A/N: Peter doesn't expect Gabriel to understand – but he HAS to do this...

You and Me

A long, tense silence expanded around the narrow hallway while the two men just stood staring at each other. Gabriel wanted to speak so badly, but he was scared to even utter one syllable because Peter looked like he was on the verge of turning and running away at the slightest provocation. He had a distinctly guilty, caught-in-the-headlights air around him, and it took a full twenty seconds before he seemed to recover himself and severed their eye contact.

If the delayed, frosty response hadn't been enough of an indicator, the shield practically building themselves around the man in front of Gabriel's eyes was... he was clearly still upset. Which crumpled and killed the fragile optimism that Gabriel had spent all night and morning crafting.

Peter cleared his throat and shuffled forward (taking a wide berth of this clearly unwanted intruder) to fumble with the lock on the door. "What're you doing here?" He asked curtly. The key missed the lock four times due to Peter's hand shaking uncontrollably, and he looked painfully similar to the way he had back at the very beginning, when every move Gabriel made had rolled fear and distrust through the man.

The unease floating his way sucked all the air out of the watchmaker's body. "I..." He squeaked pitifully, then tried again, feeling even more hopeless and embarrassed. What had he been thinking? Braving the expanse of the noisy, smelly, cramped city to come over here? Of course things wouldn't have magically fixed themselves overnight, no matter how many times he had wished for it. "I was worried about you. After last night... I wanted to know you were okay." Somehow his voice held steady, but his whole body was balanced on the precipice of action – whether to curl into a ball or wrap himself around Peter, he wasn't quite sure, but grovelling would be heavily involved in either outcome.

"I'm fine." Finally the key snicked in the lock, and Peter disappeared into the apartment without looking back. The door swung on it's hinges but didn't fully close, and so Gabriel generously took that to not be a full dismissal.

"No you're not." He said sadly, sliding through the gap and inviting himself into Peter's home. The place had never seemed as cold and hostile as it did just then, because Gabriel knew he wasn't welcome. Even if he still didn't know the fucking reason why. He lingered by the door and watched his only friend float aimlessly around the place as if he couldn't decide on which piece of empty floor to stand on.

( )

Pacing past the couch, over to the window, by the patio doors and past the couch again, Peter waited, extremely badly. He was all hyped up and ready to go now, but he knew it would be best to get rid of Gabriel before revealing his plan to leave town. The guy would only try to stop him. And Peter didn't think he was strong enough to have to break him.

He had to physically fight to keep his eyes off that face. Every part of him itched to peek – as if it were something wonderfully forbidden, appealing in it's taboo – but it was out of fear, not excitement, and he kept his gaze firmly cast down. He worried that he wouldn't recognise his friend inside that hateful shell of a beast. He didn't want to taint all of their precious, shared moments by erasing them with these ones, when his friend Gabriel wasn't just his friend Gabriel anymore.

"You're going to do something dangerous." Gabriel said, and Peter was suddenly very aware of his cracked and bloody knuckles, so hid the offending hand from Gabriel's line of sight.

That last statement (not a question, a statement), had stopped him in his tracks. He gripped the back of the couch, digging his nails in and staring deliberately out of the window and into the rest of the oblivious city. "I dunno what you're talking about." The avoidance was pathetic even to his own ears, but he couldn't muster up enough effort to make it sound more convincing. It was all he could do not to scream out at the top of his lungs, but to instead keep his tone at an almost normal level.

"I know that look." Gabriel murmured from behind him, and Peter's stomach clenched involuntarily. "It's the way you look every time before you get yourself into trouble."

And all at once Peter was blinded by rage, demented by the pain of his loss all over again. Everything that he now knew, everything Angela had told him, echoed around his pounding head. Now he got it, now he understood. All the little things that hadn't made sense, yet Peter had chosen to ignore or excuse... 'Pete'... 'I remembered you liked these' ... 'I know that look'... They were bits of his brother. The only remaining aspects of him on the planet.

"Oh yeah? And how would you know that?" He demanded, tightening his grip on the couch even tighter, frowning at the window. "You remember it, right? Through more of those memories that you don't recognise...?!" His eyeballs stung viscously then, but he didn't want to shed any more tears. Not when there was something that could be done – not to fix things – but to at least neaten the way the cards had fallen.

The taller man stiffened behind Peter, crossing his arms and furrowing those great, black brows. "I don't understand...?"

"No! Ofcourse you don't!" The paramedic spat, storming away into his bedroom in search of his wallet. Secrecy be damned – he was going to confront Nathan's killer, and he was going to do it now. Gabriel could try to stop him if he wanted. It would make no difference, he told himself furiously.

( )

Like a trained dog, Gabriel trailed behind in Peter's wake, blocking the doorway to his bedroom while the guy rummaged around a pile of clothes on the floor, apparently searching for something. "Please, tell me what happened. I want to help you – or at the very least know what I did wrong." He tried not to whine, and to filter out the anxiety from his voice, but succeeded in neither.

"You can't help me." Peter huffed, scrabbling madly around the clothes before coming up short, swearing to himself and kicking the pile away. He then set to work stripping the bedsheets off his mattress and searching through them roughly.

Starting at his toes and steadily making its way up Gabriel's body, his nerve endings seemed to be dying off, one by one, leaving him void of bodily sensation and tethered only by the straining organ pumping blood through his veins. He had to cling to the patio doors to maintain a sense of balance. The amazing dream come true that he had almost reached last night was now slipping from his desperate grasp, and he could do nothing but stand and watch it happen. "Let me try, it's the least I can do-"

"You can't do anything! Just leave me alone!" The false calmness had fully evaporated, and Peter truly yelled for the first time. His anguished cry faded, swallowed up in the sirens and car horns on the street far below, but the sound would rattle through Gabriel's mind for eternity.

He had stopped his fruitless searching to catch his breath, hands twisting into fists by his sides. For a second Gabriel really thought he was going to get punched by this man who he had never imagined would be capable of inflicting him pain (at least physical pain – his feelings had never been so abused), but then Peter ducked under Gabriel's arm and stalked off to the kitchen. Steam was practically visible rising from him, but his next words were swaddled in more controlled self-restraint. "Just go home, Gabriel.

"'Go home'?!" Gabriel wailed, deeply wounded by this undeserved wrath and hostility. He tripped after the little man again, throwing his arms out to the side and unable to believe what he was hearing. "I crossed the city for you! Alone! I flew all the way over – because I care about you, Peter! And now you just expect me to crawl away and let you go on this... mission? Quest? Whatever the hell it is?! You're not yourself – you can't be thinking straight!" Rage coursed through him: was this really the same man who only last night had gushed so sweetly about how he got high off of making people happy?! How such a tiny act as a smile can make someone's day?! Yet here he was, crushing Gabriel's heart as if he was nothing more than a needy, clingy irritation.

( )

Peter wished that Gabriel's distress hadn't run him through the way it did. He recognised what a huge step the guy had taken to make his way here, but what should have felt like a huge victory now stung like venom. Peter had already faced more than enough recent afflictions to break him apart, he didn't need this one as well. Which was why he had hoped to leave without a goodbye in the first place.

Perhaps this was for the best, though? Although he had absolutely no clue how he would begin to explain what had happened, admit what a huge part of Gabriel's past he had kept from him all this time, and confess his current objective, he knew the right thing would be to just be honest. His pristine, shiny moral compass pointed to that decision, and even just yesterday if this had happened to someone else, Peter would have stuck to his old ideals.

But it hadn't happened to someone else, and it was all too much for this one man to handle at once. So Peter chickened out... he couldn't tell Gabriel anything. Already he was sapping the fervour out of Peter, the vengeful passion that he had worked himself into at the mansion... but he couldn't let that happen. Staying behind longer to fill Gabriel in on the details would fracture his armour for sure, and he would never forgive himself if he backed out of this and let the devil run free. Nathan needed him. Nathan needed his resolve to stay strong.

So Peter fought back his betraying expression and composed his face before turning around, still not quite meeting those inkwell eyes. "Actually, now that you're here..." He crossed the short distance between them, reaching out a tentative hand towards Gabriel's forearm. The man held his breath slightly, and twitched just enough that Peter knew he wanted to reach back. "I need to borrow flight." Peter tried not to think that it had been Nathan's ability all along, and he had been using it on and off for weeks without any idea who it had been stolen from.

Gabriel shrank away, sounding more wounded than ever. "No!" Peter pulled his hand back, pressing it to his own thigh in a weak attempt to hide the tremors running through his whole body. "I won't help you do this!" Affronted, the man glared down at Peter, who could feel the heat of that gaze searing through him.

Peter chewed his quivering lip firmly, forcing it steady, and nodded. He wouldn't fight over this. So returned to the kitchen and started scouring through the drawers. He couldn't remember where he'd put his wallet, and had a sneaking (unjustified) suspicion that maybe Gabriel had somehow hid it from him in an attempt to keep him from going. But he wouldn't ask, because even if it were true, there was no way the guy was likely to tell him where he had put it. So Peter continued to search wildly, absorbing the full brunt of Gabriel's pleading in perfect, painful detail, but he refused to let it deter him.

( )

"Don't go, Peter." Gabriel begged, haunting him around the kitchen and shamelessly letting his fears spill from his lips. More of his hopes and dreams faded and died with each passing second, stretched to eternity due to the stubborn silence on Peter's part. "Please – you're just upset! Think this through! What if you get hurt? What if... what if you don't come back? I don't know what I'd do without you – I don't want you to go!"

Here he was, opening up his heart only to be forcefully ignored by his trusted recipient. Right then Gabriel almost found himself hating the little man: he couldn't understand how he could be so cold after only ever being nothing but unfaltering warmth until now, and he couldn't comprehend how such a bastard could still look like such an angel. An angel who appeared as murderous as Gabriel had ever seen him, with his own eyes or not. The only time that came close was that same prison cell memory: when Peter had had nothing but deadly hunger in his eyes and hatred in his choking grip.

Then slowly, the idea formed in Gabriel's patchwork-quilt of a mind, expanding like a bubble being blown. "This is about – about that thing you wouldn't tell me back on the bridge. Isn't it? It is me... something I've done... Something I did... before?" He knew it was true the moment it slimed off his tongue, and Gabriel felt nausea wash over him strongly. It made sense... whatever he had done as his old self, as the person who Peter had hated enough to try to kill with his bare hands, must have been bad enough to hold the man back from trusting him fully now. The sin he had committed must have been horrendous in order to have chewed up and spat out kind and caring Peter Petrelli in such a mangled state, as he was now.

Paranoia kicked Gabriel's intelligent brain into hyper-drive, and he started thinking of any and all things that could have been his fault. It didn't take long before he came to the conclusion of the cell phone from last night. He shouldn't have had it. But somehow he did. It was a dark spot, itchy on his conscience, that went uncomfortably well with the sore, scabbed guilt that grew heavier every time Peter mentioned his beloved brother. It was an issue that Gabriel had been too frightened to touch on. Over these weeks the nasty feeling had only grown, and in fear of losing Peter to it, he had selfishly ignored a problem he knew had been there all along.

"I did something... awful. Didn't I?"

Still Peter didn't reply, although his face was flushed and Gabriel could feel heat radiating off him from inches away. The guy was demented. He was terrifying. And still he wouldn't give Gabriel the courtesy of looking at him while he ripped him open this way.

At last Peter seemed to find what he was looking for – he recovered his wallet from where it had evidentially been kicked under the kitchen counter, and immediately made as if to push past Gabriel and disappear from his life forever without even a parting glance. Gabriel's self-pity and remorse had reached breaking point, and all he knew was the absolute certainty that he wasn't about to just let himself be dismissed like this.

( )

Peter tried not to brush the taller man as he passed, but then a hand whipped out with lightening fast reflexes and clamped fingers tightly around his arm. "Look at me!" Gabriel snarled out a rusty whine... and finally, unable to ignore such pitiful vulnerability any longer, Peter relented and did.

Humiliation, pain and fear had distorted that face into a fearsome, oh-so-familiar mask. One that ran shivers straight through the empath, and he almost broke down right there all over again. He remembered only too well facing off against that expression so many times over the years. And he also remembered, only too clearly, the taste and feel of those plush lips caressing over and against his own. Years of a sensible mentality being drilled into him was now competing with merely weeks worth of foolish, hopeful dreaming that had carried him away, and now this little Petrelli-shaped smelting pot of remorse and empathy was overflowing and going into meltdown.

Peter was vividly reminded of his foolish optimism upon recovering Gabriel at the police station and taking him home. Yes, he had been nervous of the guy, but he had also vowed to help him become a better man – a goal that Gabriel himself had agreed to. Peter had wanted a fresh start for this empty cavern of a person – a new life – filled with companionship and comfort in the shape of himself as a supportive friend. He had promised to help the broken man, and to find out what had happened to revert him to a clean slate. Well now he knew the truth, but there was no way to uphold the first end of the deal... he couldn't help Gabriel. Not now, not ever, and leaving him to ferment for all this time in a musky apartment filled with books and watches and god knows what other secrets and lies had certainly not been "helping". He saw that now. It had all been nothing more than a pipe dream between two naïve, lonely men.

Goosebumps erupted from the other person's touch, and Peter peeled pink fingers off his arm, sickened by every continued second of contact. That hand... that hand had ended his brother's life with one flick of the wrist.

( )

Gabriel allowed Peter to free himself from his, apparently, repulsive and contagious touch. He watched the blurry figure of his former-companion through tearful eyes, saw him rock back on his heels, putting only more space between them. This was it, he was going to lose him for good, and there was no fighting it. But Peter didn't evaporate into thin air, knock him over or jump past him as Gabriel had expected, instead he stared openly into his eyes, and there was an unmistakeable glint of sorrow and sympathy in there. Which only hurt more because Peter did feel bad for what he was doing, yet still he chose to do it.

"This isn't about you and me, Gabriel." Peter said clearly, voice coated with repressed anguish and shame. "I don't expect you to understand – but I have to do this."

Desperate for any speck of comfort, Gabriel's hands once again reached for Peter by themselves, but the empath only recoiled as if burnt. "You don't always have to be a hero, Peter." The ex-killer breathed, blinking wet eyes forcefully to clear them. His tone was harsh, brutal to compensate for his oozing weakness. "You said so yourself: you jump into stupid situations just to prove yourself over and over again. But nobody even cares what you do or don't do, nobody remembers, so why do you keep trying?! That's what this is now, isn't it? Another attempt to be the saviour in hopes of finally earning some praise from people who don't even deserve your efforts?!"

Peter's brow dimpled in a faint frown, and Gabriel knew he had hurt him. Then the paramedic's nose wrinkled and he leaned up close to Gabriel's face, grating roughly. "You're wrong. This isn't about me."

Now that he was finally so near, Gabriel wanted nothing more than to get away from Peter. Up close it was even more obvious due to his bloodshot eyes and puffy eyelids that he had previously been crying. Crying over some heinous action that was all Gabriel's fault, one that he wasn't even allowed to know about because – clearly – he wasn't important enough for such an honour.

So he roughly pushed the little man away, knocking him off balance slightly before the guy caught himself on the kitchen counter. "Exactly!" Gabriel scoffed. "It never is about you. It's always about someone else – someone else who matters more than you do, or has to be protected or rescued, despite what happens to you in the process! …But what about me? I need you. Do I not matter?!"

Again, there was nothing for a moment except the faint city noises floating through the window. Gabriel breathed heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring, and waited for an answer he wasn't even sure was coming. He towered over Peter, no further than a metre away, and his keen eyes picked up every twitch of that goddam little mouth as it bit back the words that Gabriel needed to hear.

( )

Finally, Peter allowed himself to free just a tiny whisper, gentle enough that his constricted throat wasn't an issue. "Someone else matters. And he needs me more." He heaved in a deep sigh. "...I'm sorry." He closed his eyes to protect himself from witnessing Gabriel's shattered expression, but he caught it anyway.

He couldn't take any more of this, he couldn't handle it. So he sniffed forcefully, and shouldered Gabriel out of the way. He had what he'd come for, and he couldn't stay another minute and risk Gabriel wearing him down. He had to think of Nathan, his idol, his best friend, and every moment that had been stolen from them before their time. Right now it was almost possible to forget the horrid truth behind Gabriel's conception, but then Peter had to only think of his brother, and every scar was wrestled open anew to bleed freely.

He didn't look back as he headed to the door, although he knew that Gabriel would be only one step behind. He was unable to set eyes on the shambles of a guy that was his creation. It was a sick irony now that the tables were turned for once in their lives, but the too sensitive, too empathetic man couldn't find any joy in it.

"Wait!" Gabriel cried, and Peter let it stab him, along with every other ignored claim, and kept putting one foot in front of the other. He expected Gabriel to have properly started crying now, and expected his own knees to give way before he had even reached the doormat...

What he didn't expect, however, was his whole body to be hauled back, thrown across the room, and slammed painfully into the far wall.

It took a moment for Peter to reorientate himself, and his swimming head would have drooped if it hadn't been pressed back by an invisible, unbreakable force. It was impossible to move his limbs, impossible to get free... eventually, his vision righted itself, and the last dregs of Peter's stomach dropped through the floor. For standing before him, back arched like a cat, hand thrown out in front, was surely not the man that Peter had come to know over the past six and a half weeks.

"I won't let you leave!" Gabriel hissed, possessed by the strength of his telekinesis and displaying such a chilling sense of control unlike any Peter had seen since a horribly similar experience years ago. The hold on him tightened, and suddenly the petrified empath could barely draw breath.

( )

Power. Unlike any Gabriel had experienced so far in his modest lifetime. It thrummed and thrived through him, a forgotten instinct that stretched out and took over him, responding to the call of his anger. It seemed ridiculously easy to just keep Peter trapped like this, against his will, and therefore the man couldn't abandon him. This way he couldn't run off and get himself hurt, or worse – killed. It was for his own good, really... Gabriel was doing them both a favour...

His fingers flexed and Peter gasped and choked, pinned to the wall, helpless and vulnerable and staring at him with such a delicious look of distress... Suddenly Gabriel was transported backwards through the recesses of his own mind: and he was standing in a dimly lit, trashed room, with a body on the ceiling and another against the wall that was imprisoned and powerless and just as terrified then as he was today. Then instinct took over, and Gabriel watched his own hand rise and split his prisoner's forehead open with his invisible blade, heard the hair-raising scream of agony tear from those faulty lips... and then he staggered backward, bumping into Peter's couch, thrust back to the present and the bare, familiar apartment.

"G...abriel..."

The weak sound caught Gabriel's attention, and he suddenly noticed that he was still holding Peter in place against the wall. He quickly scanned his eyes over the man's face, but there was no bloody line breaking the skin. So it had just been a memory...

"Gabriel!" Peter coughed again, and this time the watchmaker properly realised that he was really holding the guy in place, and cutting off his air supply. Panicked, he lessened his grip enough for Peter to gulp in air, and slowly returned to his senses. The intensity of regret and confusion winded the former villain... he had hurt Peter... he had hurt Pete!

"I – I didn't mean to..." He stammered, shaking his head in an attempt to flush out the flashback and the accompanying, awful aftershocks. Such control had felt so freeing, encompassing... but back here, now, dread was washing up instead. Gabriel gazed at Peter's taut face, saw his defective lip pouting subtly as he tried not to crack again, but it was easy to read it all over his face.

( )

"Gabriel..." Peter repeated in forced calm, trying to sound commanding, but really he was so terrified that he couldn't hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears. "Put me down." Heart hammering, he was helpless as he watched Gabriel come to as long-winded a decision as ever. Gradually, the man's eyes stopped darting around madly and he seemed to come back unto himself, suddenly very aware and ashamed of what he'd done.

He dropped his hand, defeated, and Peter fell, catching himself clumsily. Limbs tingling with pins and needles after being compressed by such pressure, he took only a moment to catch his breath... before darting at Gabriel like a bullet. He crashed into him, grabbed his arm and wrenched the ability to fly out of him, before running straight at the window and launching himself into the sky before there was another chance to stop him.

"NO!"

( )

Without even thinking it through, Gabriel dived after Peter and soared through the sky behind him. Flight being one of his lesser-practised abilities, he was awkward in his manoeuvres and shaky in his balance. But he didn't even think of the immense amount of free space between himself and the very solid, very deadly streets below, and instead put all his effort into chasing Peter Petrelli across the sky, high above the bustling city. He couldn't let him go! He couldn't!

It wasn't a particularly clear day, and Gabriel kept losing his target in the misty bellies of the clouds. He blinked water out of his eyes, be it either tears or raindrops, and every time he caught a glimpse of the other man zipping further and further ahead, so effortless and easy in his movements, Gabriel despaired more inside. "PETER!" He shouted, but his voice was thrown back in his face by the strength of the wind.

"Go home Gabriel...!" Distorted and whipped around by the wind, Peter's words sounded strange and ghostly. They came at him from all sides, pressing down on his eardrums.

"No! I won't just leave you!"

"You don't have a CHOICE!"

Gabriel caught his last sighting of Peter as he boosted away ahead, fading out of sight far too quickly to catch up with. He was left to stutter in the air and fall behind, dropping every few hundred metres and dragging his speed in sporadic phases. It was awful, like a nightmare that kept clipping his wings and threatening to send him plummeting, but he didn't give up straight away. He tried to follow Peter still, even after the cloudy trail that had formed in his wake faded, and what were most definitely tears this time were drawn out of Gabriel's eyes by the wind before they could even touch his cheeks.

Eventually he was forced to admit defeat and wobbled through the air, unsteadily flying back across the huge, hostile city that he hated. Somehow he found his way back home, heartbroken and lost, and unable to do anything now but wait and see if his hero would ever return to him.

( )( )( )

"Peter! Uh, what a – a surprise! What're you doi-"

"Where is he?!" Peter Petrelli demanded, wasting no time on pleasantries and barging his way right into Matt Parkman's house, looking around madly.

"Nowhere! He's nowhere! You're never gonna fi... uh... where's who?" The cop rambled, realising his mistake too late and badly switching tactic halfway through his sentence. This smouldering man was not who he had expected to find when his doorbell had rang, and seeing him practically steaming with vengeful purpose had kicked all of Matt's guilt (especially about his biggest, darkest secret) onto his clumsy tongue all at once, leaving him to blabber and give himself away like an idiot.

Wow, Parkman. You should really see how pathetic you look right now... and fat. Have I mentioned that already...?

Matt scrunched his eyes closed and pushed the annoyingly snarky voice in his head away for now, recovering the fight for dominance easily enough. His guard had been down, which was why he had almost lost control there, he told himself. Get a grip. It could not happen again... especially in front of this particular visitor who, it seemed, could prove to be deadly if his suspicions were confirmed. But Matt tried not to get ahead of himself, and hurried after the surprisingly strong man as he stormed his way through the entire house and kicked every door open with relative ease.

"What are you doing here, Peter?" Matt panted, already beginning to overheat and sweat under the investigation. How had he known? What did this mean? That he was all the way out here... something must have happened to the man he had thought of as 'brother'.

"Sylar! I wanna talk to Sylar!" Peter didn't look back at him once and searched every room wildly, as if he expected to find the serial-killer sprawled out on the couch watching TV or something so laughably casual. If only that were the case...

( )

Peter's adrenaline had only further skyrocketed during the flight across the country, and now he was positively buzzing for a fight. He stalked down the hall and reached the end bedroom: a baby's. For a brief second Peter was winded by the sight of the crib and clutter of toys across the room, and felt awful for assaulting the house so brazenly. Matt had a family... maybe it was wrong of him to drag them into this...

But then the other man tried to laugh it off, as if Peter was deluded in his motivation, and all of his anger was well and truly restored. The baby who lived here didn't seem to be home at least, which would be good for when things turned nasty. Peter span on the spot, leaning right into his former comrade's reddening, sweating face and feeling nothing but contempt for him now. This man was just as bad as Angela. His hands were just as dirty.

"Sylar?" Matt chuckled but his eyes darted around constantly, betraying his agitation. "Why-why would you think he's here?"

But Peter was having none of it, and bared his teeth in a snarl. "He's not in his body, so where did you put him?"

The cop visibly swallowed, and suddenly looked as if his shirt collar was too tight. After an age of heavy breathing and more shameful avoiding of eyes, he seemed to deflate. "Nowhere. I – I didn't put him anywhere. I only took him out, a-away." He stuttered, and Peter waited for a long while, straining his eyes as if it would help him to catch any lies wriggling across that face.

Once more, he longed for the capacity of his old ability, but only so he could worm the truth out of a telekinetic-bound hostage, read their mind and be able to fly home afterwards. Yearning after what he no longer had regurgitated the same old nagging worthlessness as always, but this time it was for all the wrong reasons.

So Peter pulled away, grinding his teeth, and continued his thorough search of the house.

( )

"I know you know where he is, Matt!" Peter accused roughly, and once again Matt was left to scurry along behind as his home was invaded in such a prying way. "And I'm not leaving here until I talk to him!" The furious empath ended his expedition full circle in the living room, and then started uselessly ducking under tables and checking behind the couches.

"Well you can't! I... he's not here!" Matt blurted, feeling better in that it was only a half-lie of sorts.

Oh, if only that were true...

"Then tell me where to find him!" Peter demanded, physically shaking now as he hunted around the room in vain. No stone would be left unturned it seemed, and he was clearly desperate, but at least the guy was decidedly more gentle with the stuffed animals and plastic building blocks than he was with the expensive ornaments.

"No. You don't want to find him, you don't know what you're doing-"

"Huh, that's weird. 'Cause I thought I was here to get some answers from the guy who killed my brother!" Peter's words slashed out cuttingly. "But if that's not an option, then I guess I'll have to ask you instead." Then he surfaced from the depths of the playpen, scowling, and pointed a finger (and a plushy Tigger) at Matt dangerously. "I know what you did. To Nathan. To Gabr- to Sylar."

The voice in Matt's head was decidedly silent, then.

Goddammit. The cop blew out a great sigh, bunching his hands on his hips and feeling true remorse build for the younger man. It wasn't Peter's fault. Nobody could blame him, really. "How did you find out?"

"Does it matter?" Peter's voice grated and his face twisted painfully, presumably at Matt's lack of denial.

"No, not really." Matt sighed again, and wiped a moist hand over his already damp forehead. "Listen, uh... I'm sorry about what happened. It wasn't my choice, and believe me, you have no idea how much I wish I could go back and undo it all -"

All for your own selfish reasons of course...

"- but I can't. It is how it is, and hunting down Sylar isn't gonna get you anywhere, Peter." Matt knew that only too well – he cursed his situation every day, but if he had to struggle like this in order to spare the rest of the world from that murderer, then he would (albeit grudgingly) oblige. "I'm sorry. I can't help you." He raised his eyebrows in a "and that's final" expression. But as they often did since he'd cut back on his ability use, his words made no impact on the subject. Persuasion alone wasn't enough to initiate whichever action that he wanted anymore, and the urge to relapse was pulling him under.

( )

It didn't hurt that much, being rejected and turned away once again. What did tingle, however, was sadness at the change in this person Peter had once called 'friend'. He chucked Tigger back down beside Piglet and Pooh, forced to admit defeat. Sylar clearly wasn't here, unless he was hiding in a closet somewhere, which was unlikely. It wasn't like the guy to pass up a dramatic entrance, and cowering away to avoid detection was not even on the table. Then again, Peter didn't even know what he was looking for: what was Sylar now, without a body? A ghost? An astral-projection? A ball of floating light?

Peter sighed and straightened up, pushing his hair off his flushed face and breathing heavily. He was still more than ready to leap into battle, but without a present opponent this urge was slowly fading. But only barely. Now misery was scratching away at him, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, as if protecting his worn and wounded heart. He stomped over to the other man while trying to ignore the mess he had made of the place.

"You used to be a good guy, Matt. What the hell happened? How could you do something like this?" He asked, unable to understand how someone could perform such an injustice and then carry on with their life as if everything was fine.

The cop squirmed slightly, but overall he was passive, stony. "It's complicated. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, but..."

"Well someone did get hurt. Multiple people." Peter closed his eyes to recover himself, but when a very vivid image of Gabriel's distraught face flashed up to greet him, he opened them again quickly, and tried to shake feeling back into his limbs.

"What is it you're trying to achieve here? Huh?"

"I thought..." Then Peter's voice lost momentum and he scowled at the toes of his boots. Now that he was actually here, and it had turned out very differently from the fantastic show-down he had envisaged on the journey over, Peter very quickly was beginning to revert to feeling like a deluded kid with big aspirations and no means of achieving them. "I dunno what I thought." He confessed, lifting his face to match Matt's closed-off expression.

( )

Matt knew that he almost had him. The younger man was wavering, and all he really needed was the tiniest nudge in the right direction and he'd probably just fly off the way he'd come, back to his manipulative mama and his sad, lonely life.

Oh please! Don't tell me you're actually feeling sorry for the guy?! Did you forget what he did to me too? He's not some innocent little saint, Parkman! He's just as bad as the rest of that screwball family!

Hand-me-down anger rolled through Matt, tainting him at the edges where the corners of his mind merged not-so-seamlessly with the Other's. He almost literally stumbled, but quickly pulled himself together and set his will against allowing the invader through further.

He squeezed his fingers tighter into his hips, summoning the strength to remain controlled and impassive before his guest. It might have come off as more 'unsympathetic' than 'I have to act normal', but that wasn't the case. Peter Petrelli was a rare type of human being who could light up a room without even trying, and could make even someone with as many insecurities as Matt feel confident about himself. He was a good guy, and Matt wished he could have helped him, but it just wasn't feasible. It was saddening to look upon him now, a torn and frazzled wreck, and to have had a part to play in that (even if technically it wasn't Matt's fault, as he had been talked into it and so couldn't really be blamed, surely). He also knew how close the Petrelli brothers had been, at times he'd even suspected maybe too close, so it wasn't difficult to imagine how upset the youngest must be now.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss." He said, patting a hand stiffly on Peter's shoulder and getting only a slight wince in return. "Go home, Peter. Mourn your brother, leave Sylar out of this."

The empath shook his head, that stupid hairstyle swinging. "I can't. I need to find him. Please... tell me where he is."

"You don't need to concern yourself with that monster any more. I've got it all under control-"

Really, Matt? Really? He may be infuriatingly dense, but I think even Peter Petrelli could smell thatlie a mile off. Literally. Which reminds me... when was the last time you showered? The very least you could have done was remove my sense of smell along with every other part of me...

Shut up! Matt thought violently, pressing his free hand to his head as his consciousness wobbled for a moment. He was sweating now more than ever, and the devil co-existing in his body was latching onto his anxiety, leeching strength for itself and subsequently draining Matt's. The temptation of using his ability to quickly send Peter away was building, but Matt didn't want to give the demon the satisfaction. So instead he settled on leading the guy towards the front door with the hand that still sat heavily on his shoulder. With a finger on the door handle, Matt felt brave enough to round up the conversation with a stab at joviality.

"Even if I did tell you, you wouldn't believe me." He let out a small, humourless chuckle, and Peter's eyes narrowed slightly at this sudden, disconcerting information. Later, he would blame his split attention for that too arrogant remark.

Ooh! Subtle. How the hell did they ever let you become a cop? … Aw, look at him... now he's all suspicious...

Unfortunately, that seemed to be true, and Matt started to lose his cool. Slowly he began to feel uncomfortable, and Peter's piqued eyebrows and questioning gaze only helped to encourage that. The voice in his head chimed gleefully...

Why not just tell him the truth? It's not like he can actually do anything about it! Besides, I can't wait to see his face when he finds out...

"No!" Matt hissed aloud, then shook his head quickly. Damn it, he was slipping. He was becoming uncomfortably aware of how difficult it was to keep his feet firmly planted in the driver's seat. Peter blinked, surprised at the apparent break in Matt's character, and was now looking him over with the beginnings of unease. Wonderful.

"You alright, Matt?"

Actually – can I tell him...? There's something so... hm... deliciousabout watching those who wronged you crumble. Don't you think?

Matt deliberately ignored the smug, playful voice, and tried and failed to keep his expression unreadable under Peter's close scrutiny. Maybe if they just stood here in this awkward silence for long enough then he would just leave? But... no dice. The guy looked increasingly wary, as if he was finally starting to realise that something wrong and unholy was going on here, and Matt began to truly panic now that his hideous, horrible secret was going to be discovered...

Oh! Sorry – what was I thinking? It's not like you have ever done anything dishonest to anyone else, right? ...Except ME, of course... and the water guy... the drug dealer... that poor speedster woman you mind-raped into liking you even after she told you no over and over and ov-

"Shut up!" This time Matt openly shouted, and Peter jumped back from him a few steps, face open and scared now. But the deranged cop was too pre-occupied to hold back, now that the devil had pulled his strings and set him up. He was fighting with all his might – fighting, but losing this internal struggle.

Oh please... surely by now you know it's gonna take more than that? We both know I'm not. Going. Anywhere...

( )

"Matt...?"

What Peter had initially taken to be stubbornness now seemed to be something else entirely. Apparently Matt hadn't only been withholding information, but he had also been withholding... this. And whatever 'this' was, Peter knew for sure, it was not something he was medically equipped to handle. Helpless, clueless, he was frozen as he watched Matt Parkman stumble around dizzily, screaming at nobody and scratching at his temples.

"Matt?! What's wrong? Your ability...?" Seriously concerned now, Peter's considerate instincts flared up and overlapped his cooling anger. He tucked away his desire for revenge, and set to work trying to help in any way he could. He worried that Matt was going to collapse, accidentally run through the panes of glass surrounding the porch, or otherwise seriously maim or injure himself. So he dashed to the man's side, placing one hand on his back and the other around his upper arm, providing, he hoped, moral support through whatever was going on, and holding the guy steady until he fell still and silent at last.

Peter let go when Matt found his footing and straightened up fully, almost gracefully. Peter sighed in relief, grateful to see that he looked to be normal. Or at least there were no physical signs of trauma such as blood flowing from his nose or ears. But as this was an unknown issue, and the possibilities were endless, he kept his hands hovering nearby just in case the guy slumped again. "What was that? Are you okay?!"

Breath heaving, Matt cracked his neck from side to side, then a delirious grin split his face. "Oh I'm more than okay..." He lifted his hands before his face, curling and uncurling his fingers experimentally. Then he cast a disgusted look down at his own stomach, grimaced, then locked his eyes back on Peter's with tangible intensity.

All Peter managed was a "wh-?" before he suddenly felt woozy and toppled back into the wall, scrabbling to catch his balance. It felt like someone was grasping his spine with two hands and shaking it forcefully, and although his head was steady his vision swung back and forth unlike anything Peter had ever known. His hand slipped from the wall and he stumbled, falling blindly and bracing himself for a nasty fall. But two strong, warm arms gripped around his torso firmly and held onto him until the sickening lurching rung itself out and faded.

"What... the hell... was that?!" Gasping for breath, Peter shakily recovered his balance and made to pull away from Matt. But the arms held him fast.

"Sorry about that. I'm still new to this one, but I think I'll get the hang of it pretty soon. I just wanted you to know who you're really talking to..."

Only then did Peter notice that the chest he was pressed flat against was no longer broad, but taut and slim, and the arms around him toned instead of soft. This time he was successful in breaking free from those clutches, and staggered as far back as he could before banging into a decorative table and having nowhere else to run.

"Isn't it amazing what you can see... if only you put your mind to it...?" The other man stretched as if waking from a long nap. His lips (soft, velvety and sweet, Peter hated that he knew this from experience), hooked up in a smug leer, and ice dripped down the paramedic's insides.

This was what he'd wanted. This was what he'd flown two and a half thousand miles for, disobeyed his mother and abandoned his only friend for. But now that he was finally faced with Nathan's imposing, infamous killer, who looked exactly the same as the last time they had come face to face in the back seat of the President's car... words failed him. He could do nothing but glower into the chillingly, conflictingly familiar visage of Sylar.

"Hello, Peter. A little birdie told me you were looking for me...?"