A/N: Thanks to Konoha's Kage for following along and reviewing!

Chapter 20- Final Arrangements

"In any case the road to success is pictured as one beset with perils but which, it would seem, an individual with the proper qualities can overcome to attain the goal. The reward is seen in the distance; the way is lonely. Further on it is a route for wolves; one can succeed only at the cost of the failure of others."

-Che Guevara

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Peter wandered away from the group, still in shock and the rest of them thought it best to give him a few minutes to pull himself together. Sylar stayed where he was with his hands crammed into his pockets and bouncing slightly to generate body heat, but he kept a watchful eye over the empath to be sure he didn't wander off too far. He was his proverbial ride home after all… As hard as Peter seemed to be taking it, one would have thought it was he that was asked to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

Nathan pulled Damian aside and gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry it had to end like this." He admitted bitterly. "It's not what I would have imagined."

"Me or Maria?" He asked confused.

His boss gave him a noncommittal shrug. "Both, I guess."

"So this is it then." He declared bleakly. "This is my life. I can't go back to my job, my family. Nothing."

Nathan pitied his former intern. "In time you will, just not in the foreseeable future." He knew his words would offer little comfort, but Damian was sent to him for guidance and he felt obligated to him in some way. "I tried to give you the insider's track on what politics is all about, Damian, but the truth is far more ugly and convoluted than even you can imagine. Be thankful your run ended as it did. You got to live to see another day when so many others didn't. I know you feel lost right now, but I won't let you fall through the cracks again. You've met some of the people who can help you start a new life, show you the ropes of passing for normal." He glanced up at Sylar and cleared his throat. "And some not so much, but my point is you're not alone in this."

Damian lowered his head and smiled. "All that time I worked for you, I had no idea you had specials in your own family."

"Good." He laughed. "That's how it's supposed to work. I work very hard to keep Claire and Peter out of the limelight. They deserve their privacy even if I've given up my own."

"Peter is really remarkable." He commended. "I mean, to have so many abilities- to be evolved beyond even the next stage and yet to care so much about others. He would be good for office."

"No," Nathan laughed as he shook his head, "he wouldn't. Pete's a terrible liar and he's entirely too kind hearted for his own good. Great for a nurse or paramedic, bad for a politician."

"With all of his powers, he can do so much good." He noted in awe. "He can teleport, copy anyone's ability…"

"Yep," he agreed with an amused tone, "ask him where he learned to fly."

Damian thought about it for a minute and the smug look on his mentor's face blew his mind. "Sir?" He asked shocked. "You…you have?" How was it possible that the head of the specials project was a special himself?

"I can, and I have to." He nodded looking at his watch. "Do me a favor and don't encourage Peter to try and save the world. He has a complex about that as it is." Damian watched in wonder as his former boss looked to the sky and suddenly shot upwards and out of sight in the blink of an eye.

Sylar watched Nathan depart and quietly approached the bench where Peter had collapsed to tentatively sit on the edge, rubbing his hands together in a futile effort to keep them warm as the snow softy fell around them. Peter, of course, was immediately suspicious that his visit was with the intent to taunt and insult him, but he detected nothing from Sylar but a calm stillness tinged with just a bit of sadness and apprehension. He often chided the murderer for being unfeeling and cold, but in that moment when he was consumed by guilt and self loathing, he wished for all the world that he was able to just turn off his emotions like flicking a switch the way he seemed to be able to do. They sat together in the dark silence for some time before Peter sniffled and whispered, "How do you do it?"

Sylar paused and curiously asked, "Do what?"

In the pale light of the cathedral, Peter was reminded of the trip the two of them took to the art museum and what a surreal experience it was for him to learn a little bit about Sylar's personal side- the one he probably didn't let anyone see and it seemed by the tone of his voice that in that moment he was again just Gabriel, an average watchmaker from Queens. He simply wasn't used to dealing with Sylar on such normal terms and he was perplexed as to why he wasn't being his usual cruel self when he had the perfect opportunity. "How do you manage to…I don't know." He sighed, losing confidence that he could get a straight answer from the man next to him.

"I can't read minds, Peter." He said with just a hint of humor in his voice.

Peter smirked at the inside joke and found the courage to explain. "I don't mean to be insulting, but how do you see so much death and just get over it?"

Sylar slowly nodded in understanding. "Death happens to all people everyday- the just and the deserving alike. There is no meaning or purpose to loss, Peter, it's just a statistical probability that it will be someone you know."

"So that's it?" He scoffed. "Maria was just a statistic?"

"In some ways, yes." He conceded. "But something tells me it's not the fact that she died that bothers you, it's how it happened and you want to know how I live with knowing I have ended so many lives while you obsess over one?" His tone had turned a bit darker and it was clear he didn't appreciate the connotation that he was entirely remorseless.

"Not just that, but I mean the war…everything." He clarified with a grand sigh. "I've been out there too, Sylar, and I've seen people blown to bits all around me. I know I had nothing to do with it, but I feel sorry for every person that died on me because I think that if I only worked harder or was a little faster, then I could have saved them."

"And that's the difference between you and I." He summed. "I don't second guess myself or question my own abilities. I know my limitations and don't try to exceed them."

"Bullshit!" Peter scowled. "Don't tell me you didn't question your decision when you heard she died and don't tell me you don't push yourself when you know you can't do something. I was there when you tried to get your abilities back after you were shot and I know for a fact that you were way beyond your limits when you came back for me at the facility. My head doesn't tingle when people lie like yours does, but it doesn't mean I can't figure it out."

"So what then, we just sit here in the cold until the war's over?" Sylar asked mockingly making a sweeping gesture across the rows of headstones. "Or maybe we should just join everyone else here and lay down and die? Unless you can travel back in time and save Maria, there's nothing we can do about it now but learn from our mistake and keep moving. If you want to fall apart and roam around here moaning and sobbing that's fine, but do it on your own time."

"Do you even give a damn she's dead?" He asked incredulously. "After everything she did for you, you can't even have the decency to be sad that she's gone?"

"I am." He informed him in a low voice. "But it's because of what she did that I'm going to see this thing trough until the end. We aren't helping her, ourselves, or anyone by throwing our hands up in surrender when we should be fighting. This was her war too and the honorable thing to do is to win it. Adding defeat to tragedy would be demoralizing to all that knew her and I don't think that's how she'd want to be remembered." Yes, he did mourn her as much as he was able, but in the end he was determined to do what he always had when faced with emotionally painful memories: he would file them away until such a time when he could deal with it in private. His focus had to stay on the war and he was reasonably sure that she wouldn't want him to be distracted by her passing. "She set an example for us to follow, Peter, and I think we'd be wise to do so."

"What do you mean?" He asked tilting his head.

"She put aside her own grief to help the larger cause of circumventing the slave system and later the war." He explained. "She didn't let the death of her husband interfere with her duties."

Peter shook his head sadly. "Not that you ever saw, but believe me she did when she was alone. I was the only one she allowed to see her cry and she did sometimes until she fell asleep from exhaustion. I don't think she ever got over it." He noted the small wave of sadness that drifted from Sylar and he was a bit surprised that he would feel sorry for one of his victims. "She knew you did it." He added quietly. "I told her and she still chose to save your life after we brought you back from Jessup's."

"I told her too." He admitted. "I suspected that she already knew, but I didn't know exactly when she found out." There was a brief moment of silence before he quietly continued, "I think she may have found some peace at the end though."

"Really?" Peter asked hopefully. "Why do you think that?"

"She told me she would forgive me for killing him if I could try to be a better person." His sad, brown eyes settled on Peter and he smiled nervously. "She wasn't lying." After a mystified shake of his head he added, "No one has ever done that."

Peter smiled warmly and nodded. It sounded exactly like something she would do and he remembered the conversation they had over Sylar's nearly dead body about her hope that he could become the man he saw in the future. "You know, that's the whole reason she did it." He recalled. "She really believed in you." He sat next to Sylar in the stillness, basking in the sensation of guarded hope that emanated from the notorious killer. He hoped she was right and he knew it would be a titanic struggle for Sylar to change, but he was on the right track and now that Maria was gone, he was determined to take her place as his external conscience until he developed his own. If he was responsible for her death, the least he would do to honor her memory was to help Sylar become the person she believed he had the potential to be. Sylar was wrong: her death could have meaning and purpose. "So what are you going to do?" He cautiously asked. "About Nathan's plan?"

Sylar's mood immediately changed from a warm sensation of happiness to a frigid sense of fear and Peter involuntarily shivered. Sylar hung his head and sighed. "The logical thing…"

"Screw the logical thing!" Peter interjected. "This is your life he wants to end to placate the masses. Do you have to be so damn logical about everything? Forget what he wants, what do you want?"

Sylar patiently leaned forward to place his hands in front of his face in a contemplative manner. "What I want," he began slowly, "is for this all to end. It really is simple, Peter. I have to and there is no other option."

"Yes there is!" He vehemently disagreed. "There is always a choice. You can say no and walk away right now and I wouldn't blame you at all. There's a difference between duty and suicide."

"And go where?" Sylar calmly asked. "With nearly the entire world familiar with my face, where will I hide? This war could go on for years even if we are successful in taking out the facilities. How long are you willing to keep going out there and watching people die? You may not blame me now, but what about 100, 1000 victims later? Will you feel the same when children die in your arms?" He smirked and shook his head. "No. You will feel your precious guilt at telling me to walk away and the entire time you will think to yourself that all of it could have been avoided if I just went with the plan and gave myself up."

"But you know you can't trust them." He mentioned darkly. "You won't have any control over what they do to you. They probably will kill you for good just because they have the chance."

The fear and uncertainty that wafted off the condemned man was almost overwhelming. "I know." He agreed with a dry swallow of trepidation. "That's why you are going to do it."

Peter's eyes went wide. "No way." He declared shaking his head. "I'm not going to be a part of this. I can't kill you." He and Sylar had quite a history, but through it all, Peter could honestly never say he wanted him dead, much less to be the one to watch him take his final breath. In fact, he'd spent an awful lot of his time and effort trying to prevent that very thing from happening on several occasions.

"You have to." Sylar quietly pressed. "You…" He paused and released a heavy sigh as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "You are the only one I can trust, Peter."

He was taken aback by his stark honesty and the gravity of the mission he was tasked with. "Why me?" He nearly pleaded.

"Because I know you won't let anything happen to me." He reasoned. "I can move my spot so you can put me in suspension while they…" he cast his eyes downward and muttered, "do whatever they're going to do to me." His hesitant voice was like a disembodied whisper among the graves. "I can do this if I know that you'll be with me the whole time, watching and protecting me."

"Are you serious?" He asked half laughing. "You're seriously considering doing this knowing who you're dealing with after what they've done to you and you're putting your trust in a person who's just failed at the very thing you're asking me to do?"

"That's exactly why I can trust you. I know that you'll be so guilt ridden that you will be extra vigilant so it doesn't happen again."

"Ok," Peter smiled, "I see how it is. But still, your powers…"

"I'll have to neutralize them." With a quick sideways glance to judge Peter's horrified reaction he clarified, "Partially, at least. I'll obviously need them to work on some level if I'm going to actually survive this."

"But you also need to look convincing." He caught on. "S1?"

"That's what I was thinking, if Maria had any left or Mohinder knows how to mix up some more."

"I think she did, but it probably isn't safe to go back to her house. They probably have agents crawling all over the place combing for evidence." The very thought of her house being invaded disgusted him. It was almost like a personal violation. "I think Mohinder's the safer option if we can get him the stuff he needs."

"Do you think your doctor friend will have the guts for something like this?" He asked doubtfully. She certainly showed her moxy in dealing with the aftermath of the facility rescue, but this was an entirely different situation- one that called for stealth and discretion.

"Emma?" He checked a little confused. "I don't know. Guts for what?"

Sylar gave him an incredulous look. "You know they will want a doctor to confirm my death and possibly do a postmortem."

Peter wrinkled his forehead. "You want her to autopsy you?" It was all just too much and the calm manner with which he spoke of his own dissection was absolutely unnerving. "You are seriously morbid, man."

"I don't want her to," he growled impatiently, "but if it has to be done I would rather she, as a fellow special, do it so she can make it look official without damaging me beyond repair. Attention to detail in this case may seem morbid, but it may just literally save my life- the same way it saved yours."

"You're right," he sighed defeated, "I'm sorry. I guess I just can't believe that you're actually going to do this."

"Wouldn't you?" He asked knowingly.

Peter laughed. "Yeah, but this is you we're talking about." When Sylar gave him a death glare, he felt prompted to choose his next words more carefully. "Not that you haven't done far more than anyone has expected, it's just more than anyone should have to do."

Sylar tacitly accepted Peter's compliment with a nonchalant shrug. "There is one more thing."

Peter knew it was too good to be true. "And what's that?" He asked suspiciously with a squint.

"I want your word that you will give my abilities back at the end of it all." The look of despondency in his eyes was clear. While Peter may not have cared if he had abilities or not, Sylar very much did and to live an ordinary life was a death sentence to him. "I did it and so can you if you replicate Damian's ability."

"Why can't Damian do it?" He asked jerking his head toward the figure huddled by a tree several feet away. "It's his ability."

"Maybe he can, but no one knows for sure and I don't want to wait until I'm laying in pieces on a table in agony waiting to see if he can or not." He hissed. "Details, Peter. Give me your word that you will." His eyes locked onto Peter's with intense focus and determination. "Promise me."

"Ok." Peter nodded softly. "Fine. I will."

"Alright then," he quietly nodded, obviously relieved that he'd secured what he wanted, "we should go. It's getting late and I have a war to end by tomorrow."

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To anyone else, roaming the stark white hallways of the facility morgue at such a late hour might have been unnerving, but Noah Bennet was not your average person. He had been party to and witness of a half a life of brutality such that to find someone cold on a slab was comforting because it meant the suffering had ended. He wasn't sure exactly when it stopped bothering him, but it was years ago if it had been a day. There was a certain sense that it should have bothered him, but the only thing that weighed on his mind as he made his way to the end of the corridor where the bodies were held was that he'd failed. It was already late when he got a mysterious text message that Maria had been captured and by the time he got to the building, he found out he was too late. She was taken before a secret judge and condemned to death for her role in the revolution and nothing, not even Hiro could have changed that outcome by going back in time. Most people were familiar with the butterfly effect, but not many knew that it worked in reverse as well, often precluding events from being radically altered. Noah hated butterflies.

Because of his position, no one would think twice about his being there or even inquiring about her case file as a slave owner, but getting her body out of the facility would be a challenge. Lucky for him, he had a timid teleporter with falsified government papers at his side under the pretense of being a researcher. He just hoped he could hold onto his waffles.

Getting to her body was easy enough. A flash of his government ID, a stern expression and clipped responses got him through the door and into an examination room with the halogen lights and obligatory stainless steel equipment and seafoam green linoleum floor. Hiro looked around nervously while they waited for her body to be delivered from the cooler by the bored lab tech. After a body in a black bag was wheeled in on a gurney, Noah and Hiro stood on opposite sides, looking down at the zipper as though it would open itself. Finally, Noah got up the courage to grab it and pull down.

Hiro frowned when he easily recognized her pale face. A small part of him was hoping that it was all a mistake and that it would be the wrong body or that maybe she was only drugged and sleeping, but her bluish purple lips told him otherwise. He was relieved to know that there were very few marks aside from the slight discoloration resulting from tiny bits of blood trapped in her capillaries. Hiro had never been held for very long in a cell, but he'd heard stories about torture and experimentation and it was his biggest fear that she had suffered until the end, but it eased his conscience to know that she looked as though she met a mercifully peaceful end.

Noah was perplexingly stoic. "Whenever you're ready." He quietly prompted his transporter. "Let's take her home so she can be with her husband again."

Hiro nodded solemnly. He remembered being greatly saddened by the death of his mother and much later his father, but it brought him comfort to know that they were finally together- side by side for all eternity. Maria loved Bryant more than anything else and he hoped it would bring them peace in the afterlife as well. It honored him to play a part in her return even if it was under false pretense in the middle of the night.