From the Ashes

No missed calls. No new messages.

Of course there were no new messages – aside from time having crept until the early hours of the morning, and therefore everyone should be asleep, Claire still wasn't speaking to him anyway. And Noah didn't know his daughter if he didn't know a random change of heart was not her usual style. If only she'd give him a chance to try and win back her affections...!

Sitting stiffly in his desk chair, Noah let his eyes stray over the multiple data screens before him for the countless time, no longer seeing the images, themselves. He was supposed to be approving tomorrow's cargo for transport before they were taken to the Renautas hangar, but no matter how badly Erica Kravid demanded it Noah just couldn't focus on his task. The company man was long desensitised to the sight of evos being drugged and marched into their restraints, so not even that could shake his thoughts out of his upcoming plan to save the planet from elimination. Or the part his daughter had to play in it.

How long could she realistically stay mad at him? So far that had yet been put to the test, so Noah couldn't be sure. But Claire hadn't spoken to him since the disaster of the oil rig, and he was certain she had him beat in the patience game, alright. He couldn't even imagine letting months get between them without caving and getting in touch if he was in her position. Although, he had to admit, he probably would have handled the revelation that his father had lied one time too many and his uncle was fraternising with the enemy in a very different way than Claire had.

In that respect, shutting herself out from her family and trying to (however truthfully) restore peace to the population was downright admirable, on Claire's part.

Still, Noah missed her more than he knew he ever could.

His thousandth call went straight to voicemail, which Noah told himself was because of the hour only. "Claire Bear... please return my calls. I don't blame you for being angry, but this isn't about that. Something very important has come up and I really need to talk to you."

Searching for the right words, Noah removed his glasses to rub at his tired eyes with the back of his hand. There was no way to know whether she was even listening to his messages anymore, and he might have given up and let her move on by now if he didn't have solid encouragement for his efforts preserved in oil and canvas. Drawing reassurance from them, Noah cast his thoughts back to the paintings in the basement: the depictions of his master plan hadn't been far from his mind since Parkman had created the first one, and even now he could see the paintings in vivid detail despite the distance between his office and the impromptu basement gallery.

A cluster of people, a confined space, and of course a small blonde figure standing by the angular shape that was supposed to be Noah.

They would be together again, someday. Maybe if Claire knew that...? But it was too much to explain over a one-sided phone call. She was one of the final pieces of the plan, and as everything else was falling into place Noah couldn't put this part off much longer, no matter how much it hurt to be ignored every time he tried to reach his daughter.

Spinning absently in his chair, Mr Bennet sighed and replaced his glasses. Then tensed as he caught sight of a shadow lingering in the doorway. "Just... think about it, sweetheart. Stay safe. I'll be in touch." He ended the call briskly, straightening his posture from that of an exhausted middle-aged man when his guest crept into the room. "Tracy."

"Am I interrupting?"

Noah smiled at the woman, trying to hastily pull himself back together without it being obvious. "No, I was just, uh... I thought you were leaving?" He'd dismissed Tracy hours ago. It had to be around two in the morning by now – nobody other than Noah ever stayed this late if they had the chance to escape.

Hovering by the door, the desk lamp only illuminated enough of her face to reveal the uncertainty there. And when she spoke almost as if to herself, Noah got the feeling she wasn't talking in the same respect as he had. "Yeah. So did I."

"...Is something wrong?" He asked calmly, a sure way to tell that inside him things weren't going as peachy.

Tracy shook her head as if disregarding the idea, her blonde hair swishing. But then she really looked at Noah and stumbled over a reply, and the doubts swimming in her eyes couldn't have been clearer.

Noah had been around the block too many times not to anticipate what was coming. But that didn't mean he had to like it when nearly everything else was working out so nicely. Well, shit.

( )( )( )

For a long while, there was nothing except the slowing rush of rainfall through the open window and the sound of early morning commuters on the streets far below. Peter shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to believe it was the cold that was getting to him and making his eyes sting more than the airing of his recent confession.

Silence echoed out as a full stop to his tale, reverberating like the ripples in time Sylar had made last night when returning here from the future. Peter waited badly, chewing his tongue and shifting his weight on his feet and failing to stop all his doubts shining through to his face. Meanwhile Sylar slowly stewed up a response to the news of the dream and the time traveller's visit behind an unreadable mask.

He had been painfully silent the whole time Peter had been talking; only frowning more, watching, listening as the possibilities of his fate were stripped down and laid bare before him, as tenderly as Peter could muster in hopes of softening the blow. He had no idea if it had worked, other than the weight to Sylar's brow shifting from accusing to solemn.

Finally, the watchmaker's mouth twitched, and Peter's heart leapt.

"But... if it happens in six years, we still have time to work things out." Looking through Peter, he blinked rapidly as if to align his thoughts into a manageable order, a skill that the empath both admired and envied deeply. "Why are you handing yourself over to Noah now?"

Peter shook his head, warding off phantom sensations that rolled through him from head to toe; the smell of fire, the taste of ash, the scream of silence that stretched into every corner of the world...

"Because I don't know what else to do." He admitted painfully. "I don't. Okay? But we have to tell him what we know. If I waste this chance? If I do nothing?" His stomach twisted at another unwelcome vision of his future self: harsh, bedraggled, corrupted by guilt and rage and pain... "Then I'm no different than the guy I saw in my dream."

Impressively, Sylar hadn't let go of the window while he listened to his future unfold. His stance had slackened, yet still he stood resolute, cocking his head while he squinted at Peter as if he'd just been speaking a different language. "When has Bennet ever listened to what we've had to say? What makes you think he'll believe us now? Or even if he does, there's nothing stopping him from taking us down anyway once he gets the information he needs."

"We have to try." Peter insisted, wishing there wasn't so much unpleasant truth in Sylar's words. Even last night, this was the last thing he would ever have thought he'd be doing: wading into enemy territory with only faulty armour, unstable weapons and a tattered white flag. But so much had changed, even since then. "You came to me from the future for a reason, Sylar – we could be the only ones who know the truth about what happens! And we can't stop it alone!"

"You said I came back to tell you to manage the Hunger." Sylar stated, unconvinced. "You really think running out there like this this is the best way to do that?"

Peter squirmed in agitation. He hated the reminder of the sickness that he still carried within him. It made him feel unclean, molested from the inside out – but despite all this, the Hunger itself remained pointedly quiet even after he had just thought upon it. It was the confidence boost he sorely needed.

He could already hear Sylar's incoming lecture: the complaints about how it still wasn't safe for him to leave the hotel with his abilities unchecked; the matter-of-factness that preceeded a well thought out plan; and the onslaught of all the times in the past when heading off unprepared like this had only ended in failure.

He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear any of it.

"Look – this is about so much more than just me! This is about everybody!" Getting desperate, Peter sucessfully dislodged Sylar from the window with a nudge, not quite looking at him as he climbed outside, afraid of the expression he might find.

Out here the night pressed down upon him. The rain had dispersed into not much more than a mist now, jagged prickles and rippling puddles that reflected city lights back into the sky. Peter only ignored the raindrops that dripped down from the platform above and ran under his shirt collar.

( )

Turning to watch after the other man, Sylar's hands shook on each side of the window as the rain nipped at his face and torso like needles. His head was spinning from all this new information, yet the only sensation he could feel was the heavy beat of his own heart. He was unable to look away from the distorted shape of his friend crossing the fire escape away from him.

There was far too much for Sylar to make sense of at once. Peter becoming a murderer? Sylar's future self being here last night? The end of the world? Walking themselves to the slaughter on the off chance Noah fucking Bennet would have a miraculous change or heart for once in his life...? In hindsight Peter's tearful breakdown last night seemed an even more reasonable reaction than Sylar had first believed. He couldn't blame the guy one bit.

But now that it was Sylar's turn to take the hit, he didn't have that same luxury.

"And what about me?" He called out.

The sound was swaddled by the persistant hissing of rain, pinging off metal above and around him in a whispering tune. His voice shouldn't have carried even over such a short distance, but Peter stopped anyway. He turned back with a hint of a frown sheilding his eyes and a question forming, unreleased, on his lips.

If he didn't look so humbled Sylar would have been expecting him to kick off into the sky then and there. Only as an afterthought, the repentitive killer touched along the handle of flight, keeping the ability within reach just in case.

There was so much more he wanted to say. But, shit, he could barely make a sound when Peter was such a sight before him. Sylar's chest was open and bleeding from the impact of knowledge he didn't want, but more than any of the many nightmares on the table... he yearned to understand how things between himself and Peter could have gone so wrong the first time around.

Standing right there, he was broken yet burning with the determination that became him, while water droplets sparkled as they rolled down his hair and over the angle of his cheekbones. And despite everything he had just heard, and the nasty evidence that had been leaking into their interactions for a while now; Sylar just couldn't think of that man as capable of any horror greater than if he walked out on them right now.

"Why didn't you let me in? Last time?"

( )

For a moment the men just stared at each other, unspoken words solidifying in the window frame between them as if the glass was reforming itself.

The empath felt his face go numb beneath Sylar's stare and his knees go weak under him. What...? Was Sylar seriously doing this right now? He huffed a feeble gasp while precious seconds ticked by and the former killer's words settled deeper and deeper into his psyche, creeping across the surface like cracks in a mirror.

The other guy was almost unreadible, locked up tight with a sharpness to that heavy brow and a thinness to his lips, but it was the attempt to hide an emotional storm from the world that revealed he was battling one at all.

And here was Peter thinking he couldn't feel any worse.

( )

With difficulty, Sylar composed his features until he hoped they revealed nothing going on inside.

Peter wasn't answering. To his credit, he appeared to be battling with the task, but what the hell did that say? Sylar didn't want to even entertain the thought, because where the fuck would he be without this? But as he looked upon the shaking, cold little hero before him, he couldn't help but recall everything the guy had chosen to shoulder by himself rather than share with him.

These doubts, they touched on an alcove within him he'd hoped had grown over by now but it hadn't, it was just hidden out of sight, collecting stray drips of uncertainty until it spilled over like a blocked drain. And the thing was flooding him now.

No matter how many times Sylar broke himself bending over backwards for Peter... would it ever be enough?

Tightening his grip on either side of the window, he fought to hide thinly veiled desperation from his tone. He was aware of his expansive skillset that could easily prevent someone from leaving if he didn't want them to. Yet the only tool he called upon was his sincerity.

"Don't you trust me?" He asked quietly.

( )

Cut to the quick, Peter could only gape at the other man. How could Sylar believe that? It was obscene! Yet when he tried so hard to see into his friend, he was blocked by those carefully constructed features that looked down upon him like those of a stranger.

"Hey..." He finally managed, drawn back from the far edge of the fire escape on instinct. He forgot all about his looming escape and crossed instead to the window where his companion stood, stopping as close as the wall between them would allow. Suddenly everything else that had seemed so pressing just seconds before paled in comparison to this most gutting of blows. "How could you ask that? Of course I do."

By the way Sylar's face transformed just so, the muscles on his forearms stood out more than before and his grip on the wall tightened microscopically, Peter could tell that he didn't believe him. But, god, how was he supposed to explain it all without breaking down again?

"You let your power consume you because you didn't want me to get close." Sylar elaborated, somehow barely moving a muscle in his face beyond the scathing twitch of an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like trust to me."

Peter shivered at that expression that didn't fit at all with the distress palpably rising from Sylar. He blocked the swarm of incoming thoughts that rushed him then, for his own sake and the privacy of his friend.

Yes, when Sylar said it that way it sounded awful, but how could he really think that when the truth was the complete opposite? Didn't he know Peter? Had he changed his mind about him already now that he knew what was to become of their future...?

Biting his lip, Peter ran a hand through his hair that dripped raindrops into his eyes. He was cold and wet all over, and seriously beginning to regret his hasty exit from the shelter of the hotel room. But there was so much more at risk here than his comfort. If there wasn't, would he really have been putting himself through all this and turn to Noah Bennet of all people, for the sake of everyone else? For Sylar? For Sylar who was right in front of him now, at the centre of the storm, whose feelings were suddenly much more important than preventing an apocalypse?

Helplessly, Peter reached out and pounded a hand lightly against the warmth of Sylar's chest, as if that was going to solve everything. "I just..."

The last thing he wanted was to fight with this man after being soothed to sleep by the rhythm of his heartbeat just hours ago. Peter rested his fist over that same heart now, before promptly withdrawing it, scalded by the memory of watching himself do the same thing in the future. God it was so real. So true. So possible...

"I don't wanna hurt you." He confessed.

It didn't matter that Sylar was angry at him, that he had every right to be and that Peter probably shouldn't have chosen this time of all times to let his limbs take over. He was craving human contact and still reaping the after effects of sleeping so close to Sylar yesterday, and so reached for him again anyway.

Teeth beginning to chatter in the cold, Peter watched his hands move by themselves: trailing wet strands of hair off Sylar's face and tucking them back into their usual groomed, proud place; then grazing his knuckles along the man's stubbled jaw on the way down to savour the absence of a beard. He received not even a twitch in response, but that wasn't why he'd done it anyway.

"All this...? I just don't wanna put it on you. Not you. After how hard you worked to get better."

It ached to do it, but it was beyond time to regurgitate this fear that had ignited in Peter along with his restored abilities, making itself known before they'd even left Mercy Heights hospital.

All he'd wanted was to spare Sylar from the pain his powers might bestow. That was why he'd pushed back the dread since the explosion, refused to acknowledge the Hunger and put his all into his lessons and in recovering. But in the end, why had he bothered? What difference did it make? Because trying to help by pulling away had only ended in disaster anyway.

( )

If Peter thought all these touches were going to get him out of trouble he had another thing coming. The contact melted short bursts of sensation into Sylar's face and his chest sizzled in the afterprint of the other guy's hand, but he didn't cave in the way he knew he was supposed to.

It was all part of the game, another Petrelli trick, another manipulation tactic to play innocent and try to win Sylar over – but he was fucking sick of assuming that role. Just look at how far it had gone. How many billions of people had paid the price...

"...You don't think I could handle the temptation." He realised, letting his arms fall numbly by his sides. Appalled, he held himself tall and struggled to swallow while he witnessed the other evo drop his eyes and hug himself and wipe what might not have been a stray raindrop from his face.

"No, Sylar..."

Visibly shivering now, Peter swiped at his hair before peeking back up, face soft in resignation while weilding the most deadly weapon of those eyes of his. So large, so sincere, so empathetic. So difficult to turn down. Fuck him, once more.

"I just didn't want you to see this part of me." He yielded at last, his jaw working tightly. "No one else has ever thought of me the way you do. And I just didn't – didn't wanna ruin that." Peter sighed again, and the wind carried the strained huskiness of his confession twice around the fire escape before it reached Syar's ear. "'Cause I can't do this without you, and I thought, if... if you knew what I was capable of? ...You might not lov-" The rest of the word failed him in a stutter, so instead he just gave up, watching Sylar in a silent plea as if that was honestly the best he could do.

Uneven gasping was loud in Sylar's ears long before he identified the sound as his own. All the different fragments of this declaration made their way to him through spitting rain, piling on top of each other over his ribcage until it was almost impossible to breathe.

Finally he located his voice. "Are you that stupid?" He spat incredulously.

Peter reeled on the spot slightly, wounded, but other than that made no attempt to rise to the bait and fight. And right then, in the face of their many failures, some of which were even yet to transpire: Sylar only resented him for it.

Fucking seriously?! He really was the most selfishly selfless person in the world. If Sylar didn't know him himself he would never have believed it. Peter was an idiot! Peter was deluded! He was the most clueless, self-deprecating son of a bitch on the planet! Shaking his head hopelessly, Sylar flailed his arms out wide while the rush of an emotion that felt dangerously similar to outrage devoured him from the inside.

"Jesus, Peter! What d'you think this is?! What the hell have I been doing all this time?!"

The new flash of hurt that cracked across the empath's face then should have derailed him, but Sylar wasn't just upset anymore. And he couldn't hold back the intensity of his cries even though the recipient was still standing close enough to touch.

"D'you seriously think I'd have put up with your bullshit and recklessness for so long if I didn't want to be here?! D'you think I'd let the world end for just anyone?!"

That last statement ripped itself free from the watchmaker before he'd had a chance to edit it, startling himself by how raw it was, how personal a truth, and he'd just thrown it out there for everyone to hear. He couldn't take it back. But the longer it expanded and settled between two racing hearts, the less he wished he could.

( )

Peter couldn't move beneath the burn that started to heat him from within. To his own surprise he wasn't angry or defensive in the face of such a verbal attack. Not at all. He was just awed, really and truly, to see Sylar so passionate and alive right before him, especially in contrast to how wasted away he had become in another life...

When Sylar stopped to catch his breath, licking his lips just like his future incarnation had last night, Peter was wrung into pieces by the countless reminder that it really had been him on the rooftop last night and in that broken building in the dream, that the touch of heat that still burned on his forehead had come from those very same lips.

And how had Peter repaid him for everything he'd done? By actively refusing the advice he'd risked it all to come back here to give.

Let me in, Peter. Please.

Peter knew he could escape all this with one thought. In just seconds he could fly into the sky, away from Sylar and this confrontation and his own feelings, and bury himself in a new mission.

But here was his only friend, yelling at him, confessing these things with a depth of endearment Peter had only seen from him once before. Mere hours ago.

Because you're my friend. I love you.

The air grew tight around the empath, filled by the sound of rain and quiet breathing as the two men stared each other down from inches away. He just couldn't believe Sylar would willingly sacrifice his freedom purely to share Peter's burden. That was twice now on Peter's count. If sticking with him once could be considered heroic; twice was downright foolish – especially when he knew what it might entail. It was also an act of pure devotion that Peter had never received from anyone else in his life.

And it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Stop pushing me away as if you have any right to make my choices for me, 'cause you don't."Sylar's voice trembled slightly despite his best efforts to hide it, and even through the anger that had inflicted his features and transformed him into a remnant of the fearsome specimen he'd used to be, he looked as though he might cry. "You told me you need my help to change the future? Then let me help you!"

Stunned, Peter could only nod his head. Meanwhile, Sylar was still glaring at him as if he was waiting for an inevitable first punch to come his way, those deep, dark eyes darting apprehensively between Peter's as the morning continued to stretch on between them.

But Peter didn't want to hit him.

He wanted to...

With no remorse and no regrets, he turned his back on his desperate plan, on the future, on finding Noah and any thoughts that revolved around how he might change his fate for the better. Because this was real, and it was now, and because the urge to do so was so overwhelming he might die otherwise, Peter reached for the back of the other man's head, tugged him down before he could lose his nerve and gently captured his lips in a kiss.

Sylar tensed against him. He clammed up all over while Peter's limbs lost feeling and he rocked slightly, waiting, not breathing, just pressing his mouth to the plush cushion of Sylar's because it was the only way he could convey everything he couldn't say to the man. Oh god.

He tasted like rain and he smelled so familiar, so comforting, and Peter would swear he was literally hovering right then if he wasn't so aware of the height difference that remained between himself and this man who loved him. Something clicked into place inside and finally it made sense: the growing, gnawing tendrils of feelings that Peter hadn't been able to get rid of since before Sylar had taken his hands, held him in close and exploded with him over New York City...

This. This was what he'd been waiting for.

But when time refused to stop around the pair, and all that Sylar gave in return was a quivering breath, the flurry of sparks in Peter's gut grew erratic. Suddenly insecurity reared its ugly head and doubt began to creep its way in.

What if he'd been wrong? What if he'd made a mistake? What if Sylar didn't want this too...?

Dropping down from his tip toes, he pulled back with just a sliver of space remaining between his face and the other man's. The weight of rejection marred his movements as he forced his gaze to stray from those naturally pouted lips and glance up for any sign of Sylar's feelings, just in time to see him open his eyes.

With anyone else it would have been humiliating to have put himself out there and been shot down, but it wasn't now. Not with Sylar. Peter could only remember to breathe and hold himself up while Sylar just looked down at him; his eyes roving, his expression slipping between so many emotions that it became clear he wasn't sure whether he should still be angry or not.

Craving affection, reciprocation, reassurance, both Peter's hands came to rest on each side of Sylar's head, kneading his hair softly. They trembled just a little.

( )

Goddamnit. Sylar knew he should have been mad that Peter had just cheated to win their fight, but he wasn't.

He wasn't finished ranting, he had barely began to put the little fucker in his place, not to mention get started on the disaster of the Noah plan...! But none of that mattered anymore. Not when Peter had the audacity to kiss him so sweetly and then look at him like that.

So many kisses in Sylar's life had been weapons disguised to hurt him. There had even been a time when he couldn't disassociate intimacy with betrayal. It had never been real, it had never been anything close to what he'd wanted, what he'd been yearning for. But with Peter... When all there was in the world was his own throbbing heartbeat, the aftertaste of cold little lips, the lingering tickle of eyelashes on his cheeks and the wetness from someone else's hair having been stuck to his skin, Sylar couldn't even remember the rest of his argument that had been building before the other guy had gone and lifted it clean out of his grasp.

Blinking in the spitting rain, he let his gaze roam freely over the unapologetic young man who was to blame for all of this, the first touches of dawn highlighting his face just for Sylar to see him in a new light. A wash of lilac caught his eyes and reflected in the rainwater on his skin, shining on his slightly parted lips in places Sylar could still taste... Fuck. When had Peter gone and become so beautiful? It was either the coiling sensation behind Sylar's navel talking, or he had been suppressing the thought as inappropriate for so long that he had actually forgotten to notice. Either way, it wasn't important. Not when his vision was finally clear and the truth was undeniable and shining before him now.

He had almost given up hope.

After waiting all this time, after enduring mixed signals and shifting rules and the frustration that accompanied being afraid to be the one to change things, Sylar had come that close to accepting this was just a part of the world these two superhumans weren't going to be sharing with one another. In fact it was only now, with the caress of Peter's fingers against his scalp and the tingle of intimate touch still lingering on his mouth that Sylar was reminded exactly what they'd been depriving themselves of.

And after surviving on nothing but laden glances, meaningful touches and poorly disguised flirting for so long, he wasn't quite sure how to feel about the kiss that still sizzled on his lips.

Other than it wasn't enough for him. Not even close. Not after all this time.

Now that the boundaries had already been breached, he indulged in his desires and lightly touched Peter's waist and face with hands he pretended weren't shaking. Still frowning, lost in so many years of competing, conflicting, corrupting emotions for this particular human being, Sylar lightly stroked the tips of his fingers down Peter's temple. It didn't feel out of place to allow himself such luxuries after going without all this time.

He could still turn back. He knew he could put an end to this right now and everything would go back to normal tomorrow. Except he didn't want things to go back to normal. He wanted more.

Sylar pushed back the cool wetness of the other guy's hair, thick and soft, so that he could see everything that waited for him to find in those eyes. "Damn you, Petrelli." He murmured.

An apologetic, crooked little twitch of Peter's lips responded to Sylar's evaluation. Then his eyebrows lifted softly and he seared Sylar's face with the slightest brush of his thumb. "You're right. I've been pushing you away, and I'm sorry." He husked. And when his next whisper tickled the air between the men, the ground fell out from under Sylar in a way he had almost forgotten was possible. "But what if... what if we forget about the future? Just for tonight?" A vision of pure hope and innocence and nerves, Peter became so painfully irresistible that Sylar could only think of it as criminal.

And suddenly he understood why he would ever let billions of people die.

It was this. Right here. He would do anything to have Peter look at him like this. To feel appreciated, wanted, to feel important when he had been struggling to deserve that right for most of his life. Peter Petrelli didn't need all the power in the world, or to threaten or fight to get his way – not when he was the most perfect, beautiful weapon all on his own. And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all?

But the world wasn't ending for another six years, right? And what if this was what Sylar's future self had come back for anyway? What if this was what he'd meant all along when he'd begged Peter to let him in so they could help each other...? Sylar chose to think so.

He couldn't voice a reply. Instead, he stroked across Peter's hip where the wet shirt had risen and the skin was cold and bare, a tiny relenting smile easing its way onto his features before he threw in the towel altogether.

Yes, Sylar was well aware that this mentality had cost them the world in the future. And maybe that was worse than Peter's downfall and worse than Sylar letting him get to that state in the first place. Because this time, despite knowing what was at risk: when he descended again, and when Peter's body grew heavier against his own... he didn't care at all.

( )

With a gentle tug of lips, suddenly Sylar was receptive and careful and he kissed Peter back with so much need it made the empath feel weak. Tentative at first, the former enemies moulded themselves around each other far too easily, so many thoughts and feelings pouring into this safe space of their creation, where all the things they hadn't been saying and all the times they'd refused what they'd wanted were welcomed and cherished between them.

Entwined through the open window, the pair swayed on the fire escape when the world was at stake and where anyone could see them, but they didn't care. Sylar curved into Peter with the strong line of his body, burning his face between slow but insistent lips, hot breath against his and steadying hands that perfectly fit imprints that the time traveler had left behind last night, and Peter could only cling onto him in return. And although the wind still tugged at his hair and the rain crept down him in rivulets, he wasn't cold anymore.

It had been far too long since he'd been held like this by someone. He'd almost forgotten how it felt.

Oh god... fuck... Just holding someone in his arms cleansed stains of neglect that had been forming inside for months now, and when the tip of Sylar's tongue welcomed Peter's it sent sparks erupting all the way through him, healing scars that had been left untouched for far too long. He couldn't dream of resisting the fire that formed, ravenous, in the space where his quickening breaths mixed with Sylar's, where their racing hearts beat against one another's, and in every slight nuzzle of his nose against the other man's.

Peter didn't manage to stifle the sound that uttered from his throat, but it was worth the slip up to hear the breathy chuckle that purred against his lips.

The dripping rain was persistent but so was Sylar; his kisses grew deeper, more desperate, and his hands scorched like fire against the chill of Peter's wet clothing, painting colours across his skin where they crept over his shoulders and down his back, holding him firmly but gently, as if he was something special. It tasted just as beautiful as it felt for Peter to let go. To trust. To let himself fall and be put back together piece by piece at the hands of this dedicated craftsman who needed to give just as much as the empath needed to receive. And when Sylar helped Peter climb blindly into the privacy of the room without breaking apart for air, he had no choice but to feel completely safe here with him.

For the first time in hours, he couldn't think about the future, his fate, or saving the world. He didn't even try to mask his heaving chest or the blush he knew Sylar could feel blooming across his face and torso, just as Peter could feel his. There was nowhere to hide and no reason to do so anyway.

And maybe that would be enough to save him.

( )( )( )

Two sets of footsteps rebounded around the concrete corridor, the click of high heels competing with a woman's anxious voice.

"...after the explosion in New York? It's sort of a wake up call when it comes to these abilities."

"This has always been the case, Tracy. Most of you are harmless but some need to be contained, it's why our work here is so important." Noah didn't look at her while he battled to keep condescention out of his tone. "Do I need to remind you this was in the job description when you agreed to work with me?"

"You said you were gonna help me control my power." Tracy retorted, half a step behind Noah as he refused to slow down to reassure her. He had always been a good multi-tasker if nothing else, anyway. But he didn't have to try and convince her with words, not if she would only see... "And now you're asking me to do this? What part of 'I dont want to hurt people anymore' are you not understanding?"

Bristling at her attitude, Noah let it slide if only because his ally was already slipping from his grasp and he didn't want to give her another reason to pack it all in and leave him in the lurch. Slowing to a stop with a hand on the cell door, he turned to Tracy with what he could honestly say was genuine sympathy.

"I understand how you're feeling, Tracy. But Petrelli and Sylar aren't like you, or Micah, or Jeremy." An old pang of regret struck Noah for the kid he'd failed to save with Tracy. It had been one of their first jobs together. Her expression hardened in memory. "We've been over this. They're too dangerous. And you could be part of saving billions of lives by taking them in."

He didn't wait for her reply before swiping his card at the security panel and letting the door grind open with a clunk. "What've you got for me, Matt?" He asked, unable to hide his enthusiasm. Tracy's heels clacking off the floor told him she followed him inside the renovated cell: now unrecognisable beneath so many of Parkman's paintings. The artist himself was still at work, but either due to their arrival or just perfect timing, began to rouse from his latest prophetic stupor.

"How do you even know this plan will work, anyway?" Tracy asked behind Noah, the added 'after every other one hasn't' hung stagnantly although she didn't say it aloud.

Normally Noah would have been disheartened at that. But not now.

"Tell me this doesn't inspire confidence." He smiled smugly, gesturing to the collection Parkman had been creating for nearly a week now, filling in all the gaps in his master plan nearly faster than Noah could think them up.

The location; the subjects; the conspirators; even the element of surprise had been depicted taking hold in Noah's favour... After months of failure after failure after failure, it would be an understatement to say that he was enjoying the satisfaction of seeing his grand victory foretold to him for a change. Not to mention the relief! It wasn't like Erica Kravid could dismiss this, after all. The novelty still hadn't worn off. In fact it only grew with every new addition to the gallery.

But before he could even peer past a freshly woken Parkman at his latest masterpiece, the ex cop released a humourless scoff, as if he wasn't surprised in the slightest. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

Fearing his successful streak was about to be cut short, Noah crunched hurriedly across discarded sheets of paper to set eyes upon the painting –

Only for any and all expressions to fall from his face. Because, no, Matt hadn't just put the finishing touches on a fatal fault in Noah's masterplan, thank god. But that's not to say the image before him was one he couldn't have happily lived without. He could only stare in displeasure at the scene he should really have been more shocked by than he was:

Two familiar silhouettes against an open window, locked at the mouth with arms cradling each other, their shadows stretching long across a dilapidated hotel room, projecting the whole messy affair onto the floor.

Noah choked on anything he might have said, if he'd been able to make a sound at all. He'd almost completely forgotten about showing off his plan to Tracy, why he was here and who he was here with. Until she came to a stop beside him, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"Well that's inspiring."

A/N: So... I have a feeling that I don't need telepathy to tell what you guys are thinking? "Finally!" XD

Hehe true, but nobody is shouting it more than me – I can't believe we're FINALLY here! I've been desperately working towards getting to this point and trying not to spoil it for two long years, and hopefully I managed to preserve it a little ^.^ After so much build up and planning I'll admit it took me a long time to get this moment right, but I hope it lived up to expectations! X) Of course I'm always eager to hear what you guys think (especially of this particular development that's been a looong time coming)

Thank you more than I can say if you're still reading and have stuck with my story so far! I can promise there is still more angst, adventure, emotion and Petlar goodness to come from here on out, so please stay tuned ^.^