without waking anyone. Next, Peter meandered around the hallway until he found the first bathroom, gratefully cranking on the sink's knobs to 'hot' and splashing lukewarm water onto his pallid face.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and hardly recognized the man staring back. In fact, he could hardly see the man staring back, with that curtain of black hair obscuring his view. Peter mumbled under his breath and flipped back his- as Hiro would call it- anime hair. Still didn't help much though. His eyes were just as grey and dead, his face was just as sallow, his cheekbones were just as gaunt. Utterly unrecognizable.
Peter took a swallow of metallic-tasting water from the tap to clear his groggy throat, and he headed out into the living room. A large tree looming in the corner of the room reminded him that, oh yeah, it's Christmas, but that somehow didn't cheer him up. Heroes never got to have holidays. The world didn't stop being screwed up just because it Santa was coming.
Peter's sightline scanned from the angel on top of the tree, over every ornament, and eventually to the base. And what he found there almost made him guffaw.
His brother, naked except for a pair of boxers, lay sprawled among a mountain of wrapped presents. Beside Sylar was Niki Sanders, equally as nude, covered from the breasts down with a pile of blankets.
Peter snorted. He had to give his twin credit for creativity, even if Sylar wasn't exactly Casanova.
The empath knelt down beside the sleeping couple, surveying the scene at a closer level. Sylar's lips were slightly parted, his face totally relaxed, and his arms stretched long and lean over his head. Peter surmised, bittersweetly, that last night was probably the best sleep Sylar'd had in months.
Never to turn down an opportunity to mess with his brother, Peter smirked, looking down at his fingernails. They were eerily longer than usual because of the rebirth, and something he'd neglected to groom as of yet. He'd have to grab a file or something once they got to Vatican City.
Peter leaned a little closer to his brother, fingertip poised right where Sylar's neck met his jaw. Peter scratched at the small patch of skin for a moment and Sylar stirred. Not to be discouraged, Peter continued, drawing a long line all the way down the column of his brother's throat.
This time, the sleeping twin had a more aggressive reaction, bringing up a hand to harshly smack his neck. Peter's fingers could feel the wind rushing by from the force, but he managed to save his hand in the nick of time.
Sylar rubbed his eyes, now awake, propping himself tiredly onto an elbow. "Mmrg…Nik…Niki?"
"Me, actually. Sorry to disappoint," Peter bluntly replied, evoking Sylar to lower his hand, looking at Peter from underneath heavy eyelids. "Interesting present Santa left you, there."
The amnesiac glanced over his shoulder at Niki, who slept peacefully despite the banter unfolding before her. Sylar turned back to Peter, unfazed. After all those years of having Peter bed damsels, Sylar really couldn't muster up any shame in this situation.
"Clearly." He then groaned, glancing out the window to see the sun barely on the horizon. "Why'd you have to wake me? It's barely dawn. I was sleeping."
"And I wasn't," the other brother grumbled back. "Besides, you know I missed out on the whole 'torturing the little brother' thing. I was always the one on the end of Nathan's pranks. Call it a juvenile psychological complex." With that, he shrugged.
"I'm not younger than you," Sylar pointed out, finally sliding out from under the Christmas tree. "We're the same age. And I'm taller." Almost for emphasis, he stood up at that moment; as if to prove that he did in fact tower a good six inches over Peter. Then, with a small smirk, he added, "And just because you were dead for nine months doesn't mean I'm above hitting you in the head with a flying vase."
Peter didn't reply. He was too busy noticing his new competition in the 'most fit' category. When Peter had died, Sylar was thin and lanky like a flagpole, with long limbs that almost seemed to sag from his looming frame. Now though, every muscle was toned like a gladiator's, from his biceps to his abs.
Peter arched an eyebrow. "Working out much?"
Sylar grinned, an expression that seemed peculiar on his naturally devious features. "Do I look like I have anything better to do? Besides, I have a girlfriend now. That has suddenly made fitness important."
Peter could respect that particular sentiment, but couldn't help but see some irony in this situation.
"You're still such an atheist," Peter retorted, throwing Sylar his jeans (which had previously been spread across the couch by who-knows-how means). "You slept with her under a Christmas tree? I'm surprised you haven't been struck by lightning."
"Like you're such a saint," Sylar griped back. He was clumsily attempting to be sarcastic and pull on his long-legged pants at the same time. "I'm sure you've had sex with someone in just about every private and public place imaginable."
"Touché." Peter rolled his eyes. "It was the 2000's. Give me a break."
"Your promiscuity knows no bounds," Sylar shook his head, kneeling down to the Christmas tree. Gingerly, as if Niki was made of rice paper and prayers, he cradled his girlfriend in his arms and lifted her off the floor. She was so light, like she was full of feathers and stardust.
Sylar admired her features all the way to the bedroom, where he gently laid her down on the mattress. No need to have all the other members of their Justice League walking in on naked Niki under the tree. He liked to consider himself a gentleman, and was bound to protect the modesty of his lover.
When Sylar returned, pulling a shirt from the bedroom over his head, Peter had moved over to the atrium window. The bay was shining in Technicolor ruby under the sunrise, bathing the sides of some skyscrapers with a rosy hue.
"It's not very fair, you know," Peter remarked. "We're not even alive a day and the world's already gone to hell again. Shouldn't we be allowed like, a week-long therapy period or something?"
Sylar appeared to his left, and Peter could just barelysee both of them reflected in the window, side-by-side. They were unmistakingly related from appearance alone, but Peter never would have taken them for twins. Sylar, standing over six feet tall with features unlike anyone else on Earth, was so clownishly bizarre-looking while lithe, ordinary Peter could blend right in with a crowd.
They shared the same eyes though. The same piercing, handsome, russet eyes which, according to Adam Monroe, were inherited from their mother. Emily.
"On the bright side, we've got more help this time. Niki, Adam, Hiro…" Sylar reminded him. "Last time it was only us and Claire."
"Yeah, but I wish it was just the three of us again." Peter seemed a bit miffed. "There's too many people to take care of. The more of us there are, the higher the odds that someone's gonna get hurt."
"That's a worthy risk, Peter. I've got a feeling this whole situation is a lot bigger than anything the Lindermans could plan."
"Seven plagues," Peter murmured back, shaking his head. He scoffed in bitter disbelief. "I guess we're just getting too good at this job, brother. Now they've gotta get God of all people to throw shit at us."
Sylar mildly appreciated the humor, but his lips remained pursed. "I don't believe in that anymore. What merciful God would let so much suffering happen in this world? It's all such a delusional fabrication."
"Okay, Scrooge," Peter smirked with a glance to the Christmas tree. "But believe me- a trip through the afterlife might change your mind. There is something out there that's bigger than us. I'm not sure if it's God, Vishnu, Allah or just 'the Force', but…it's kinda selfish to think any other way, right? Humans, even mutants, aren't responsible or smart enough to run this place without some sort of divine intervention."
Peter spotted a prompt pang of embarrassed guilt cross Sylar's features. Right about the same time an utterly random idea occurred to him.
"You, uh….you wanna go on a walk for a bit?" Peter asked, out of the blue. "Cause I've gotta go pick up Adam anyway, and I sort of want to get out of this house…"
"Fine." Sylar then studied Peter's attire of super-baggy gym clothes that made the smaller twin appear like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. "But I do insist you get dressed first. If you leave the house looking like that, I'll claim not to know you."
Peter punched his brother lightly in the shoulder. "What can I say? They're your clothes."
xxx
Thankfully, a warm front hung over the California atmosphere on that day, so the weather wasn't too bad outside. Definitely too cold for short-sleeves, but still nice enough to walk around in, to enjoy the sights.
"When did this whole thing with you and Niki start, anyway? She was in Vegas, you were in Boston, I dropped dead…now you live together on the other side of the country. How does that even happen?"
Sylar shrugged and held his jacket tighter, the winter chill biting him through the material. "It's not rocket science. She was there to comfort me. And after the laws were lifted and everything was safe again, we figured that we're all each other had. I'm friends with Mohinder and Hiro of course, but they both have their own lives. And Niki didn't have anyone other than her son, so…here we are."
"San Francisco," muttered Peter. "And the disasters still followed you right here."
His brother gave him a friendly nudge with an elbow. "Strictly speaking, it followed you. That bay was perfectly clean until you and Claire came back."
"Do you really think it's got something to do with us?" Peter whispered. He has stopped walking, too-big boots planted into the cracked sidewalk beneath them. "Maybe Claire was right about our return being so unnatural. Maybe we upset the balance of things. Messed with destiny."
"You and your destiny. We can move things with our minds, Peter," Sylar tiredly reassured him. "Paint the future, grow back bones, even fly. The word 'unnatural' has become obsolete these days."
It took the shorter twin a moment to mull over the other's declaration before he began walking again, flanking Sylar as they headed downhill towards the bay. The beach was now blocked off obviously, science and news vans lining up the perimeter of the river. Peter and Sylar could still seeit from this angle though, so high up on one of Frisco's tallest slopes.
"But now that you mention it, is everything alright with you and Claire? I'm sorry Niki made you share a room. Not to intrude, but things did seem rather awkward last night."
Peter glanced up once at his brother before bowing his head in misery. "Yeah. We're kind of 'off' now." He lamely added, "I guess it's sort of like what normal couples call 'taking a break.'"
Sylar's eyes suddenly narrowed. "Peter, she's not some girl. She's the love of your life. You don't take 'breaks' with someone like that." The gangly man now came across as a little sheepish. "I…I read your journals, okay? And after learning about all that you've been through with her, I know that you two are undividable. What possible obstacle could come between you?"
"It's not an obstaclethat's the problem," Peter insisted. "It's what's not there. Something went wrong when we came back, Sylar. We all know that. And yeah, it's not your fault, but it is still a problem. Claire and I…we don't love each other anymore. At all. It's like we've never even met. In fact, I kind of feel the same way about everyone! No offense, but if you or Claire, or anyone of our friends was to just drop dead right now, I probably wouldn't care at all." Peter looked at his hands, as if they could somehow tell him the meaning of life. "I want to care. I know I should care. But…I can't, somehow."
"What about Claire?" Sylar gravely asked. "Is she going through the same thing?"
Peter shrugged helplessly. "Search me. I think it's sort of the same idea, but for a different reason. Hers seems more emotional, when mine is physical 'cause of my shadow…" He shook his head in incredulity. "Just imagine what she must be dealing with, though. One second, you're happier than you've ever been, and the next, you're ripped back to this hellhole. That's gotta be messing her up."
"I'm sure she just needs time. If it's emotional, then she can eventually heal," Sylar said optimistically. He hesitated before continuing. "I'm more worried about you, Peter. How are we supposed to get your shadow back?"
"…I dunno. No idea."
Sylar's gaze lingered on his brother's profile- the harsh, ridged lines that didn't used to trace Peter's features. The amnesiac always recalled Peter with high brows, warm eyes and a mischievous smirk. Now, all joyfulness, all playfulness, all the things that made Sylar put up with Peter's stubborn days were erased, just leaving a weary and contemplative young man who was even more nastily sardonic than usual. Sylar knew he should let his twin adjust; let Peter come out of his shell slowly. But this new model was really starting to bother him.
He's give anything to have the old Peter back. And while that didn't seem possible at the moment, at least Sylar could try to wring some sort of nostalgia out of his fallen kin.
There was a general store on their side of the street, which Sylar neutrally instructed Peter to wait outside of. The empath nodded blankly and turned his back on Sylar, now standing lonely and stripped of barriers. Sylar stared at him forlornly, just a flash more than usual, before slipping into the shop.
A cowbell rang when Sylar pushed through the glass door, and he was immediately assaulted by the smell of cigarettes, Fritos, and Clorox. Wrinkling his nose, Sylar briskly headed towards the mile long candy aisle, finding what he was looking for.
After throwing down a few dollars and absently telling the cashier to keep the change, Sylar rejoined Peter outside the store. If asked about it with his life on the line, Sylar would have sworn that Peter hadn't moved a single inch the entire time.
"Merry Christmas," Sylar said mildly, holding out a small brown paper bag towards his brother.
"You don't celebrate Christmas," Peter candidly pointed out, staring vacantly at the bag.
"But you do." Sylar thrust the sack into Peter's hand, not taking 'no' for an answer. "Take it. Enjoy."
Peter cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at the little grocery bag. Whatever was in it didn't have much weight. Still, Peter's curiosity was aroused.
"Do I get a drum roll?" he snorted good-naturedly as they began walking again. When Sylar merely chuckled in reply, Peter broke the suspense, carefully peeking inside of the bag. What greeted him there was far more cheering than he suspected.
"PEZ," he mumbled, reaching in and holding up a Batman dispenser. "You got me PEZ."
"All lemon flavored." Sylar winked.
Peter couldn't help the smile spreading across his face, despite the gravity of the day and the absence of feeling within his core. This sense of reminiscence and familiarity and love…it was too strong for him not to start beaming like an idiot. "You know me too well."
"Perhaps," agreed Sylar carefreely. "I know you'd do the same for me. One day, in another time, another slipstream."
The watchmaker's eyes were glued to the horizon, but his brother's gaze was locked on him. Nine months had molded Sylar from a timid kid into a wise man. Peter had already noticed the physical differences- the flecks of grey hair, the strong muscles, and the firmer posture. Sylar had tried to pass off the 'I have a girlfriend' card to explain away his maturity, but Peter knew better. His brother had been thrust into a world of normalcy after a mini-lifetime of saving humanity. That would harden even the most naïve of spirits, on top of the fact that Sylar lost half of the people he loved in one drastic event.
"Thanks." Peter was staring at the cracks along the sidewalk as they reached the final stop on their mosey to the bay. Days before, they could have walked all the way across the beach, out to the water. Now though, the brothers were forced to stop at the battery, for police barriers criss-crossed the whole area.
"It's nothing."
"No, I mean it," Peter insisted softly. "Thanks for everything."
Sylar didn't argue. He had no reason to. Getting a mere facial expression out of brother was hard enough these days, so a reaction like that was worth its weight in gold.
The stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes, simply watching the scarlet water wash up the shore, and then back down again with the morning tide. The waves weren't strong- hardly even noticeable really, but they were still present. Present and leaving a red shadow on the dirt with every sweep in and sweep out of the moon's pull.
Peter checked his watch, one of Niki's girly silvery things that he was admittedly embarrassed to be seen with, but he felt bare without something on his wrist. The minute hand speared the 'seven' while the hour was just approaching the 'twelve.'
"It's seven. The Today Show's on," he commented. "I think I should go ahead off to Adam's, then."
Sylar nodded. "Can you find him alright? You said your powers…"
"Don't worry," Peter said nonchalantly. "I'll be fine. I just think I need to work at it a little harder."
"Don't hurt yourself," the amnesiac warned. It was mostly in jest, but there was a note of soberness in his tone. "I'll meet back with you at my apartment."
"Great," Peter replied, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he turned away from the river. "See you in thirty."
xxx
After a particularly scrambled mental journey through the streets of San Francisco (via Molly's power), Peter eventually ended up at Adam Monroe's apartment. Not shockingly, his rich semi-con of a father was on the top floor penthouse in one of Frisco's finer districts. Peter had too much of a headache at the moment for such petty appreciation, though.
He knocked on the door, rubbing his forehead in pain. These past few days had wreaked havoc on his abilities. Even the simplest healing, teleportation, or mental GPS search drained him faster than a puncture in a balloon. It was the empathy, he expected. If he couldn't feel much of anything, how was he supposed to connect to people and use their abilities?
Peter could hear a couple muffled voices, one cheerful male and one high-pitched female, conversing lightly before the door swung open. A pixie of a blonde girl stood in the wooden frame, still dressed in a thin nightie, her blue eyes sparkling with interest at the sight of Peter.
A tingling immediately began in Peter's fingertips and worked its way up his arm. After being around so many mutants, he could recognize the sensation by now. It was the exact feeling he received whenever he was absorbing someone's ability, instantly informing him that this woman was a metahuman. However, the little sparks dancing in his nerves were far stronger than normal. Perhaps his exhaustion just made him over-sensitive today. Either that or the woman standing before him had an unusual amount of power.
"Oooh. Who might you be?" she purred, scanning him up and down. Peter wasn't in the mood for games.
"Peter Petrelli," he hoarsely said. "Is Adam up?"
The girl smiled in a nasty way that sneered, "Yeah. In more ways than one." Yet she held her tongue and solely shrugged, keeping the actual response unsaid. "Yup. He's around. Wanna come in, tiger?"
Peter nodded and she moved over a little to let him in. Just…a little. It wasn't nearly enough for a man like Peter to fit through, and he was forced to rub uncomfortably against the woman's front, her leer mocking the entire time him from below.
To his immense relief, a six-foot-two Neil Patrick Harris look-alike emerged from another room, dressed in nothing but wrinkled pajama pants.
"Peter," said Adam charmingly. "Oh, I see you've met Elle. Light of my life, in more ways than one."
Peter caught a glimpse of the handsy young woman, who was currently beaming at Adam. "Er…yeah. She's…nice."
Thankfully, Monroe changed the subject. "You're here earlier than I expected."
"I guessed that," Peter slowly answered, eyeing Adam's state of dress. "How fast can you get ready?"
"Five minutes," Adam assured his son. "Any more and you can leave without me. Just wait here, will you? Elle can keep you company."
Peter nodded and Adam briskly headed back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him so he could change in privacy. Which left Peter utterly alone…
…with Elle?
"You're his son, aren't you?" Elle grinned conversationally, leaning back against a corner desk. "Where's your brother?"
"Home," Peter tersely said.
"That's too bad," Elle pouted. "I would have loved to meet him too. What's his name again?"
Another clipped reply. "Sylar."
"Oooh, that's exotic. Tall, dark, and handsome too?"
The more Elle talked, the more uncomfortable Peter felt. Especially at that particular question. How was he supposed to know? Though he was relatively sure that Sylar was in fact good-looking, how could he be expected to gauge his own brother's sex appeal?
"I dunno…" He squirmed. "Sure?"
Elle tutted. "So bad he's not here," she said again. "That's such a rare name, you know?" Then, her eyes glinted with a wickedness that scared Peter more than falling thirty stories, getting his head sawed off, or causing the destruction of mankind.
"Hmph. Kind of reminds me…there was this murderer named Sylar a few years ago. My daddy was trying to catch him."
Petrelli was sure that his blood had gone cold. "Yeah…uh," he stammered. "Sylar gets that sometimes. It's a total coincidence."
Before he could dodge into an escape route, Elle was against his chest within moments, hands crawling up his torso like spiders with minds of their own.
"Adam says you both have really strong abilities though," Elle pointed out, taking Peter's wrist and running her scarlet nails over his barcode tattoo in mesmerizing patterns. Peter peered discreetly at her own arms and saw no marking, but he knew she had power too. He could feel himself absorbing it.
"You…and your brother. Just like that serial killer did."
Peter, who was quite frankly revolted at this woman's behavior, nimbly slipped away from her reach as fast as metahumanly possible.
"Uh…I really think you've got the wrong guy. Sylar's…Sylar's great. He'd never hurt anyone."
"Yeaaaah," drawled Elle. "And he died too, right? The murderer. Seven years ago. But they never found the body…"
"I was there, okay? I saw him- the man you're talking about- get stabbed," Peter insisted. Which was actually entirely true. "That guy at Kirby Plaza wasn't my brother." This was also a fact…from a 'certain' point of view, as Obi-Wan Kenobi would wink.
Elle swayed a little, clearly unconvinced, but she let the argument drop. "Oh well. I thought that could have been interesting, having a brain-snatcher in the family. But if he's as boring and ordinary as you say, then I guess I can live with that too."
She was baiting him to say more. To fall into a trap of his own words. Damn, this girl knew how to play the game. Adam was a smooth talker himself, but Elle Bishop nearly put him to shame.
He was really starting to lose his patience with this one.
Elle shrugged and continued. "You seem interesting though."
She started walking closer, hips swaying with every step. Peter's chest filled with dread. "Don't worry, Peter," she whispered. "Adam doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything I do. I don't even see him that much. And you think I'm gonna let a pretty boy like you get away?" Her eyes were a bit mad and her smile a bit broken as she held up a lovely manicured hand, a blue ball of energy crackling in her clutch.
Electricity, Peter realized. That's why absorbing her power felt so odd. Electricity. And then: But just because Adam's neglecting his kitten doesn't mean I need to get in this middle of this.
After all, he didn't exactly feel like getting roasted today, by his father's jealously or by this woman's cobalt fire.
"Listen," Peter tried, voice wavering nervously. He could take on super-villains, the end of the world, and a waltz through Hell itself and live to tell the tales with no remorse. But there was something downright freaking terrifying about this woman.
He held up his hands in half-truce, half-protection. "I don't know what's up with you and Adam, but uh…count me out, okay? I'm just…I've got problems of my own to deal with right now."
The blue heat in Elle's hand throbbed even brighter. "Maybe I can help you relieve some of that stress."
As she got closer and closer, Peter saw there was only one thing left to do. However childish, however rash it totally was.
The empath shot a panicked look towards his father's bedroom and abruptly bellowed, "Adam!"
Monroe was there in a flash, blonde head sticking out of his bedroom. "You called?"
"Elle wants to say goodbye to you before you leave," Peter lied before the woman could voice a protest. He leaned away from the pouty minx, whose electricity had mysteriously gone back into hiding. "Alone."
Adam gave Elle an eager smile, cracking his door open a little wider in invitation. She was clearly resisting the urge to roll her eyes towards Peter, but she obliged. Just as she followed Adam into the bedroom, she threw an irate look over her shoulder at the empath.
The door closed behind the pair and Peter let out a sigh of relief. Thank God he'd never absorbed a pheromone power. Because if there was anything left to make this situation worse- that was it.
xxx
"I've decided I don't really like him," Elle said breezily. "He's not much fun."
Adam's back was turned on her, masking his smirk. He knew all about his mistress's extremely flirtatious tendencies, and had no question about what 'fun' meant to her.
"He's a noble man," Adam dryly responded, finally twisting to face Elle. "And I know what you think about them."
"Boring," she agreed, sitting down on the bed across from him. Her eyes watched him intensely as he stuffed half his closet and a few toiletries into a small leather suitcase.
"I want to come with you," she announced, now sounding incredibly serious, the faux vixen tone utterly erased. "It's important."
"We've already discussed this," Adam reminded her, now struggling to close his suitcase. It was putting up a fight, but he managed to zip it up, slowly but surely.
"Yeah, and you're still wrong," she snapped back. "My power is a lot stronger than yours, Adam. Plus, I've got my own plans for this trip."
"Your power is strong," Adam admitted. "But thanks to Peter, we've already added it to our artillery."
Elle gave him a confused stare. She knew Peter was a mutant, but Adam hadn't yet expounded what the exact power was.
"Oh, I neglected to mention that, I suppose. Peter is a mimic. He absorbs other people's abilities permanently."
Elle gaped, suddenly feeling a sense of filthiness wash over her. "He took my power?!"
"You still have it," the older man quickly responded, his voice soothing. "It's perfectly well, my dear. He's just copying it."
Elle crossed her arms over her chest. "Still. I feel like I got robbed."
"Don't worry about it," Adam said softly, abandoning his packing for a moment to step closer to her. He placed his hands delicately on her shoulders and rested his forehead against hers. "Peter has so many abilities, I'm sure he'll just forget all about it."
Adam pressed a kiss behind her ear and was rewarded with a tiny burst of electric sparks that cascaded across his lips. He smiled warmly against her skin.
"I'll be missing that," he murmured. She obligingly shocked him again, more passive than usual- more spark, less burn- on the hip.
"Promise me one thing?" Elle whispered against his hair, fingers slipping down to entwine with Adam's own hands. The immortal nearly felt sincerity there. It was the first time that he actually considered that maybe…maybe there was more than just raw lust and necessity between him and Elle. Maybe there was actually some affection buried beneath their circumstances.
"What is that, love?"
Elle smirked. "Promise me that you won't chase any pretty Italian women out there."
Adam nearly chuckled. "I know not to mess with you."
They locked in one final kiss before Adam slipped out of her arms, entering the living room to re-greet Peter. Elle silently trailed behind him with a glower, leaning in the bedroom doorway as she watched father and son interact.
"Ready?" Peter said. Adam nodded a little reluctantly. It wasn't the teleportation that scared him. He'd done that enough with Hiro in feudal Japan. The only thing that worried Adam now was Peter's rather peaky appearance. The miracle doctor had half a mind to take the bus.
Too late, though. By the time Adam opened his mouth to speak, Peter had placed his hand on Adam's shoulder and was already teleporting them away. But not before catching, with a lurch in his stomach, the subtle wink that Elle directed his way.
xxx
"Ahhhrrrrggg!!" yelled Adam as he collapsed onto Sylar's living room floor. Peter and the suitcase were luckily both right beside him on the carpet. Sylar noticed with a fair amount of concern that his brother's breathing was labored, and that Peter seemed to have trouble climbing onto the couch. But there was a more immediate problem at hand.
Adam swore angrily, holding a hand up for everyone to see. "What in God's name did you do to me?!"
Sylar's eyes fell to Adam's bloody left hand. To the space where Adam's index finger should have been.
"You left a finger behind?" Claire asked, kneeling before the other regenerator. She cocked her head, appearing more curious than worried. "Will it grow back?"
Adam nodded and sat up on his haunches, shaking the hand as if to get more circulation back to it. "Oh yes, I'll be fine." He then shot a glare towards his panting son. "It's just a bit of a nasty shock to get dismembered without warninglike that."
"I've never had that happen before," Hiro frowned, then appearing a bit sheepish under the scowl that Peter directed towards him.
"Yeah, well you're not dealing with broken empathy over here," Peter snapped back. "I've had trouble controlling all my powers since I came back."
Emotions, Sylar realized internally. Peter uses his ability by connecting with other people, but the rebirth has made him apathetic. It's tarnishing his powers.
"Look, see," Adam was saying to Claire, holding up his palm closer to her so she could have a better look. "It's already coming back."
The young blonde watched on in fascination as a bone bloomed from the gruesome stump, then was latticed with blood vessels, skin cells, and even a few flaxen knuckle hairs. Within seconds, there were only a couple flecks of dried blood to show that Adam had any injury at all.
"Wow," she gasped, shakily reaching out to touch Adam's hand. He offered it towards her more, turning it on its other side so she could run her fingers over the perfect, unscarred flesh where there had just been a wound.
"I've never cut anything off," she mumbled, looking up to meet his eyeline. "I wasn't sure if it'd come back."
"I learned the hard way," he grimly explained, withdrawing his hand once she was done exploring it. "The American Revolution. A cannonball blew my foot off in battle. You can thank your Yankee ancestors."
Claire cringed and Adam merely smiled, lending her an arm to help her off the floor.
Meanwhile, Sylar was handing Peter a glass of water, which the shorter twin downed in one gulp. Peter wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist and gratefully thanked Sylar, before rising from the couch. Sweat still glinted off his forehead and his face glowed pale in the dawn's light, but his resolve was as firm as always.
"Did you already take Micah to stay with Mohinder?" he inquired of Hiro. The man from Japan nodded.
"Yes. Kicking and screaming, but he went." Hiro removed a few needle-tipped syringes from his pocket. Each needle was covered with a clear rubber sheath for safe-keeping. "I got these from Mohinder as well. For Adam's blood."
His expression went a bit weird for a second when he mentioned the immortal's name. It was clear that Hiro still put no trust into Monroe.
"Excellent," breathed Adam, holding out his hand towards the samurai. "I'll take those; thank you, Hiro."
The samurai reluctantly gave over Mohinder's empty syringes, ignoring the soldier sense buzzing in the back of his brain like a hive of bees. He felt, in brutal honesty, like he was handing over the lives of every one of his comrades in that very moment. Kensei acted as if all was forgiven, but could anyone truly forget losing the woman they loved? Especially when that woman waltzed into the arms of someone, namely Hiro, whom Adam assumed was a friend? Though Hiro's trust in his childhood hero was non-existent, he had to be honest with himself. Adam had more reason to doubt Hiro than Hiro had to judge Adam.
Plus, if Hiro could forgive Sylar for slaying Charlie, then this thing with Adam should be child's play.
Peter took a breath. "Okay. We're all ready, aren't we? I'll take two of you and-"
"Hell no," Niki declared, raising her palms. "I am not teleporting with Peter today." She gave him a mildly sympathetic look. "No offense."
"What am I, the short straw?" Peter replied, rolling his eyes. "It's easy. I'll take Adam and Claire. They can regenerate in case anything goes wrong. Hiro can take Niki and Sylar."
The group exchanged looks. It was a pretty fair plan, except perhaps on Adam and Claire. Realistically, if one teleportation across town had left a finger behind, the regenerators didn't even want to imagine the results of a jump to the other side of the world, with an extra person, while Peter was already exhausted.
Claire had a feeling that she might be meeting her insides again very soon. The slightly horrified look on Adam's face told her that he was sensing the exact same thing.
"I can make two trips," Hiro suggested. "You don't look so good, Peter."
"I'll be fine," he insisted, sniffing in a large amount of air. "Just…just go on. We'll be right behind you."
Hiro cast Peter one final hesitant gaze before taking hold of Sylar and Niki, both by the elbow, and blinking out of space and time. Peter glanced over to Adam and Claire, who were standing suspiciously close to one another.
"C'mon," he said, holding out both arms. "Let's get it over with."
"Ladies first," Adam said roguishly to Claire, gesturing towards his son and earning him a glare from the pretty blonde. The girl looked back to Peter and nervously stepped forward, curving her body into one of his sides. His arm around her was slightly comforting, but the mental image of her getting severed like a magician's assistant kept popping up behind her eyes. Yeah, she'd heal from it, but she'd still feel the pain. And though Adam's finger could grow back, Claire wasn't so sure she could regenerate her entire bottom half.
Peter reached forward and grabbed Monroe by the sleeve, pulling his young father closer. Adam's face was possibly whiter than his crisp dress shirt by now, though he forced a tight smile down at Claire. She could only grimace back at him.
"Hold your breath," Peter retorted, before tightening his grip, closing his eyes, and following the others to the Holy City.
xxx
To be continued…