A/N: Welcome, illogicalvulcan!

Chapter 11- Good Deeds

"It is only after one is in trouble that one realizes how little sympathy and kindness there are in the world."
-Nellie Bly

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Damian was thankful that he wasn't alone and Claire did seem to be a nice person, but he really had to wonder who was truly the crazy one in the room. All along he thought it was him due to his visual hallucinations and he even considered the prospect that she too was a figment of his imagination, but she felt real enough: her hands were warm despite the cool room and there was definitely a sense of pressure when she wiped away the traces of blood from his wrist. Could imaginary friends seem so lifelike? He may have been happy enough with her company even if he thought her reality was suspect, but her claim of being Senator Petrelli's daughter was way out there- a delusion of grandeur, really. That was the only explanation he could think of. She looked nothing like him and why would a special claim to be the relative of the very person who sought to contain them? It was a little like someone admitting to serial murders just to be famous even though they had nothing to do with it. That she was part of the rebellion he could believe, but he couldn't exactly buy her being a Petrelli. Even if his boss was secretly sympathetic to specials, there was no way he would risk so much by being so public if he had members of his family who were special. He was curious, but careful not to disturb her too much least she have some violent psychotic break. "So, how did you get here?"

"Same way you did. Bag and tag." She replied nonchalantly. "Ambushed by agents, tied up, bag over the head so you can't see…it's always the same."

He smiled a little incredulously. "You mean this isn't your first time?"

"Far from it. I almost know the routine by heart although I have to give them credit, they do change the way they capture you to keep you on your toes."

Her answer begged the next question, although he was hesitant to ask. He looked perplexed and quietly inquired, "But if the Senator is your father, why don't they leave you alone?"

Claire nodded slowly and gave a knowing smile. "I knew you wouldn't believe me, but it doesn't work that way. He can't help me any more than he can help you. Not that he doesn't want to, but put yourself in his shoes and tell me how far you'd go." She seemed saddened, but resolute. "It's always been that way for us."

"Us?" He echoed in surprise. "You have brothers and sisters?"

"Not his," she corrected, "I have a half brother, but he doesn't have abilities. Let's just say I'm not the only skeleton in his closet."

Damian's mouth quirked in disbelief. "You're telling me that Senator Petrelli has more family members with powers?" He shook his head in amazement. "Do you know what would happen to him if anyone found out?"

"Exactly. That's why no one knows about us." She wanted him to know the truth, but she was hesitant to speak it out loud in so many words. "How long have you followed his political career?"

Damian glanced down at his red, raw wrists and admitted, "A few years, I guess." He wasn't exactly a fanboy, but Senator Nathan Petrelli was the next John Kennedy and the nation loved him. It was a little hard not to be enamored by him in some small way.

"Do you remember the first time he ran for Congress?"

"Yeah," he recalled, "he was a dark horse candidate, but he came from behind to win the election." It was pure political magic from his strategic point of view.

She simply didn't have time to tell him all about her father's checkered past and how it came to be that he won the popular vote, but that was beside the point she was trying to make. "Right, but do you remember how he told everyone that his father suffered from depression?"

She could almost see the light bulb go off in his head. "…And his brother attempted suicide by jumping off a building."

"Except he didn't." Claire emphasized. "Peter wasn't depressed and he's never been suicidal. He was trying to figure out his ability."

Damian sat quietly while all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Was this Peter the mystery brother that McCaskey's intern was snooping in the database for? Was it really that obvious? "So…" he started, still trying to wrap his head around it all, "his brother can what…fly like Superman?"

"Yes, and he kind of is Superman." She smiled. Even after all the time and events that had passed, she still felt a small sense of awe at her uncle's unassuming nature and drive to help everyone- including her- time and again. "There are those with abilities and then there are people that are evolved beyond even us and he's one of them."

"Like Sylar?" He guessed.

Her mood instantly turned sour. "He's something else entirely."

This was all too much for him to take. "You know him too?" How could she possibly be a senator's daughter, accuse him of having a secretly powerful brother, and know the mystery man that no one has ever really seen in person?

"Unfortunately." She grumbled. "But yes, he's like Peter only in that he has many abilities instead of one, but as a person.." she sighed exasperated, "he's not even human. Talking to him is like talking to a machine. There's nothing but his damned logic and any emotion he may pretend to have is only a means of manipulation to get what he wants."

"Sounds like a charming guy." Damian chuckled. It certainly did go a long way in explaining how he was able to attack facilities with such single minded focus. If he didn't see people as people, it was probably no different to him than a videogame.

"Oh, he can be." She warned. "He can be a regular Don Juan when he wants to be, but it's only a mask he wears until he gets what he wants. He's a textbook psychopath, but totally rational about it."

There was such a hint of vinegar in her voice that it made him think she had some personal experience on that front, but he knew better than to touch it with a ten foot pole. He suspected that maybe they were lovers or something, but he wasn't about to ask. "You know the government is looking for him," he ventured carefully, "if he's so hated, why don't people turn him in?"

"Because." She huffed petulantly. "He's a self-centered jerk most of the time, but he's also out there fighting for them, he's the best hope specials have and he seems to be winning." She gave a fleeting grin despite herself. "And he's notoriously hard to catch." She hated giving him any kind of credit, but he was quite good at evading capture and that was very useful in the movement. Perhaps all of the years he spent running from her father before the war was good for something.

Damian remembered all the reports he had read and summarized for his boss and they all had the same pattern. "It seems like anyone who gets within 20 feet of him dies."

"See," she giggled, "I told you I knew someone who made a living off hurting people without touching them. It is possible."

His eyes filled with sadness at her innuendo that he had purposely killed in much the same way. "I don't want this." He admitted. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

He seemed to be almost begging her to take his ability from him- as if she could. "Like it or not, it's who you are and you need to figure out how to use it and control it. Just don't let Sylar hear you say you don't want it. He'll gladly take it from you."

"Can he make me normal?" He asked hopefully. He would almost pay him to relieve him of the burden- if the notorious killer didn't mind being paid in Ramen noodles.

"No." Claire almost laughed. "He'll cut the top of your head off and take it from your brain. You might live for a few minutes as a normal person before you die." She didn't mean to crush his sincere hopes so callously, so she added, "Sylar isn't the best choice, although he probably could figure it out quickly. Maybe Peter can help you, if we get out of here."

"Would he?" He seemed skeptical that he would receive such help from a person he'd never met. He was so used to being ignored that it didn't seem likely that a stranger would take an interest in his problems, especially if he was anything like his brother.

"He will." She promised. He always did and the two of them needed his help more than ever before. "He's always been there for me no matter what and I wouldn't be surprised if we see him soon."

He looked concerned. "You think they will capture him too?"

"No, like Sylar he has too many ways of escaping even if they did, but it's only a matter of time before he finds out I'm here and I know him: he'll move heaven and earth to get me out." She gave a small sigh. "I just hope Rebel knows where I am."

"Who's Rebel?" The hole just seemed to get deeper the longer he talked with her.

She laughed and shook her head. "I don't know. No one does." His suspicions were confirmed: she really was crazy.

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Sylar's eyelids fluttered slightly as Emma gently placed the cloth she'd just wrung out on his forehead. The silky coolness felt divine on his skin and although he was initially hesitant to trust the new doctor, when it came down to it, he just couldn't conceive of allowing Peter to administer the same treatment. He had nothing against male nurses, in fact, a small part of him actually admired him for making such a non-traditional career choice, but there was just something more palatable about allowing a woman to be so concerned about his welfare even though Peter probably felt the same level of compassion. He could tolerate Peter sewing his skin back together and removing bullets from his body on the occasions when it couldn't reject them itself, but there was something strangely intimate about touching his face that he couldn't get around. He knew it was sexist to think so, but in the moment he was less concerned with being politically correct and more concentrated on making sure he didn't give a repeat performance of his sudden episode.

Even though it wasn't his proudest moment, he did feel slightly better after his involuntary protein spill and the overwhelming pain he was in had subsided to a manageable level. He still felt as though he had been mauled by a lion, but his overall condition was steadily improving thanks to his healing ability. He secretly hoped that the third shot of serum would somehow magically restore his powers, but in reality he knew that if two didn't do it then three most likely wouldn't either. It did seem that with each injection his powers did grow a bit stronger, but then again so did the side effects. His eyes weren't bleeding yet, but he didn't want to see what another dose would do. He may have been curious, but he wasn't a fool. As he lay there trying to block out the agony until it passed, he did think that some Vicodin would be nice. In that moment he did miss the zoned out feeling that made him completely indifferent to the world around him- for the brief time it actually did. It was too late for that anyway- he had enough of his healing ability to neutralize it and only a tranquilizer heavy enough to bring down a mammoth would have any impact. It wasn't likely that Peter had access to a sufficient quantity or quality of any such drug, so he dealt with it the best he could and took refuge in the small act of kindness that Emma was brave enough to provide him before she left him for Matt.

Mohinder remained in his chair, staring down at Sylar with a blank expression. Figuring he was already contaminated and as a conscious act of compassionate goodwill, he volunteered to clean up after him because in his mind caring for the sick and even those that wished him ill would eventually bring good karma and he wasn't about to go to hell for hating Sylar over something so petty. If the killer did it on purpose, then it was up to him to deal with the cosmic consequences and he shuddered to think of how many times he would have to be reborn to cleanse himself of all his misdeeds. He simply didn't know from a scientific point of view if the earth would even last that long. He truly did seem to be suffering and he did plan on rescuing Claire, so he was working out some of it, but even if he applied his tremendous mental skill to cure cancer, eliminate AIDS, solve world hunger, invent cold fusion and broker peace in the Middle East it would still be a drop in the bucket for every murder and evil thought he probably had.

Peter paced back and forth, his tense expression darting from Matt to Sylar and back. The morphine was finally helping Matt deal with the discomfort in his head and his grimace had been replaced with a slight grin- he wasn't feeling bad at all, or at the very least he no longer cared. Peter kept venturing peeps into his other patient's brain for clues to his true condition and was more or less pleased to know that Sylar was engaged in full on mental distraction by busying himself with going over every detail of his plan in an attempt to calculate, and therefore control, every possible variable. In the few times he broke his own rule of not eavesdropping, he was almost amused to find that he was trying to predict everything from the lighting conditions to staffing levels and even break rotations in order to maximize their chances of success. Just as he turned his attention elsewhere, a hint of a thought drifted through his mind and although he didn't catch the content, he did get a feeling of tension or perhaps even regret, but by the time he refocused his ability to read Sylar's mind it was gone and he was left wondering what exactly he missed. He might have been able to probe deeper to track it down, but he was worried that he would detect an obvious prying- like a wiggling sensation in his brain. One glance at Matt and he knew by the lightly buzzed look in his eye that he wasn't paying attention either.

Maria quietly shut the door behind her and tip-toed her way over to Peter, giving a brief smile to Emma as a greeting. "How are they?" She whispered, casting a worried glance over Matt and Sylar as they lay on their respective beds separated only by Mohinder. She had always told Matt that she would respect his decision when it came to taking the serum to restore his power, but she was not at all in favor of allowing Sylar a third dose- especially after what she witnessed after his second. However, she believed that he perhaps more so than anyone was fully capable of making his own decision, so she relented and provided him with a filled syringe on the condition that she not be made to witness the aftermath. She simply couldn't watch him suffer as he did again and he seemed to tacitly understand, taking the medicine from her hand with a placidly neutral expression and nothing else. She didn't want him to think that he was going to be left on his own, so she promised to check in on him and he gave the slightest nod in acknowledgement before he pocketed the needles, but there was still a palpable sense of sadness and it bothered her enough to make her swallow her own squeamishness.

"Better than I thought they would." Peter admitted. Even though he revised his prognosis, it didn't mean he wasn't still on guard. If it was his nature to give everything he had to everyone he tried to help, it was equally his nature to blame himself for things he had no control over.

"What do you think, Dr. Coolidge?" She asked after getting the young doctor's attention.

Emma smiled graciously. She probably never would get used to her title. "I think that Matt is doing better with the medication. I'll keep an eye on him and gradually ease him off as he can tolerate it."

"Thanks for helping, Emma." Maria nodded in earnest. "Your skills are in great need and Peter is only one man no matter what you may have heard."

Peter smiled shyly when Emma gave him a knowing look, but he couldn't deny it. "I'm happy to." She beamed. "It feels good to use my training for something so important." Her smile faltered just a little. "And for people who will give me a chance." Her implication was clear: throughout her education there had been those who couldn't believe that a deaf person could make a good doctor and she worked extra hard to prove them wrong. Just when she thought she had finally gained the respect she deserved from her peers, she was vilified for having an ability and thrown into the slave system- forbidden to use her medical skills to help others. She couldn't treat normal humans because they didn't trust her and it was illegal to offer aid to fellow specials. Thankfully, her owner felt differently and allowed her to keep her skills current by studying and working on fellow slaves. When she heard about what Peter was doing, she knew she had to be a part of it.

"I think you're awesome." Matt smiled lazily at her. "I don't care that you can't hear. I feel better." He chuckled and added, "A lot better."

"That's good." She laughed. "Let's keep it that way." She knew it was the drugs talking, but Matt seemed like a genuinely nice guy anyway, so she wasn't offended.

Maria turned to face Sylar and asked Mohinder in a whisper, "And how is he?"

"He had…" his expression darkened somewhat but his voice remained congenial, "a minor setback, but he seems to be improving."

Maria refreshed his cloth and replaced it on his forehead without a word. He turned his head slightly toward her in acknowledgement and she was glad she came. If he ever had a chance to become the man that Peter saw in the future, it had to start somewhere with some act of kindness that would stick with him. Perhaps it was her imagination, but thorough the stories she had heard and the things she herself witnessed, the vestiges of that future man lie within him- he just had to be coaxed out of hiding slowly and methodically.

Peter cocked his head in interest. The act itself was nothing special and he wasn't even really surprised that Sylar didn't protest, but what got his attention was the subtle change in his demeanor. Tension was replaced by a sense of calm and his mind, which was so busy spinning with schemes almost instantly fell silent and became tranquil and it simply fascinated him. He didn't get a sense that he had any type of feelings for her- at least in any amorous capacity- but there was an undeniable hint of something approaching detached respect and it was probably the closest Sylar could ever come to friendship knowing that she could never forgive him for what he'd done. What was more, it wasn't like the relationship was one sided as was his habit. He did keep her secret in the face of torture so he did contribute something, and it was apparently appreciated. If people said he had a conflicted relationship with Sylar, he couldn't fathom the two of them ever forging some kind of alliance, but they apparently had. He may not have understood it, but he was happy that they could find some kind of peace- everybody deserved at least one person they could rely on and that was especially true in the face of war.

"Is there anything I can do to help with the rescue?" She asked, turning back to Peter.

He snapped to attention, feeling a bit guilty about being caught snooping. "I don't know," he shrugged, "Sylar's the man with the plan and he hasn't shared it with the rest of us yet. But we will probably come back here, so perhaps having some hot food and blankets ready will be helpful. They usually keep those rooms ice cold to wear the prisoners down and they don't feed them very well either."

"Poor Damian." She muttered, absentmindedly dabbing Sylar's head with the cloth, "he's probably scared out of his wits. He's a sweet kid who's never been in trouble in his life."

Peter had never met Damian, his family moved away before he came to live at Maria's, but if Maria was that worried about him, he had cause to be as well. "And you didn't know he had an ability?" He asked just to be sure. "I mean, if you did and just didn't want to tell Nathan…"

"I didn't." She insisted. "And if he says he didn't know either then I believe him. His family may not have much, but they are good people, Peter, and he doesn't deserve this."

"Of course not," he agreed, "no one does, but I'd just like to know as much as we can going in. It would be helpful to know what he can do to help us rescue him."

"It doesn't matter what he can do." Sylar mumbled in a low voice. "If he doesn't know what it is or how to control it, he won't be able to help us even if we need it." He slowly opened his dark eyes and squinted against the light streaming into the room through the window. "I've already accounted for that."

His words seemed to satisfy everyone else in the room, but Peter wasn't convinced. While everyone was busy listening, he was feeling and again he detected that same sense of despair and it was unsettling.

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Micah watched the hacked security feed from the Virginia facility with a sense of disappointment. He tried to warn Claire that agents were on her trail, but she ignored him and now he had to coordinate the heroes to aid her. Some days he felt as though he were the only one running the war and it was a lot for a kid to handle even if he was a genius.

Of course he wasn't the only child soldier and Molly did a lot to help him target his efforts. It wouldn't have been impossible for him to find Claire by tracing strings of data in cyberspace, but it certainly did speed the process once she told him exactly where to look. A few rerouted programming commands later and he had the video feed of her cell on his computer screen. He looked up when Molly plopped down a plate containing a peanut butter sandwich and apple slices for them to share.

"Snack time!" She proclaimed happily as she plopped down beside him. "Is the bad part over?"

Micah smiled slightly at her. He may have been a kid, but he was mature for his age and he could make sense of the violence that went on all around him. "You mean this guy?" He asked pointing to Damian on his screen. "He's ok, Molly. Claire's talking to him."

Although she could clearly see him sitting up and talking with her, she seemed skeptical. "He was really scared when the men hurt him with the shots." The image of him screaming and straining against the leather straps that held him was burned into her mind and she had to leave the room- she simply couldn't watch.

Perhaps it was a matter of pride, but Micah didn't want to tell her that he turned off the monitor as soon as she left because he couldn't watch it either, so he took a large bite of his sandwich so he wouldn't have to say anything at all. A chime sound notified him that he had an incoming message on the secure network and he clicked on it immediately to read it.

HIRO N. SAYS: CLAIRE IS GONE, BUT ANDO IS BACK…YATTA! WHAT NEXT?

Micah chewed his sticky sandwich slowly and stared at the blinking cursor. What next? Why was he giving orders when he was just a kid? Why was it all up to him? He didn't know what was next, but what he did know was Claire's location and the one person that would know what to do about it. He typed in his response and hit send.

FIND PETER.