I appreciate all those who read and all those who both read and review!

Previously on Heroes (Home Fires Burning): While the wounded, unconscious Nathan awaits aid, the others check out the Mendez painting they found in the healer's house. It shows Claire using her blood to heal Nathan's arm. So Peter unbandages Nathan's arm, and Claire cuts her finger, letting her blood drip over the bullet wound. At first, nothing seems to be happening, then Nathan opens his eyes. Meanwhile, Noah, keeping watch outside, realizes that it's time to find out what happened to Sasah, who is being held captive by Sylar. At the Petrelli mansion, Wyatt confronts Angela about her ties to this new organization. She herself is surprised to learn that they are coopoerating with Sylar. Back at the healer's house, everyone is elated by Nathan's speedy recovery. Their joyous celebration is cut short, however, by Noah announcing that they have forgotten Sasha. So they head back to Peter's apartment, discovering that she is gone. While the others are going inside to discuss this new and daunting situation, Nathan maneuvers everyone so that Peter and Phoebe are left outside, together... alone... So the couple takes a walk. Inspired by a romantic elderly couple, Phoebe surprises Peter by kissing him. As they embrace in the cool night air, Phoebe realizes that she is hopelessly, ridiculously, and passionately in love with Peter Petrelli...

Today on Heroes: That mysterious seventh sketch is finally revealed! Someone clever manages to get his or her hands on it. It probably won't surprise you who does the cunning deed.

Chapter Twenty-One (Resolve)

She is hopelessly, ridiculously, and passionately in love with my brother, thought Nathan Petrelli the next morning, watching Phoebe watch Peter sleep. His younger brother was sprawled on the couch in the living room, and Phoebe stood over him with a mug of coffee in her hand, a beatific look on her face as she watched the boy sleep. Wow. That's… beautiful…

"I like her."

Nathan turned to see Claire emerge from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of coffee. "Hi, Claire." He took the proffered coffee cup with a sleepy smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Claire joined him quietly in the doorway, fixing her eyes on Phoebe, who was sitting quietly beside the sleeping Peter on the couch. "Wow. She really, really is in love with him."

"Can you tell?" Nathan asked wryly. He took a sip of coffee, then wished he had not. He was sure his tongue would be numb for hours. "I think we should keep her around."

"Most definitely," Claire agreed. She looked up at him suddenly, narrowing her eyes. "Around where?"

"Around… us," Nathan supplied, feeling a bit awkward. "Peter, of course, and all the rest of us as well."

"Do you think we'll all be able to be… together after all of this?" Claire asked quietly. "I mean--all of us?"

Nathan was quiet for a moment, staring into his coffee cup and wishing that his power had something to do with ice and freezing things. Or perhaps with answering hard questions. "Is that a trick question, Claire?" he countered softly, meeting her eyes once again.

Claire shook her head, smiling crookedly. "No. I just wish…" Her smile faded, and she sighed, dropping her gaze. "I just wish we could all be together. I like this." She looked up again. "I like watching Phoebe and Peter being romantic. I like listening to Hiro's English. I like how my dad feels alive again doing all this crazy stuff, and I like--I like--" She looked away again, sighing. "I like being around you."

Nathan swallowed hard. "I like being around you, too, Claire," he said, appalled when his voice cracked with emotion.

Claire looked up, peering deeply into his eyes. "Really?"

"I do," said Nathan quietly. "You're my--you're my… daughter."

Claire bit her lip and nodded slowly. Then she smiled abruptly. "I know." And with that, she walked back into the kitchen.

Nathan sighed heavily and turned his gaze back to Phoebe and Peter. Peter was just starting to stir, his face young and vulnerable with sleep, the way it always was when he first woke up. And Phoebe was brushing the hair out of his eyes, making him smile… They looked so at home with each other.

Home.

The word came back to Nathan suddenly and sharply, a sweet ache in his soul. He sighed again and took another chance with the coffee.

Peter sighed at the feeling of someone's fingers stroking his forehead. He stirred slightly, smiling, drifting in that place between dreaming and waking, wishing that there was some way to hold onto both. The dream-Phoebe was holding his hands, smiling at him, clothed in a bright blue dress with an off-the-shoulder collar, her hair swept up in a messy up-do. The dream-Peter reached up to undo the pins in her hair…

"What are you doing to my hair!?" came a laughing, un-dreamlike exclamation.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, reluctantly shaking off the dream. He grinned crookedly to see that Phoebe was sitting beside him, smiling down at him. And one of his hands was gripping a strand of her hair. "Sorry."

"You don't look it." Her lips quirked in a coy grin.

Peter took a deep breath and stretched, keeping his fingers wrapped around a strand of her hair. "What time is it?"

"It's almost nine thirty," Phoebe said quietly. She took a sip from her coffee mug, then made a face. "This stuff is scorching hot!"

Peter sat up, releasing the golden lock of hair and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Any word on Sasha?"

Phoebe shook her head, green eyes saddening. "Nothing. Hiro thought about trying to teleport to her, but…" She shook her head. "Nathan and I said no to that. We don't know where she is." She raised an eyebrow at him. "And don't even think about doing it yourself, Peter."

"Nathan and you would say no to that, for sure," he remarked darkly, feigning deep hurt.

Phoebe nodded, smiling brightly, and Peter was glad to have made her smile again.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Phoebe," he told her softly, pressing his palm gently against her cheek and looking deeply into her eyes. "Trust me."

She bit her lip and nodded, eyes wide and innocent and so full of trust in him that his breath was taken away. "I do. You know I do. I just wish…" She sighed and reached out, placing a hand over his heart, as if feeling the beat of it would somehow soothe her. He noticed that she did that often. "I just wish you were more concerned for your own safety. I worry about you."

Peter looked away from her then, pressing his lips together and thinking about the sketch that was in-- "My pocket!" he exclaimed suddenly, leaping up from the couch. He glanced down at his sweatpants and white T-shirt, then looked frantically around the room. "Where are my jeans? I laid them on the back of that chair last night."

Phoebe's eyes widened, and she also hopped to her feet, quickly setting down the coffee cup. "The sketch!"

Claire walked into the living room at that moment. "Hi, guys. I thought I'd--" She stopped short when she saw the looks on their faces. "What's the matter?"

"Well, other than the fact that my best friend may very well have been kidnapped, Peter is missing one of his sketches," Phoebe replied with a heavy sigh.

"You don't happen to know what happened to my pants, do you?" Peter asked his niece sheepishly.

"As a matter of fact, I do," said Claire, hands on her hips, raising one eyebrow. "My dad--the one who is also your brother--decided that you needed a little help with the chores around here. So, I volunteered, and… We did your laundry--pants included."

Peter and Phoebe exchanged incredulous glances.

"What!?" exclaimed Peter. "But the sketch!"

Nathan appeared in the doorway then, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes on Peter. "Pete, can I talk with you for a minute?"

"Sure," said Peter, exasperated. "No one's stopping you."

"Alone," Nathan insisted, narrowing his eyes gravely.

Peter sighed. He knew that look. "Alright, Nathan." As he walked toward his brother, he glanced back at Phoebe and Claire. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have my sketch back, no matter how damaged it is. And don't--don't look at it. That goes triple for you, Phoebe."

When Claire and Phoebe had finished going through the washer and the dryer, they looked up at each other with wide eyes, kneeling on the floor of Peter's tiny laundry room.

"It's not here!" Claire exclaimed. "This could be bad if that sketch is important."

Phoebe bit her lip and rocked back on her heels. "Peter seems to think it is."

Claire frowned and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You know, for some reason I get a feeling that the stupid thing wasn't even in the pants when we put them in the dryer… My dad--the Petrelli one--said--" Her eyes widened. "Phoebe! I know where that sketch is!"

"Where is it!?" Phoebe asked quickly.

"Nathan has it!"

"What is it, Nathan?" Peter asked, joining his brother in the kitchen.

Nathan ignored his question and moved toward the counter. "Coffee, Pete?"

"No, thanks," said Peter quickly. "What's the matter, Nathan?"

Nathan finally met his brother's eyes, a pained look on his face. "Look, Peter, I found the sketch."

Peter sucked in a sharp breath. "You did? Well…" He crossed his arms and looked away from Nathan's piercing, skewering, all-knowing gaze. "What do you think? You think we can save her?"

"Huh." Nathan turned back to the coffee pot and poured himself another mug. "I don't like what happens to you in that picture."

"But it all turns out fine in the end," Peter insisted, leaning back against the refrigerator.

"I don't like what happens to you in that picture, Pete," Nathan repeated. He flashed his brother a glare and reached into the pocket of the white dress shirt he was borrowing from Peter. "Have you looked at it recently? Do you realize what's going to happen to you if this comes true?" He set the folded paper down on the countertop, unfolding it and running the bottom of his coffee mug over it to flatten it. "Take another look, Peter."

"I've seen it, Nathan," said Peter, shaking his head stubbornly. "I drew it."

"Look at it, Peter," Nathan commanded, his voice dangerously rigid.

Sighing in frustration, Peter crossed the kitchen to look down at the picture he had sketched. The rudimentary, yet recognizable drawing was separated into three parts. In the first, Phoebe was tumbling backward. Nathan stood behind her, arms outstretched to catch her. Standing in front of Nathan and Phoebe was Peter--who was being stabbed brutally by a samurai sword, the hilt of which was gripped by the hands of Sylar. "Yeah, I'm not looking forward to that part," Peter muttered, pointing to the ominous first section. In the middle section, Nathan was catching Phoebe. Both of them had horrified looks on their faces. And Peter was jerking the sword out of his own body. "That doesn't look like much fun, either," Peter remarked, tapping the middle section with his finger. In the last part of the sketch, Peter was stabbing Sylar with the sword, blood running down both of their bodies, while Nathan and Phoebe gripped each other's arms and watched with wide, shocked eyes.

"Do you really want to see that look on Phoebe's face? Or on mine?" Nathan asked his brother slowly, studying the younger Petrelli's expressions. "That look of horrified grief?"

Peter pressed his lips together and met his brother's eyes, narrowing his own. "I save her, Nathan."

"And get run through--practically gutted--by a serial killer with a samurai sword," Nathan added incredulously.

"Well… Yeah." Peter ran a hand through his thick dark hair, shrugging. "I can heal, Nathan."

"That won't matter if these people have the technology to block our powers, Pete," Nathan countered. He set down his coffee mug hard on the counter, wincing when some of the scaldingly hot liquid splashed against his wrist. Sighing, he placed firm hands on his younger brother's shoulders. "Know this--I am going to do whatever I have to do to keep that--" He nodded down at the sketch. "--from happening to you."

Peter lifted his chin. "I'll do whatever I have to do to take care of Phoebe." He stared intensely into his brother's eyes. "You know how it feels to love someone so much you would die for them."

Nathan closed his eyes and bowed his head. He was quiet and still for a moment.

"Nathan?" Peter asked tentatively, suddenly regretting his bold words. "Are you alright, man? I'm sorry if I--"

Nathan abruptly hugged his brother, patting his back warmly. Drawing back from Peter, he said, "It looks like, from two of these sketches of yours, that you, me, and Phoebe are going to go through hell together. I'm going to do whatever it takes to look after the two of you." He gave his brother a gentle shake. "You hear me, Pete?"

"I hear you, Nathan." Peter gave him a crooked smile. "We'll look after each other. And hey… None of my sketches have even come true yet, except for maybe that one about Sylar painting me." He met his brother's eyes steadily. "The future's not written in stone."

Claire and Phoebe burst into the kitchen at that moment.

"Nathan, where's the sketch!?" Phoebe exclaimed.

The Petrelli brothers turned in unison to face the girls, blocking their view of the countertop and the ominous picture.

"That's all settled now," Nathan told them smoothly. "Peter and I have discussed it."

Phoebe raised a suspicious eyebrow at him, looking unsatisfied with those words. Then she sighed. "Alright then." She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. "How do we find Sasha?"

"I can try sketching again," Peter suggested, inconspicuously reaching to snatch the picture from the counter and shove it in the waistband of his pants.

"Too bad none of us can just… find people!" Claire remarked. "Dad said there was a little girl who could do that. Maybe we could get her to help us."

Peter glanced sharply at her. "A little girl?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah. But he said her guardians wouldn't let us get within a mile of her."

"Nathan, Claire--do you remember that night in Kirby Plaza?" Peter asked excitedly.

"How could I forget?" Nathan replied dryly.

"There was--there was a little girl!" Peter exclaimed. "Nathan!" He grabbed onto his brother's arm. "This can't be a coincidence!"

"Pete… There are lots of little girls out there," Nathan remarked sarcastically.

"But I have to try, Nathan!" Peter protested. "If that was her… I think I can do this!"

Nathan raised his eyebrows. "You think so?"

Peter nodded excitedly. "Just… Let me try." He released his brother and started pacing up and down the kitchen floor. "How does this work? Do I just concentrate?"

"I doubt pacing is part of the routine," said Nathan wryly. He raised his mug to take a sip of coffee, then felt the heat rising from the accursedly hot liquid and thought better of it. "You look like you're doing some sort of rain dance, Pete."

Peter stopped walking and glared at his brother.

Claire hid a giggle behind her hand, and Phoebe snickered.

"I'm thinking, Nathan," Peter protested.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry." Nathan cleared his throat and crossed his arms. Phoebe decided he looked about as sorry as Peter had looked (or not looked) earlier when he had played with her hair in his sleep.

Standing in the middle of his kitchen, Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shaking out his arms at his sides. He tilted his head back and thought hard about Sasha, the blind girl, Phoebe's friend. An image came to him swiftly and suddenly, making him gasp. He saw a dark place, a small room with a concrete floor. Sasha was curled up in a corner, humming frantically to herself, as if the song she was humming was the only shred of sanity to which she could cling. Peter knew instantly that she was in a basement room--a room in the basement of Anderson Mall. He quickly let go of the thought and opened his eyes. "Anderson Mall!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "She's in the mall!" Head swimming, he grasped for the counter, but missed it and started to pitch forward.

Nathan caught him quickly, supporting him with strong arms. "Good work, Pete," he told his little brother with a proud smile. "You can rain dance all you want if you keep getting results like this."
Peter grinned at his brother, managing to straighten and stand on his own, but keeping one hand closed around his brother's arm. "Oh, yeah?"

A sudden clap of thunder rattled the windows of Peter's apartment.

With wide eyes and a wide smile, Claire announced, "Peter, I think your rain dance worked!"

"Of course it did," said Phoebe, stepping forward, wrapping her arms around Peter's waist and smiling up at him. "He's Peter Petrelli."

Angela and Wyatt sat facing each other in the living room, both of them worn and weary from the argument that had kept them up late the night before, both of them doubting that it would be resolved any time soon.

"You've set your sons up for a fall, Angela," said Wyatt. He had ceased calling her Mrs. Petrelli since last night, certain that his job was lost due to his change of heart, certain that she no longer deserved the respect he had once had for her, the respect he now transferred to her sons and their strange and amazing friends. "Sylar isn't in this for the good of mankind the way you may think you are. He's not in this to further the ambitions of this little offshoot of the Company. He's in this for himself. Don't you know what he's done?"

"I know all about Sylar," Angela replied flatly. She took a sip of wine, not caring that it was still morning. Of course, she would never admit to Wyatt that, until he had informed her, she had owned no clue that Sylar was involved with the same group she had dealings with, no clue that Sylar was somehow pulling their strings. It suddenly scared her, but she managed to keep her hand from shaking as she set the wine glass down on the coffee table. She flashed Wyatt a deceptively confident smile. "He can be handled easily."

"Then you don't know enough about him," Wyatt told her, one eyebrow raised. "He killed Brad Collins, one of Mr. Petrelli's paralegals. I'm sure you know what Mr. Collins could do. He could manipulate the way you feel--heat, cold, pain, pleasure. I'm sure he used his power to try to defend himself from Sylar. And Sylar was strong enough to take him down, Angela." He narrowed his eyes on hers. "I hope to God that madman doesn't discover all that Collins could do."

Angela blinked, her guard slipping. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Brad Collins was not just a simple nerve manipulator. He was a nervous system manipulator."

Angela closed her eyes. What have I done?

"I doubt the boy even knew it," Wyatt continued. "He was a good kid. And I hope Sylar doesn't know what he didn't." His voice went dangerously low. "And because Sylar was involved with your people, Brad Collins is now dead, and his dangerous power is in Sylar's hands."

"You know so much." Angela stood and turned from him, clinging to a fragile dignity.

Wyatt stood as well. "I've seen the past. I know what goes on in this house--and in other houses. I suggest you come to your senses, woman, before something happens to your family."

"What do you want me to do?" Angela shouted, losing control of her anger. She spun on the old man, eyes narrowed with fury. "Sacrifices must be made, and if the cost of a perfect future is the lives of my family, then so be it!" As she said the words, a pang of regret and hurt and self-loathing clenched her heart. More quietly, but with resolve, she repeated, "So be it."