Destiny Calls
Noah stood proud and strong as his eyes adjusted to the scene before him.
There they were, standing roughly an arm's distance apart: two silhouettes imprinted against the naked window and the outside world that they'd both had a hand in breaking today. Noah's team had fallen obediently still to each side, their weapons trained but silent now as the company man stepped forward to take centre stage. This had better be the last time he hunted this prize! Thankfully, Noah had a feeling that he'd be welcomed back at base tonight with a generous bonus and that head for his mantle at long last...
His morbid thoughts were broken by another shuddering breath that cracked the heavy silence of the room. But this time the sound hadn't come from the injured target.
( )
Sylar started forwards in disbelief, a hand outstretched before him and his eyes glued to the blood dirtying Peter's just freshly washed skin all over again. The man was still swaying, watching with perplexed helplessness, fighting for breath and deteriorating right before Sylar's horrified eyes. Just a second ago he'd been so full of life, so possessed by that glorious, familiar tenacity that compiled his whole person... and now...
Sylar had to help somehow! He had to fix him! It was what he was good at, it was what he did –
"Ah-ah!" Noah warned, raising his gun not at the killer, but once again at the wounded paramedic. Sylar knew it was part of a plan, was only a threat to make him stop, but of course he obliged. He relented quicker than he would have done if that barrel had been pointing at himself.
"Noah..." Sylar croaked, bewildered, his fingers still hovering in Peter's direction. "What're you doing...?!" He was so stunned by the ridiculousness of this entire scene that he couldn't find it within himself to be angry yet. He couldn't even comprehend the agents lining the walls or the stoic, black figure shadowing Noah like the trusty weapon he was.
"You gave me no other choice, Gabriel."
"You're wrong! I didn't do anything –"
"I'd suggest you stop talking before you make things worse for yourself. And here I thought you were supposed to be intelligent?" The spectacled man said silkily, contempt flowing behind his lenses like tar. Maybe someone less accustomed to such an expression wouldn't be able to see the distinction, but Sylar could: it was genuine. Genuine enough for him to finally, reluctantly, admit that Bennet really did think him guilty of today's tragedy. Which meant there would be no dissuading him.
Panic thundered through Sylar's veins as he turned back to Peter once again and was shaken by the sight of thick, rich blood coating his lips and glistening down his chin. In that moment Sylar almost roared. This was to be his repayment for sparing Bennet this afternoon?! After leaving him unharmed?! It was just so wrong. So unexpected! Sylar would never have doubted the agent's ruthlessness in shooting him! But Peter...?!
( )
Was it always this painful? Right now he wasn't sure. Perhaps it wasn't just the bullet in his gut that was tearing Peter to shreds, perhaps it was having that previous, wonderful moment of meaningfulness ripped from him before he could even chase it? He'd been so sure... so certain that things were starting to go right...
Suddenly he felt weightless, foggy, like he was shrinking or flying away backwards while watching the whole scenario unfold before him from afar. If he wasn't already familiar with the sensation of dying, he might have worried this was it. But it wasn't. It was just weakness, loneliness, wanting nothing more than to be held through the chilling fear and told things were alright but knowing he couldn't be.
He wanted to reach back at Sylar, squeeze those pink fingers tight if only for the reassurance that he wasn't alone as he faded from awareness. However it was hard enough to stay standing as it was, and his medical training had evaporated without a trace, leaving only shock in its wake. Peter couldn't remember the proper procedure for gunshot wounds to the stomach, so he just worked on simple, human instinct and clamped his hands over the crippling source of agony in his abdomen as if by pressing tightly enough it might counteract the pain. It didn't.
"You're going to be fine, Peter." Noah's calm voice flowed into Peter's awareness, groggy at first. Then the next words landed clearly enough that he would have suspected his insides had disappeared had they not been literally oozing out into his hands. "I'm sorry it had to come to this. Just let us sedate him and we'll let you heal. You can still walk away from this... if you hand him over. Your choice."
Seeing his own terror in Sylar's eyes, slowly everything clunked into place in Peter's mind. How could he have been so stupid...?! The workshop, the hospital... Noah had never lost track of Sylar. He'd just thrown fuel on the fire, planted the seed of doubt, done enough damage to ensure he sent Peter right to this very spot. To Sylar. To be used as bait... as leverage. He should've seen it coming... he should've been smarter...
"Noa... h-he – didn... d- it..." Peter tried to insist, but the only thing that rushed up his throat was a stream of blood that burned like acid on the way out.
( )
A fracture ran through Noah's unaffected persona when Peter succumbed to a painful coughing fit. Dammit, the rookie team had been careless and hurt him too badly! This was precisely why he had been arguing to the higher ups for more experienced agents! It was alright though, this didn't change the plan. It just narrowed the deadline.
"Peter...!" Noah prompted warningly and lofted his gun, glancing at Sylar when he again made to cross to the groaning, panting man's side. The agent had no intentions of actually killing his own sort-of-pseudo-family, of course. But Sylar didn't need to know that in order to keep him in tow. Danger was positively emanating from the murderer like palpable heat, and he looked maybe more threatening now than he had done for a good few years: caught in place and imprisoned by the invisible chains of a weakness being manipulated. Finally the tables were turned! Noah almost couldn't believe it was actually working, that Sylar could possibly care enough about someone else to co-operate here! But it was and apparently he did, and Noah knew better than to ruin his plan through questioning the details. There was plenty time for that later. Even if this man's friendship with Peter was still a thorn in Noah's side, at least it had its silver lining...
That was, unless things were taking a less than ideal turn. The empath's trembling, curled form was draining uncomfortably fast, and he still showed no signs of giving in, or even doing much more than fighting with everything he had to stay on his own two feet. Surely he wasn't actually willing to bleed out for that son of a bitch?! Naturally, the conclusion that Peter Petrelli valued his own life less than others – including strangers', including Noah's – wasn't a new one. But dying to save... this, the man who had massacred his way through Peter's family like a tornado, couldn't have been more different than dying to save an innocent young girl from that very same savage once upon a time!
Angela had said nothing of this.
Surely she wouldn't have tipped him off, wouldn't have told Noah about her dream or sent him the footage of Sylar at the rig if she'd known Peter would die once they followed this thread? She may be a severe, intimidating woman with questionable morals, but in the end her deeds all came down to doing what was best for either one or both of her sons. And now that Nathan was gone, Noah had a hard time believing that Mrs Petrelli would so easily lose her only remaining family. She would have foreseen Peter's death if it were to be, surely? And yet had never mentioned it, which must be a good sign. She'd never been wrong in the past, Noah assured himself, and so chose to believe that this plan was going to work. It had to.
There wasn't the option of letting Peter heal before getting hands on Sylar, or Noah knew without a doubt both himself and his entire team would be wiped out by the enraged, telekinetic killing machine within seconds. But the younger man was still slipping at a worrying pace, so, changing tactic, Noah spoke the next words pointedly in Sylar's direction. "Quickly now, Peter! Claire would never forgive me if you died!"
( )
Died. Peter. Just the two words in proximity were enough to snap Sylar out of his dazed state of uselessness. It couldn't be, not Peter, not the only good thing Sylar had ever had! Not after the little man had survived so much, cheated death so many times already; not after everything they'd fought through to finally get to this stage; all those years together, all those endless days and nights... Tearing his gaze from his friend and into the company man's now repaired glasses, Sylar diluted his encompassing fear into anger.
They were supposed to save the world... they were supposed to fix everything...
"Bennet. Don't." He growled, trying not to break apart in front of the enemy. Another choking retch from Peter rolled a fresh batch of shivers down Sylar's spine. "You've got it all wrong." He glared with everything he had, forcing himself not to blink his itching, stinging eyes. His arm was still wavering in the air, never having reached its destination, but he couldn't bear to withdraw it.
"I think it's too late for negotiating, don't you?" Noah said, standing with professional resolve and not one tremor in his gun hand.
The smug bugger had planned it all! Right from the moment he'd seen those drawings in Sylar's workshop! Noah had laid the groundwork meticulously: it was slapped all over that twisted smirk. Sylar's stomach plummeted when he realised right then that he was bound to the path forced upon him. Because he knew what was coming next. And he knew he had no other choice.
Noah's smirk tightened. Oh, how Sylar fucking hated him. "That is... unless you're suddenly willing to come quietly?"
( )
Oh god... it hurt, it hurt. Definitely more than usual because this time there was no guarantee of recovering. The knowledge alone that this wasn't about to get better exploded Peter's every nerve ending into further crackles of pain. It wasn't as bad as the shotgun to the chest he'd endured before, but at the same time he'd succumbed to that wound too quickly to dwell on the pain, or the sensation of bleeding to death. This time, however...
His limbs were trembling outside his control and his throat was wet and sticky and searing as it regurgitated more hot liquid in hollowing bursts like vomit. He couldn't feel his legs, couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, was choking on his own blood and he fucking hurt everywhere like a sizzling poker to the skin. It wasn't just the bodily pain that was eating him up – it was the humiliation, too. The heartbreak at not being able to stop this, not being able to help. And at being the catalyst that had made it all possible in the first place.
Peter was no stranger to physical ailments, and even now he battled through the haze of affliction and lack of oxygen to draw Sylar's eyes unto him as if by sheer will. Words failed him so he weakly shook his head to get his point across instead, reading even from his companion's hazy, blurred face the unthinkable, the impossible, what even until now he hadn't quite had the nerve to believe: Sylar was seriously considering turning himself in. For Peter.
But no! He was innocent! If Primatech had been the warm up, and Renautas was the finals, then Peter could only imagine the sorts of... detainment they had in mind for a man who couldn't be easily disposed of. And there was no way in hell or heaven or even the purgatory of their shared dream that Peter was going to let that happen! Even if he was currently slipping from consciousness, seriously losing his balance and unable to access the ability that could save him.
( )
"Is he really worth it...?" Noah kneaded. Sylar couldn't tell who he was addressing that time, him or Peter, but he had his answer anyway. All he needed was one more glance at the rivulets of blood dripping between his only friend's long, pale fingers to know. It was a no brainer.
Before Sylar could even form a vocal confession, Peter drew in a long, struggling breath, his first in too long. Sylar watched as courage caressed his deathly white face and determination flashed in his eyes, and in that extended, prolonged, slowed down second before anything else happened... he read the little man's full intention from one twitch of his body.
All Sylar could do was prepare to catch him as Peter hurled himself clumsily across the space and slammed into Sylar hard enough to wind him and send them both reeling. He heard more deafening gunshots, felt something hard and cold hit his back... then shatter and disappear. And suddenly there was nothing but icy wind in his ears and a warm body in his arms as the window zipped up into the night sky above and shards of glass floated past his face.
The fall should have been terrifying. Should have been a horrific final deed for these now mortal men. Instead it was surreal, like a hallucination, like it wasn't really happening. Maybe Sylar had accidentally fallen asleep back in the apartment and dreamed the whole ambush? Maybe this dizzying lurch behind his navel was really just him waking up...?
The sensation was unmatched, more thrilling than flying because there were no certainties here except the inevitable pull of gravity. It was an exquisite experience in its own way, an adrenaline high unlike any Sylar had experienced in years. The former killer felt himself be swept along by the jostling air around him as he plummeted almost in slow motion, entranced and stunned all at once by the sudden drop, the possibility that this could be the end of everything... and the realisation that Peter would rather die this way than let Renautas get him.
Only Peter Petrelli would be foolish enough to do this, Sylar thought, grabbing despairingly at nothing as the familiar body was ripped out of his hold by the fall. He knew he should've been angry at the stupid little idiot for pushing him out a window, but somehow he couldn't be mad about it. Instead he just watched in awe as his only friend soared gracefully through the sky beside him: so gentle, resigned, beautiful in his descent rather than flailing around like Sylar knew he was currently. But that was because Peter was hurt. That was because Peter was dying.
At least he looked peaceful. At least they were going out together. Sylar drank in the sight of the empath just in case he never had the chance to again: his dark hair dancing as if underwater, his eyes closed, face serene like he was merely asleep although his shining, ruby red lips gave it away... he made it look so easy... like he belonged up here in the sky, where it had all began. The sudden reminder of that first, fateful jump years ago resonated through Sylar so vividly that he completely forgot it wasn't his own memory. He remembered flying up to catch this young man; then he remembered being pulled over the side of a school by him; carrying him through the sky to Haiti; slipping from his grasp and falling the height of the hospital; then soaring together towards flashing, neon, carnival lights in the distance... it was always Peter. Sylar had never shared the sky with anyone else. It was fitting, in that way.
Maybe it was destiny that they end this relationship the exact same way it started back in Texas? At least Sylar couldn't think of a better way for death to take him, even if he wasn't ready. He wouldn't choose to be beside anyone other than this human being who was here with him now, yet just out of reach.
Although he felt like he'd already fallen a hundred miles, and the ground was definitely racing up behind him, Sylar couldn't make himself fathom it properly. He didn't know what to expect. Didn't know how much time he had left. All he was aware of as he ungracefully tumbled through the sky was that he couldn't possibly take his eyes off P –
( )
Looking down on the two bodies lying entangled on the ground, Noah's knuckles whitened on the windowsill. He could feel all eyes on him from behind, but wasn't quite ready to face them yet.
There was still time to salvage this. There was still time...
( )
Slowly, he became aware that there was hard, cracked concrete under his cheek. A brisk wind tugging his hair. Something warm at his side. And then pain exploded everywhere.
Peter heaved air into his repairing, draining lungs like nectar, like water after a drought, coughing and blinking away the clammy fog of death from his being. His entire body continued to sting and ache as he wriggled to get his hands under him enough to push up from the blood-soaked road that had evidently broken his fall.
With a pained, echoing cry he waited out the process of his skeleton putting itself back together, scrunched up his eyes and clenched his fists against the cold ground as copper ripped through his healing skin anew. A little chorus of clinks echoed around the street as the initial bullet fell from his torso, closely followed by the last few shot after him as he'd crashed through the glass before. It was never an enjoyable experience coming back to life, but Peter rode it out with gritted teeth until the knitting of his flesh stopped and there was nothing left but the raw, numb, tingling sensation throbbing and pulsing all over.
"Tell me..." The panting growl to his right drew Peter's full attention, and he thankfully took in the sight of an equally bloody and disgruntled Sylar. "Tell me you knew we'd heal."
Peter answered only with a guilty look, shakily getting to his feet and helping Sylar up. At least it had worked though, right? At least they'd both gotten out of there together. He didn't even want to think what might have happened if Renautas had got its claws on Sylar... Peter glowered up at his now broken window high above, where two dark shapes stood watching them. He didn't know the full range of Rene's ability, but it seemed Peter's hunch had been proven right, and that the height of a New York City apartment block was no match for him. Thankfully.
Sylar appeared at his shoulder, grateful eyes burning into Peter's back. The empath recognised and stored the unspoken relief and worry there – he knew how panic-stricken Sylar had been back in the apartment, and would never forget why he'd almost wrongfully sacrificed himself. Peter's heart was still racing from the adrenaline, regeneration, and perhaps something else too, but right now wasn't the time to broach such fragile topics.
"Where the hell did you get that idea anyway?" Sylar chided, his tone irritated, a mask for the emotions Peter could presently feel exuding from him.
"Claire."
"Huh, might've known. She does love a dramatic exit." Peter turned to see Sylar rolling his eyes and attempting to wipe blood from his temple with his sleeve.
"Lets get outta here..." With a light hold on the taller man's elbow, Peter started them off running out of sight of their observers. Noah had been right – it seemed it was too late for negotiating. They were past that stage now, outlaws by choice this time. For despite the bounty on their heads, there was still an explosion to stop. With or without Renautas' blessing.
( )
As the troops clanged their way down the fire escape, Noah watched the two shadows disappear into the darkness of the night. Just as well this seasoned man was an expert at masking his emotions, because a tantrum wouldn't exactly do him any favours. Goddammit! Noah hadn't listened to the third party doubts because this time all angles had been covered: the bait, the element of surprise, Rene...! And, truthfully, he had been too invested, his ego too bruised, to take Sylar down any other way than his way. Noah had put the most time into this chase, didn't he deserve to win on his own means? But now it seemed it was back to the drawing board for what must've been the hundredth time concerning that damned, slippery watchmaker.
Clearing his throat, Noah finally met the probing gaze of his old friend. "Don't say 'I told you so'." He warned, wishing he'd given the man's earlier advice more thought.
René's dark eyes just blinked knowingly.
( )( )( )
Sirens screamed and music blared, car horns wailed and raised voices filtered through the walls of the surrounding buildings. It was a city soundtrack like all the others, but one unique to only New York at night. The moon was nowhere to be seen tonight beneath dusty clouds, the air chilled, the darkness heavy and thick. Therefore, very easy to get lost in.
Nobody passed who could have paid any attention to the two men running together through the shadows, both bloody and dishevelled, one sporting conspicuous holes in his jacket – the other, his beloved sweater. Two pairs of feet sounded out through the empty back streets of the city and were quickly swallowed up in the ruckus of life pressing in from all sides.
Peter tried not to think that this was the first time in a long time he'd strayed further than his route to and from work at night, and pushed back the tingling anxiety at the over-populated, unfamiliar area. Now was not the time. There was a much more important matter at hand here, one that should hopefully distract him from having to think about living out of place ever again. Or at least for a while.
( )
Finally, Peter and Sylar ducked into a hidden alley, cocooned between towering walls and shielded from prying eyes. Peter instantly sagged back against rough brick to catch his breath while Sylar bent double, having both ran non-stop far beyond any potential pursuit.
Sylar was oddly grateful for his weather-inappropriate attire, and allowed the wind to brush through his sweater and cool his heated skin. "So..." He sighed as regeneration swiftly eased his burning muscles. "What now?"
"We go back." Peter panted, straightening up and pushing his hair off his face. "Back to before the explosion."
Suddenly a bang and an angry shout echoed from an apartment overhead, causing Peter to flinch... it was only a door slamming. There was a second of alarm before the little man subconsciously inched closer to Sylar, and re-affirmed the determination on his face. The watchmaker hid the sympathy from his expression, instead focusing on his present enquiry. "You're still sure? After what just happened?"
"More than ever." Peter insisted, his gaze subtly darting around the shadows, the high windows lining each side of the alley and the open end unfolding out into the street. "All those people don't have to die, Sylar." Seemingly satisfied that they were, in fact, alone here, Peter turned his dazzling eyes to the watchmaker. "...And Noah doesn't have to be hunting you."
It was noble and touching that he would go to such lengths to preserve Sylar's, and everyone else's, best interests. But at the same time, the intelligent man just wanted to be sure that this decision was one truly thought through, and not one that Peter was jumping into wildly with the best of intentions but no rationale, just because he was craving a chance to prove himself. It wouldn't be the first time, after all, and the fallout from their actions here could be colossal whichever way it went. What if Bennet and his new puppet-master organization breaking and entering a private apartment, getting scarily close to killing Peter and capturing Sylar was the best case scenario out of all possible timelines? It had seemed like such a great idea before, to go back, and while of course Sylar still wanted to save the day and be heroes... at heart he wasn't a spontaneous man who would just jump blindly and hope for the best.
That's not to say he wouldn't unwittingly be pushed, though. Evidently. "What if we make things worse?" He asked quietly, catching the shadow of a frown that flitted across Peter's brow. "What if we go back, and that makes the rig explode in the first place?"
For a moment Peter was silent, worrying, thinking, before he shook his head. "No. If we don't go back, there'll be nochance of ever fixing it. At least this way they have a chance."
True, that thinking seemed sound enough, but still Sylar wasn't quite satisfied. He approached the topic delicately, cautious of shooting down the first flash of ambition Peter had responded to in weeks. "You want to preserve the future we drew, right?" The guy nodded, absorbing every millimetre of Sylar's face as he visibly wound up tighter inside in concern. "Time is so delicate, it just seems illogical to mess with things, therefore changing this timeline in an attempt to make the future we predicted in this present happen –"
"Alright, Spock..." Peter scoffed gently, pacing away a step in thought. When he turned back, half-hidden in darkness and just a tiny shape in this huge wide world, the light in his eyes illuminated the alley like two little hopeful flames. "I know. Okay, I know it's dangerous. Yeah, all this time travel stuff is confusing, but what isn't is that we already drew that timeline. We're supposed to go back. Jimmy, the Mills and all the other victims... they're relying on us, Sylar! It's you and me – nobody else is gonna help them if we don't do this!" Those flames glowed brighter then, purer, deliciously stimulating Sylar's sweet spot in unison with their owner's soft, gravelly tone. "Please, just... I can't do this without you."
His idea still possessed the citrus flavour of passion overriding logic, but the tingling truth had dripped from Peter's red stained lips and into the hidden alcove within Sylar that longed to be wanted. Needed. How could he turn down his big moment, the chance he'd been waiting for (even, secretly, before starting on his path to redemption)? And how could he say no to that face and those words and that sentiment? One of the most stupid, but also charming, things about the youngest Petrelli was that he trusted his heart more than anything his brain would ever come up with. And, for better or worse, Sylar trusted Peter.
( )
His pulse was tickling through his limbs like swirling feather dusters, the wait excruciating as Peter put his all into willing Sylar to be with him on this. It was time already! Ever since Claire had jumped in Central Park, Peter had been holding himself back from this very moment, ignoring his screaming instincts and instead listening to the outside voices of authority. He knew what he wanted and he knew what needed doing, but he had hardly waited this long only to disregard the most important opinion at the final hurdle...
So when Sylar's eyebrows dropped by a millimetre, Peter felt himself grow heavy with relief and gratitude. "Alright." The taller man conceded, an exhilarated smile prodding at his lips. "I'm in."
Peter only nodded, beyond words and instead thanking his friend silently through his expression. He could feel it already, silkily coiling around his veins and kicking in like the sublime first hit of a drug: it was starting again. A mission. A real, live adventure the likes of setting off into the world to stop New York from exploding or the Shanti Virus from being released, and there was no description to convey how much Peter had missed that. He was going to help people! He was going to make a difference! He was finally going to be able to sprint as full a distance as he was capable, and not just laps around the too constricting play pen of the hospital. Sure, it was never the most funof circumstances to be on the run or a hunt or chase and away from home for weeks or months at a time, but that didn't mean it wasn't right. Sylar's words rang around Peter's head, echoing in their truth: 'We weren't made to be normal, Peter, we were made for so much more'... finally, after weeks of failing to blend in to this "life", after years of fighting that brick wall to get back to this, Peter was more than ready to get going! And now with Sylar willingly by his side, there was nothing left standing in the way...!
Caught up on the crest of adrenaline and nerves and anticipation, Peter's hands shook as he fumbled into his pocket and drew out his phone... only to endure all those wonderful fluttery feelings disappearing in a painful puff of smoke.
Shit... He stared, blinking helplessly down at the cracked screen and broken, twisted parts that should have made up the device. No! No...! It must've been the fall... And now he'd lost the only segue into the next stage, the only contact to Hiro Nakamura... the only way to undo everything... Starting to panic, Peter turned pleadingly to his friend. "D'you have...?" Peter meant to ask 'd'you have Hiro's number?', even though he knew Sylar didn't, but the man surprised him by reaching over and scooping the broken phone out of Peter's hand without warning or invitation.
Confused, the paramedic trailed Sylar as he sourced the best column of light in the dim alley and hunkered down cross-legged on the cold ground. What...?
"It's alright. This shouldn't take too long..." Sylar murmured, carefully laying down the plastic shell and dispersing the shattered contents beside it. It took an embarrassingly long time for Peter to realise what the guy was doing, what every deliberate, diligent twitch of a raised finger meant, why he was concentrating so intensely on the phone.
And suddenly Peter almost couldn't breathe with gratitude. Not just because Sylar was repairing their only lifeline to fixing the past, but because he was doing so with a calmness, patience and perseverance that Peter knew he didn't possess himself. He stood behind the man on the ground, really looking at him while his attention was elsewhere. Peter had never been too good with words, but wished he had the capacity to voice how much he valued Sylar's strength. The way he so naturally always just got down to it without complaint, how genuinely willing to help he was, and how he would put aside his own desires for Peter's if need be. Sometimes it was without a single word being uttered, sometimes it was after a very vocal fight, but Sylar was always there exactly when Peter needed him. And he always knew the right thing to say. To do. It was in times like this when the paramedic couldn't even begin to associate his brother's murderer with the best friend he'd ever had.
Only now that they were safely out of range of Bennet for the present, the full connotations of the ordeal back at his apartment walloped Peter all at once like an oversized mallet. It wasn't falling to his death and reviving, again, that shook him most (although, he had to admit, this time was a little harder to shake off than the others); it was how narrowly he'd avoided watching Sylar be dragged to the gallows before his eyes. The guy had been this close to handing himself over for Peter's sake... He felt sick at the thought of it. Had no clue what he'd have done with himself if Sylar had been – actually, that wasn't true. Obviously he'd have gone to rescue him. But what if he'd been too late? Or unable to save him...?
"Hey –" Peter cleared his throat. "...Thanks." He managed quietly, grateful for the darkness disguising his burning cheeks.
A light chuckle came from the hunched shape of Sylar. "No problem. It's a little tricky without proper tools but trust me, I deal with more complicated jobs than this ten times a day at work. We're lucky: it's just superficial damage –"
"No." Before Peter even noticed, he was crossing the rough asphalt and slipping a hand over Sylar's shoulder from behind, squeezing gently. "Thank you. For back there. You didn't have to – you shouldn't have..." The watchmaker's face tipped up this time, the humour fading from his mouth and his dark eyes glistening with sincerity.
"You'd have done the same for me."
Peter felt his eyebrows twist without his consent, his throat close and his facial muscles tighten, and he said nothing. He couldn't, anyway, just hoped to convey his swelling heart through the warmth of his palm and a slight crinkle of his eyes. Sylar smiled warmly in reply. They must look a state, Peter thought suddenly: slinking away down alleyways at night having just been shot, killed and resurrected. He didn't care. He was verging dangerously close to either crying on Sylar or hugging him – both options were a little embarrassing and inappropriate at this vital moment where fate hung in the balance, but Peter could feel his resolve slipping by the second.
Thankfully, the reformed villain turned back to his intricate task, slotting the last piece into place with a small "ah" of satisfaction. Grateful for the distraction, Peter stepped back and forced himself not to relent to his emotional cravings in order to allow Sylar the space to untangle his long legs, climb to his feet and hold out the now perfectly working, although still cracked, phone.
( )
"Destiny awaits." Sylar chimed, watching fondly as Peter took the device without so much as brushing Sylar's fingers with his own, then quickly set about switching the thing on. Suddenly the guy was engrossed in his work, but Sylar could still feel those eyes upon him. Could still feel that burning palm imprinted on his shoulder. He glowed inside. It was always a luxury to be appreciated, nobody else ever thanked him for anything – even Elle hadn't uttered a word in thanks when he'd had his throat slit to allow her escape! So yes, it was a luxury, one that Sylar was pretty sure would never grow old. He really hoped it wouldn't.
As he watched his friend's familiar form doing nothing but simply standing there by his side, he was hit by just how immeasurably relieved he was that the guy had yet again evaded the Grim Reaper. Even if just narrowly. Although he wasn't about to actually say it, Sylar had been a million times more horrified by his friend's brush with death than the deadly disaster that they were going to all this bother to reverse. It might be awful of him, it might not be very heroic or honourable, but Sylar knew that if he had to, he would trade the lives of those strangers for Peter's in a heartbeat. It was a hidden thought, that little guilty voice that stood strong on its position despite not speaking up unless prompted, but it was there all the same. Not a very encouraging thought for the progress he thought he'd been making in nobility.
Changing this train of thought from one so inflicting, Sylar dragged his awareness back to the here and now. And what they were really about to do. The realisation that Hiro Nakamura could well be standing here in a second washed over him suddenly, and an unwelcome flock of frantic, fluttering creatures stirred to life in his stomach. Talking of honourable... "Do you think he'll answer this time?" He asked nonchalantly.
"...I dunno. Hopefully." Peter confessed, glancing up briefly. Shit, it was obvious from that look that Sylar hadn't been as successful in hiding his nerves as he'd intended. He threw on a neutral, patient expression, but it was too late and he knew he'd been read already. Mercifully, Peter didn't push the topic. "D'you wanna go see if the coast is clear?" He asked softly.
Although it was embarrassing to blatantly accept this escape route, it wasn't as openly vulnerable as stating outright that Sylar was fearing the Japanese man's reaction upon seeing him. Why would the Master of Time and Space ever want to help the infamous Boogeyman? Thoughts of Hiro screaming, calling him names or – even worse – running him through again with that damn sword rose unbidden, and suddenly Sylar was very aware that this would be the first time one of the other heroes would come face to face with him since his redemption. And down a dark alley of all places!
He cringed at how pathetic it was that he and Peter even bother with a pretence they both could see straight through. But he took it anyway. Partly for himself, partly for the sake of the mission: it was a lot more likely that things would go smoothly if Sylar wasn't in the vicinity...
After quickly surveying Peter with his perceptive intuition to see that, yes, it seemed he would be alright here on his own for a minute, Sylar nodded. "Be right back."
"'Kay. Be careful."
( )
Sylar melted into the darkness too quickly for comfort, and Peter let his crunching footsteps reassure him. Then turned to focus on the four letters shining through his fractured screen. The same ones that had taunted him for weeks now, that had sat there laughing at him the whole time. Sylar was right: destiny was waiting. Taking a breath, pacing in an attempt to walk off his nerves, Peter readied himself –
Then almost jumped out of his skin as his ringtone pierced the air, rebounding back off the towering buildings to each side. Startled and thrown, it took a moment to make sense of what was happening. Then Peter's stomach somersaulted – destiny wasn't just waiting, it was calling!
"Hiro?!"
"Peeta Petrellee?"
Peter stopped in his tracks and puffed out in surprise. "Yeah! Yeah, it's me!" Buzzing at the timing of fate (fate, not a coincidence – because there were no such things) he cast an exhilarated glance at Sylar to share the moment... before remembering he wasn't standing there anymore. Right. It was insane to think he hadn't heard this man's voice for years. It was exactly the same as when he'd last heard it, so familiar and so synonymous with everything working out alright that Peter physically felt himself relax. "It's good to hear from you, buddy, I was just about to call you."
"I know."
Oh. Heart pounding, Peter waited for an elaboration. Which never came. So he shook himself and cleared his throat, getting back to business. "So... you know why?"
"Yes. I got your messages."
Still nothing further, no indication of which reaction was coming. Peter itched to launch into a billion questions about where Hiro had been, what he had seen, why he hadn't changed anything and how long he'd been back...! But to save from scaring the guy off so soon, he steeled himself and cut right to the chase, forcing it out in one breath. "Okay... I need to borrow your power."
"No." Came Hiro's instant reply.
Peter blinked, a little surprised by this answer if he was honest. "No? Just like that – 'no'?" He frowned, confused. Okay, so maybe that everything-working-out-alright mindset had been a bit premature. "Wh... why?"
"You cannot travel into the future Peeta Petrellee! Sometimes mistakes have to be made in order to learn, no matter the sacrifice!" Hiro cried, suddenly all insistence and misplaced passion.
Overwhelmed, Peter struggled to process the unexpected flurry of his tone and words at once. "What? I'm not gonna go forward, Hiro, I'm going back." He said gently, hoping to soothe the unexpected intensity of the Japanese man's voice. Jeez, who wasn't out to get him today? Hiro had always been a given, a moral compass who was infallible in knowing the right path ahead. But this didn't make any sense! He was normally on neutral ground, outside all the commotion going on within the tightest circle of lies and deceptions. So unless Renautas had somehow gotten to him (which Peter struggled to believe) then it must be some other reason that the man's guard was risen towards him.
"No! You cannot change the past! The cheerleader has to make the jump!" Hiro insisted.
"Woah, woah, wait. Hold up –" Peter pressed his phone closer to his ear, extremely aware that he was clearly out of his depth here. "Listen to me, I'm not gonna undo history. Alright?" Not too far, at least. "I'm only going back a few hours: I dunno if you heard, but a lot of innocent people died today. I need to savethem."
A ringing silence crackled through the line as Hiro apparently thought it over. This time he was calm, almost sorrowful, and ringing with reminders of the first time Peter had met the wise, ponytailed man from the future. "You must not mess with fate, Peeta Petrellee. I have seen yours. I cannot help you, I am sorry – you must walk your own path without intervention."
Peter's eyelids closed briefly as he took a second to ward off the creeping despair. Would Hiro really not help? Foolishly, this had been an aspect that had never once factored into Peter's many plans over the past weeks. Talking slowly, he fought not to sound desperate, settling for coming off as just a little pleading. "But I painted it, Hiro. I saw my fate too and I'm telling you – it's to help those people. I know it." He gnawed his lip agitatedly, tasting the metallic residue of blood still lingering there. "I need your ability to undo an explosion. That's all. This has nothing to do with Claire or the carnival, I just wanna help. Please."
Once more there was a delayed response from Hiro, and one that seemed to stretch on for eternity before Peter cleared his throat and tried again. "So will you help me?" To a reply of only more silence, he called more persistently. "Hiro...?"
Just as Peter was certain that the time traveller had given up on him, he stumbled backwards in fright as the little Japanese man himself suddenly popped into being right there in the alleyway. Numb with relief, Peter hung up and crossed the space towards his stout, round-faced companion.
"Hey, thanks for this, you have no idea what it means..." He started, extending a hand to shake Hiro's. Only to have him tense up and shuffle back a few inches. Wounded, but pretending he hadn't noticed, Peter instead crossed his arms tightly in order to hide his hands and hopefully reassure his visitor that he wasn't about to steal the ability without consent. It niggled at him though that Hiro would even think such a thing of him.
( )
He did not look dangerous at all. In fact, he looked very fragile indeed. Shaken and blood soaked and very obviously on the run: he was a ghost of the vibrant, lively man Hiro had first met in person at Kirby Plaza; a stark contrast to the scarred and strong figure who had fought his way to Hiro in a forgotten future. He just looked desperate. Hopeful. And Hiro sympathised with this man. Even though – no, especially because – he knew what he was going to become.
He wished he could help, wished he could warn him. But, as Hiro had already said, sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.
"If I give you my power..." He said suspiciously, narrowing his eyes slightly as Peter shifted nervously from foot to foot. "You cannot abuse it." He sternly pushed his slipping glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose.
Peter flinched at the insinuation, badly trying to hide how much it had hurt. It really was a shame, but Hiro could not be too careful. "Of course not. I would never –"
"And you must promise not to step on too many butterflies."
"I..." The paramedic faded into silence, seemingly at a loss of what else to say. It was obvious that he had been expecting this encounter to go very differently, that he had not thought Hiro had this in him. Well, Hiro could say the same regarding Peter. Very visibly, the younger man waded through his bruised emotions in order to find what Hiro was seeking. "...I promise."
It was not fair to hold this version of the man responsible for what he had not even done yet. No. It was not very honourable. But Hiro could not help but recall the sight of Peter Petrelli slaughtering his way through a crowded street months from now. He did not yet know what would cause the change or when it was going to happen, all he knew was that destiny was foretold, and Hiro and his ability had a duty to abide by it. Even then, though, he also had a duty to the innocent people Peter wanted to save today.
The empath's face was difficult to make out clearly in the darkness, but Hiro could see enough of it to witness the vulnerability and dying hope there. He did not want to be the cause of that expression, especially since he had always liked to consider Peter an ally. He was brave and selfless and, for now, good... and if Hiro had to gift his cherished power to anyone he knew, he would have chosen this man. Currently, there was no reason to turn him down and no sense of danger to be found... so at least today, the world would be in safe hands.
"...O.K." Hiro sated defiantly. "I am choosing to trust you." With only a slight hesitance, he held out his hand. It was clasped gently by the soft touch of a cautious man who was trying not to scare off his only hope. "But be careful."
"Thank you." Peter murmured, granting Hiro a good attempt at a smile.
The Japanese man was suddenly thrown back to when he'd woken in a hospital bed to that same face and same, sad smile. Peter had been a warm source of comfort and trust then, when Hiro had been sure his time was up. He had been kind, patient and had gone above and beyond in order to help. Hiro wished it did not have to be the way he had foreseen, but sometimes a hero must fall from grace in order to save the world.
It was a pleasant, tingly sensation to have his ability tenderly pried from him, and the moment the golden light faded from Peter's skin the man seemed to alight with optimism and purpose. "I really appreciate it, Hiro, thank you! We won't let you down!" Peter promised with a comforting squeeze, now only holding onto Hiro's hand with both of his own for the kind gesture of it. Hiro even began to feel quite hopeful about this... until the stubborn oddness of that word began to sink in.
"Wait a second..." He mused aloud, head tilting to the side and voice coming out very small. "'We'?"
The relief that had just seconds ago been rippling over the paramedic dimmed just slightly as Hiro let his hand fall to his side, his eyes swivel themselves into the gaping shadows engulfing the surrounding alley, and his ears finally identify the sound of approaching footsteps.
Just as a tall, unmistakable silhouette broke the darkness. ...Pinchi?
( )
"I know what you're going to say..." Sylar drawled, strolling towards the recognisable shape of Peter with deliberate levity. God knows the poor guy needed some cheering up before they launched into their grand adventure. "'How can you think about food at a time like this?' - but don't worry, I disguised myself, and you haven't eaten all day am I right...?" He chuckled and took another bite of his make-shift dinner before lofting the two, steaming hot dogs to his face and performing a great sniff for show. "Mmmm...!"
Then Sylar froze, mouth full, suddenly burning with embarrassment and furious with himself for underestimating how long things would take. Because Hiro hadn't been and gone in the time it had taken Sylar to shape-shift, locate a hot dog stand and find his way back again. No, there was the Master of Time and Space now, standing annoyingly where Peter's shadow had been hiding him until it had been far too late.
Hiro was staring, standing up as straight as he possibly could as if in defence, concern leaking around the look of surprise on his face... but somehow... there wasn't as much surprise as Sylar thought there should have been. It was more as if the guy had been taken off guard by a guest arriving an hour early to the party, rather than the absolute shock he should be experiencing at having Sylar waltz up to him in a dark, secluded place with a mouthful of hot dog. This uncertainty was actually more jarring than a front-on attack would have been, and it was only after Sylar caught Peter's wide, prompting eyes that he choked down his too large bite and awkwardly greeted the man he had been hoping to avoid entirely.
"Hiro." He said politely, testing the waters because he had no clue what else to do.
To the watchmaker's utter astonishment, Hiro didn't run screaming for the hills. Or stop time and break his neck. Or even confront him with one of those godawful speeches about the differences between good and bad. He just deflated, relaxed as if confirming a great suspicion, and performed a little bow. "Brain Man."
( )
Okay... so clearly he hadn't been prepared for this interaction at all. Everything had been the opposite of what Peter had expected would happen, and while Hiro's doubt and accusations were still throbbing painfully in his bruised chest – this next startling turn of events was chugging its way slowly through his perception. It had almost gone kind-of-smoothly. He had the ability now, they were so close, and Peter couldn't handle another setback today...! But, bizarrely, it seemed that wasn't what the cards predicted.
"You don't seem surprised to see me." Sylar tested cautiously, keeping amazingly calm while Peter's nerves were fraying over here. He watched as his friend's shoulders raised a fraction, but nothing else betrayed the restlessness that Peter knew was overcoming him inside.
"No." Hiro stated, drawing Peter's attention again. Strange... the way he was looking at Sylar now. With curiosity, with admiration... even pride? "I knew you two would become friends. I just did not expect it would be so quickly."
Trying to diffuse the tension, Sylar exhaled an humourless breath as he pressed a hot dog into Peter's hand. "Trust me, it's not been 'quickly' –"
"Wait! Wait." Peter cried, sifting his free hand through his hair and ignoring the fragrant food when something so much more important was going on here. "You – you know? You saw us?" He asked Hiro. "In the future...?" Was it ridiculous to care so much when someone approached this relationship with something other than torches and pitchforks? Outsiders' opinions didn't matter, really, that's what Peter had been telling himself (and Sylar) for weeks...! Yet, it was astoundingly wonderful not to have to break out the argument and defences yet again.
The foreigner's eyes danced between Peter and Sylar, the former listening expectantly and the latter suddenly busying himself in his meal and avoiding eye contact. "Yes. I saw a lot of things."
( )
It appeared that the old reliable, look-busy-and-they-won't-notice-you trick failed badly, because Sylar could feel both pairs of eyes upon him as he picked at his food. Great, so here it was after all – the inevitable lecture about how Sylar was evil and soulless and had no hope of anything before him but a lonely, forgetful death...
He wasn't hungry anymore. He still felt like such an intruder to this little hero-meeting when strategies were discussed and the plan to take down the problem was created. From the outside he'd always wondered if the good guys stood in a circle and threw about ideas like a design team until they came up with the most annoying conclusion to get in his way. Somehow, the thought that they literally just called each other up had always seemed stupid, as if it couldn't possibly be done so casually.
It was a strange tangent to get caught up in during this heated moment concerning the future, but all at once Sylar was very aware that he had once been the Big Baddie and that he was now clumsily trying to inch his way into the group like that one friend nobody likes but always tags along anyway. Like back when he and Peter had drawn the future together, Sylar wasn't sure he wanted to know what was in store for him if it conflicted with what he wanted to happen. And especially not if Hiro kept staring at him like that.
He took another, uncharacteristically small, bite of his hot dog just for something to do, using his peripheral vision to see that Peter still hadn't touched his food (no surprise there, but at least the regeneration should have taken care of that empty stomach for a few hours yet)... and then that Hiro was starting towards him. Sylar involuntarily startled like a cat, his eyes darting to the small, round-faced man and assessing for any sign of attack. There was none.
( )
It was more than a little disarming, and frightening, and uncomfortable... but Hiro did it anyway. He forced his feet to carry him towards the towering killer, being brave the way he always strived to be. Sylar almost shrank back at his approach, and that in itself gave Hiro the extra little push of confidence that he needed.
"Lead with your heart. Sylar." Hiro made the conscious effort to use his chosen name this time. Ignoring the creeping doubts, he stretched towards the soft, fuzzy fabric of the man's sweater and tapped his fingertips to his chest. "...And you will be a good man."
Hiro had never noticed until this moment that The Brain Man's facial features were soft, not severe. That his eyes were packed with emotion, not cold and calculating. Or that his heart beat a rhythm very human, defenceless, just like everyone else's. Up close, it did not seem far-fetched at all to believe this man's evolution into the future version that Hiro had glimpsed.
If only Ando could see how close he had gotten to this person...! It still saddened him to be reminded of the empty space beside him where Ando should have been, even though Hiro had been the one to insist The Crimson Arc retired. A hero's duty is to their family, and with a wedding to plan and a mini-Ando on the way, saving the world as well would just be too much at once. It had been the right thing to do to let Ando go and use his time to be a perfect father and husband, even if Hiro still missed him terribly.
Friendship, Hiro believed, was one of the most precious things in all the universes. Unique to every pair, a beautiful creation of love and affection between those lucky souls who found each other. Like, for example, himself and Ando. And Peter and Sylar. At first it had been surprising, but upon reflection Hiro had decided that this particular friendship before him now made impeccable sense. They needed each other, they complimented each other perfectly. The Light and Dark side of the Force would be nothing without the other to contrast with, in order to be anything remarkable of substance after all, and in that way, Hiro could see that these two men had been bound together all along.
There was a quiet, pleased noise from behind him, a response to this carefully shared foresight of Sylar's future, and Hiro watched as the former villain beamed over his head to share this good news with his adored friend. So it had started already. Who would have thought, right back at the start, that things would unfurl the way they were going to? The way Hiro had witnessed with his own two eyes...? Fate was funny like that.
"...Lead with your heart..." Hiro repeated, tapping Sylar's chest again for emphasis. "And you will be a great teacher."
( )
Peter's stomach flipped and he dropped his proud gaze from Sylar onto Hiro as the latter turned to survey him. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to hear some vague advice about his future, even though Sylar's had been beautiful and wonderful and well-deserved, if a little confusing at the last part. All the same, Peter stood with a racing heart now that it might be his turn, half waiting to see if there was more to come. However, the Japanese man seemed to be finished sharing his wisdom for today. He retracted his hand from Sylar, revealing his underlying nerves by scuffing away from him a little too quickly in a parting gesture.
"Wait –?" Peter took an imploring step across the rough ground. That was it?
"Be brave, Peeta Petrellee." Was all that Hiro said, stopping Peter in his tracks with an all-knowing look and the hint of a nervous smile. It was an expression that said no more questions would be answered, no more secrets alluded to. And even though that trait was one prominent in Hiro Nakamura, a man Peter liked, right then it maddened him. What did that mean? And who was Sylar to teach? Why was he to teach them? It was infuriatingly ambiguous and Peter wasn't sure he liked the insinuations in those statements, the look on Hiro's face, or in fact any of the uncomfortable vibes he'd been picking up from the guy throughout the entire exchange.
"You now have my power. Save those people. ...They will need you. Both." Hiro concluded, before looking meaningfully once more at Sylar and giving the two men another bow. When he straightened up his face was kinder through the depths of so much withheld knowledge, and Peter grasped onto that tiny flicker of support if it was all he was to have. He clenched his jaw to stop from yelling out more questions he knew wouldn't be acknowledged, instead only nodded his farewell as Hiro closed his eyes. Then disappeared.
Peter tried not to notice the squirming of his insides or that he felt somehow smaller now than before he'd spoken to Hiro. He felt uneasy, empty for some reason despite getting the ability and fulfilling the initial goal of the phone call. It should have been a triumph, a small one in the midst of this entire, dreadful day, but instead... Peter found himself half wishing he could re-do the entire conversation. Well, technically he could now, and in a few seconds it wouldn't even have happened and would be wiped from existence to everyone aside from himself and Sylar. But that wasn't the point.
It was probably good though that Hiro had no grand future wisdom for him. ...Right? Besides, what he'd had for Sylar was brilliant! Peter knew how much it meant to his friend to hear his efforts be recognised by a pretty good source of authority on the matter. So he back-kicked the ridiculous, pitiful feeling of neglect and instead forced the pros of the time traveller's visit to outshine the cons in his mind's eye.
Purpose rippled beneath Peter's skin again enticingly, that drug he had long craved relaxing him at last. Now equipped with Hiro's blessing and the godlike power to right all today's wrongs, there finally were no more obstacles in the way of fulfilling destiny! Nothing more than his own human hesitance, anyway. This was it: the last chance to back away and leave the precariously balancing display of life as it was. It might be in desperate need of repair, but at least it was still standing. Peter had no guarantee that his and Sylar's meddling would or wouldn't be that fatal gust of wind that would send the thing crumbling down in pieces; no more assurance to do this other than the pressure pounding within his ribcage and the most intense of gut feelings. They might not be much, but they were his most trusty of weapons, his sword and shield in every manner of existence. And in the face of the alternative solution, that was more than enough for this self-appointed hero to go on.
( )
"So you got it? His ability?" Sylar asked, fighting back the giddy grin that was still toying with his lips as he crossed to Peter's side. He took another bite of his almost finished hot dog to distract his lips from their incessant smiling. He shouldn't be acting so childish about this, really, but hearing that a good future awaited him – Sylar! – after everything he'd done, was bundling him up in warm, plushy arms and spinning him like a child who'd just had their biggest wish confirmed.
"Yeah." The little man said quietly, then coughed and squared his shoulders, turning to look Sylar in the eye with a flicker of resolution still smouldering in his own. "Yeah, I got it."
"That wasn't so bad..." Sylar said, muffled, attempting to tame the euphoric fire that was merrily crackling in his chest. It was a struggle that bested him, trying not to let his relief and delight shine clearly on his face. He couldn't believe it, rationally didn't want to put his hope in the cryptic words of a time traveller, but Sylar knew he'd be wielding the insinuations of Hiro's advice inside until he milked every last glorious drop of it dry.
"No. It wasn't." Peter's words were tenderly wrapped in satisfaction like a gift proudly delivered to a friend who just won himself a gold medal, and Sylar's pleasure only intensified. Oh yes, he wasn't going to forget Hiro's advice anytime soon. With an exhilarating lurch of his organs, Sylar choked down his mouthful and smiled at his companion. There were other matters more pressing than his internal happy dance – the oil rig wouldn't save itself, after all.
"Ready?" He asked, a small sound in the gaping alley.
In response, Peter clapped a hand to Sylar's back: a caring touch that Sylar appreciated at its face value even though he knew it was also a stabilising, reassuring gesture that Peter needed before starting off into the wide world again. He didn't pry. Not when they were finally where Peter had fought so hard to get to. "Yeah. You?" The little man asked brightly, the tremor in his voice microscopic.
In hopes of instilling more of that infectious confidence which Peter had displayed back at the apartment (before fucking Bennet had fucking stormed in and fucking ruined it all), Sylar gently grasped the man's furthest shoulder and tipped his own head down, surveying his friend intently, enthusiastically. Then he purred out the most wonderful, seductive plan to best all other plans that had ever come before this one.
"Lets go be heroes."
Peter's eyes reignited as those flames sparked again with a new lease of life. He shook himself, drew in a deep breath and tightened his fingers in Sylar's sweater, holding on tight. Following by example, Sylar closed his eyes in wait, tensed his muscles, trusted in Peter and could do nothing more than anticipate the unknown sensation of his very first teleportation.
Sirens were still screaming nearby, car horns still wailing, the domestic argument had faded from the overhead window but now heavy, angry music was pounding through the wall... and then suddenly there was biting wind pulling at Sylar's body like hands, the deep rumbling of the ocean echoing all around, and fizzling chills prickling down his form that had nothing to do with his lack of coat.
( )
The two men stood beneath the full, unbroken, towering height of the fateful oil rig, tiny figures under the metal arms that seemed to stretch for miles into the sky above.
It looked so different like this. Real. Last time Peter had been here, crawling through a burning wreck in search of survivors, it had been unrecognisable as this proud structure. Distorted by flame and destruction, the rig had been more akin to a movie set than a real life place of work. Hundreds of people were inside right this second. And they had no idea what was about to happen.
Against his will, Peter was treated to a high definition replay of the memory of burned and broken bodies that had swarmed through the hospital earlier. Or no, not earlier. Later? He wasn't quite sure how to class it, but it didn't even matter anyway. Because now that he was standing here, and now that he was 100% certain that this had been the right thing to do: Peter made a promise to himself, Sylar, Noah, Renautas and every single life that had been impacted in some way by the deaths here. He was not going to let it happen again.
( )( )( )
The sun poured in the badly washed, streaked window, warming his face and twinkling in the empty glass that now held the very last dregs of chocolate milk. Today was a good day. Today was special. Today he was starting to feel more like his old self... and it was also the first day he'd set eyes on his own daughter in person for months.
Lumbering footsteps approached the booth as the waiter performed an admirable attempt not to look hungover. "Anything else I can get you, sir?" He asked flatly, in that tone of a youngster who hates his day job and is only working here to pay off his student debt until he gets his big break one day.
"Another one of these and a coffee." Noah slid the empty glass across the plastic table surface with a smile. Since they'd been apart, he had caught himself picturing the little girl with braces and curly pigtails whenever he thought of his daughter (which, naturally, was often), and sometimes it was difficult to remember that she was now a woman with a swarm of assistants and her own fortune, not to mention a cult following. Claire thought she was so grown up... yet the world's most talked-about icon had consumed this chocolate milk as quickly as she had as a kid. Noah hoped to keep them coming – anything that would make his Claire Bear happy, as long as it was safe of course. ...Such as promising her a job at Renautas and intending to put her in the PR department rather than out on the field...
When the waiter had slouched away to tend to the refills, Noah looked around the small, reasonably busy diner contently. Obviously, one eye had been constantly trained on the door to the ladies' toilets since Claire had disappeared through it, but as he found himself sitting in this nondescript, mediocre place just after three in the afternoon (a rare moment off-duty) Noah couldn't remember feeling so at home in a long time. His apartment back in Washington was still empty, still more of a storage facility that he sometimes slept in than a home, despite his generous pay checks, and aside from work the agent did nothing much with his time nowadays. So it was a welcome change to fly across the country simply to have a pleasant, if a little strained, coffee and a milk in New York with the one person he would change the world for. And the one person he had allowed to do so themselves.
Sounds of humming chit-chat and the distant kitchen ruckus were rudely disturbed by an incoming call sounding in Noah's jacket pocket. He grimaced and hesitated – he'd promised Claire no work calls, and truth be told he'd rather not be interrupted during their reconciliation – but she wasn't currently in the vicinity and Noah had informed the team not to contact him unless it was an emergency.
Subtly huddling in the direction of the window to limit the projection of his voice, he spoke calmly. "Yes?"
"Uh... they lost him."
There was silence while this untimely news leaked over Noah, tainting his happy reverie. "What do you mean 'they lost him'? We have eyes and ears on that building 24/7, don't you tell me he managed to slip past you...?"
The young woman's monotonous voice sighed. Her enthusiasm could give the hungover waiter a run for his money. "They lost him on the street. Maybe you'd better get down there, you're in town, right?" So she was in one of her moods, and in need of a good kick up the backside, but Noah knew better than to snap at the boss's daughter.
He ground his teeth subtly, glancing over his shoulder at the ladies' bathroom once more. Of all the hours on all the days...! Noah doubted there was even reason to worry. If this story had come from someone more adept then maybe he'd be thinking along different lines, but it hadn't. No doubt the mark was still in plain sight but just being foolishly over-looked, Noah wouldn't even be surprised! This was just the repercussions of being dragged into a 'hip, young, fresh' team of rookies. And Noah had thought working with Danko was unfulfilling...!
"I think you can handle this yourself, Taylor." He said. "You're a big girl now, time to take responsibility for your work. Remember what got you on surveillance duty in the first place...?"
"Urgh, don't remind me." The teenager huffed. Noah cherished even more adoration for his daughter in comparison. Yes, Claire had gotten into her fair share of misdeeds over the years (the biggest perhaps being outing a whole species of human to the world), but at least when she put her effort into something – she really put her effort in. Upon taking her place in Renautas, even on a surface-level job, Noah knew she would shine as she star she was. Unlike Taylor, who squandered her privileges on parties and drink and put so little work into the job her mother had forced upon her until she'd eventually been dumped behind a monitor for safe keeping.
Although apparently, even from one and a half thousand miles away, her knack for negligence on a case was by no means diluted. Employing his only slightly condescending, I-know-best tone, Noah routinely went through the motions, just in case, before there was any chance of Claire re-appearing. "Have the team set up a perimeter, get the troops out searching for him starting from where he disappeared, keep eyes on the workshop and ears on any surrounding noise, don't let them get too close or they'll blow our cover... oh, and Taylor?" He waited for a reply, the stagnant lack of one substituting as enough. "I'm in an... important meeting. And I'd appreciate it if you don't call again unless it's an emergency."
"Sure. Whatever." The line went dead without so much as an ounce of respect for a senior agent, but Noah found that today it didn't irk him as much as normal. He could practically still hear the girl doodling on her arm in pen as she lounged back in an office chair, feet on the desk, as if just to be as teenagery as was possible. Noah couldn't really blame her attitude though, not everyone could turn out as beautifully as his Claire – especially after the home life Taylor had come from. However, that didn't mean he liked being on the receiving end of her derision, or the fact that he couldn't outrank it.
Only slightly grumbling, Noah had barely even attempted to slip his phone out of sight of a certain pair of green eyes before the thing went off again. Christ – didn't she even understand the concept of 'important meeting' or an 'emergency'...?! Upon further investigation, however, he discovered that no, Taylor Kravid wasn't in need of some politely-masked reprimanding: it was a withheld number now flashing at him, not one of Renautas'. And despite himself and the quaint little diner and the fact that Claire would likely be back very soon, Noah's curiosity got the better of him.
A sigh. "Well. We were right, Noah."
The middle aged man straightened up a little in his chair. While his team might have to abide by orders of when and when not to contact him – some people ran by their own rules. Socialising with his own crowd now, Noah found he didn't mind this particular interruption half as much as Taylor's. Not that he would have voiced that, anyway. "I'm assuming you're not talking about the unfortunate death of disco...?"
Getting right to the point, as always, Angela Petrelli pulled no punches. "He's going to kill a lot of people. Today. You won't have time to get there and stop him."
These words rang themselves through Noah's mind in layers: first, the horror at what she was predicting, fury at who was responsible, and then that uncomfortable meshing of two voices telling him simultaneously that something was very wrong. So, apparently, it hadn't just been a lazy young woman's ignorance that had lost Target 1 from Renautas' radar after all... shit. Lastly, confusion hit Mr Bennet – confusion at Angela's call if she already knew there was nothing to be done about it. What did a guy have to do to get a peaceful afternoon to himself and the daughter he was trying to bribe back into his good graces? It seemed foolish now to think back to how happy he had been just minutes ago. Yes. Of all the days for things to start slipping through his fingers.
"...You think we should let him do it?" His tone was slow, questioning, wheedling out her motivations.
Angela sniffed, her no nonsense voice cutting even through the diffuser of a phone. "A few hundred civilian deaths are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I suggest you let things play out as they will, tap into the security footage and then you'll have your evidence to lock Sylar away once and for all." The next words were gentle, placed out delicately like prized possessions. "Isn't that what you want...?"
She was good. This woman was a constant surprise, never predictable and always one step ahead of the game. Noah did want to be the one to drag Sylar down – he had right from the very first time he'd witnessed ol' Gabriel Gray scalp that goth kid back at the beginning. But at the cost of a few hundred deaths...? Noah Bennet was no saint. He had more than a little blood on his hands, he knew how to prioritize and sacrifice for the end goal. However he wasn't as comfortable with the thought of deliberately allowing so many people to die as Angela had proven herself to be.
Yesterday, he'd have had less qualms about it. Maybe even this morning. If Claire hadn't just reconnected with him and just expressed how proud she was of him for holding down a proper job where he was actually, um... "helping people", then Noah would probably have come round to this plan without the second-guessing his conscience was currently bestowing upon him.
Claire would hate him if she knew he was still involved in this life. And things were still tender between them. But what better way to win back her love and approval than by finally taking down the man who she hated more than any other on the planet...?
The lumbering waiter returned at last, deposited the milkshake and poured the coffee, somehow looking even more hungover than he had previously, and left Noah alone again with Claire's favourite drink. It was a symbol of his precious girl: sweet, looked fresh and enticing and the most innocent of drinks around; but the liquid was biting and the flavour strong and unapologetic. Chocolate milk was better than just plain milk. It had that extra something added, it was unique. Special. Like Claire. She had never been a broody party animal who caused trouble just for the sake of trouble, unlike some people Noah knew. No, Claire had always been sure of what she wanted, stubborn to a fault since the days she'd thrown tantrums over not getting her way as a child, to defying her father, her friends and the entire world's advice and jumping off that Ferris Wheel back in December. Her wrath was biting but her adoration made everything else worth it, and Noah had been besotted ever since Kaito Nakamura had placed the little bundle in his arms all those years ago.
"Noah?" Angela prompted. He could perfectly envision her tight lips and striking eyes berating him as she waited for his reply.
Any parent would go to great lengths for their child's best interests. And Noah wasn't just any parent. Maybe Claire didn't have to know how he reigned in Sylar? Just that he had? Maybe there could be the best of both options here?
"If you send me the details I'll look over them." He said casually, as if from the outside this could be a casual work call and not the potential plotting of mass murder.
"Oh, I can do better than that..."
The call was interrupted by an incoming, live video feed that started streaming before Noah could even make sense of the expectant, dark, pipe-lined corridor on screen. He barely had to wait a few seconds before an infuriatingly familiar, darkly-dressed figure prowled around the corner and into view...
( )
Claire finished re-applying her lipgloss for the third time and tried again to fix the wig into some semblance of alright. She didn't much appreciate the look of it, but was once again grateful for her publicist Danielle's input when the two chattering woman washing their hands at the next sink didn't spare her more than a passing glance on the way out.
The girl in the mirror didn't look much like her, but Claire liked that. She wasn't the cheerleader that nobody could seem to look past anymore, she wasn't the superstar that everyone wanted to look like either... she was an agent. Or, at least would soon become one if today's meeting with her father was actually going to merit something more than an endless supply of bribed milkshakes.
She had to admit though... it was quite nice to take the day off and just be a normal girl again sitting in a cheap booth in a crappy diner with her Dad. It had been a good call to set this up, she decided. It had definitely been worth evading her security detail, and the quick stop at the hospital, because Claire wasn't sure if she would've had the confidence to confront her father the way she had done if it hadn't been for Peter, his kind words or his faith in her. He was right though, Claire had to admit – she had helped millions of people around the globe with what she'd done since the carnival. So wasn't it fair that she got to be happy too? To feel like something more than America's Sweetheart?
With one final adjustment of the uncomfortable wig, Claire decided it couldn't get any better than it was, held herself up as tall and professionally as possible, and admired her reflection once again. Yeah – definitely an agent. If only Noah would see her that way, too.
The first thing she noticed when she exited the toilet was her Dad absorbed in his phone. Of course. It made sense that the second she excused herself he'd dip back into work mode, but today Claire didn't mind. She wasn't the same girl who used to resent her father for choosing work over her (while yes, it did still hurt to think back on), because now she would be on the same page. And the thrill of being involved in the thick of things was enough to keep the slightly forced smile on her face from faltering.
( )
More dark corridors. Multiple angles. That slender figure occasionally caught creeping through the frame like a ghost... until he could no longer be found. Losing eyes on this target was abhorrent due to his intentions, but thankfully Noah was more adept at his job than his team were. As concern began to simmer inside, he honed his concentration and scrolled through the different cameras available, searching, searching, until – bingo. He found the winning shot: a clear, unobstructed view of the son of a bitch's face... and, both shockingly and unsurprisingly, none other than Peter Petrelli stalking along with him.
Noah watched the live footage, unblinking, feeling the last dregs of his happy respite fading as the pair wound their way through the interior of the oil rig Angela had just warned him about. So it was true, what she'd said. And that bastard Sylar was already there! No thanks to Taylor and the team for supposedly keeping track of him! Angela had failed to include Peter in her warning, however, but there was no mistaking him there wearing matching, dark apparel and most definitely not there to fight Sylar. So they were both in on it. Just as Noah had been anticipating all along...!
His first instinct was to get over there and catch them red-handed before they killed hundreds of people, save the day and earn cheer and celebration all round... but he didn't want to cut this afternoon with Claire short and upset her. And didn't much fancy a action-packed bonanza to wrap up this day when he had been looking forward to a quiet coffee. Morally, should he try to stop Sylar before anyone got hurt? Probably. But Angela had said there wouldn't be time, and it would be so much easier to turn a blind eye for now, let the monster do its thing while Noah finished another few mugs of coffee, and then he'd capture Sylar after, once he'd crawled back to his shop, when he would be unaware and outnumbered...
Before he could properly make his mind up (although he was definitely leaning towards the second option), Noah was hauled back to the bright, cheery diner when Claire slipped back into the booth opposite. He relived the same jolt of surprise at her unfamiliar, brunette appearance, and then the same rush of love at being close to her once again. Right then, Noah made his mind up. He would always choose his Claire Bear.
( )
"Is that about me?" Claire gestured to whatever work thing Noah had been looking at, only half joking. She would know that look a mile away – he was being called in.
"Uh... no. No, this is..." After a brief internal debate, Noah smiled. Claire watched slightly suspiciously as her father dropped his hand holding the phone to the table and reached across to cup her cheek. It might have otherwise been embarrassing to be treated so immaturely, but she really had missed him (as much as she didn't want to admit that). "It's nothing." He said kindly.
Despite herself and the slight distance she'd been planning to keep to spare herself from succumbing to the never ending push/pull dynamic of lies and trust of this relationship, Claire felt herself smile back in return. She couldn't help it, after a lifetime of having her Dad choose work over her, it felt damn good to be put first for once. She quickly recognised the rinse and repeated thought that tried to break free for the gazillionth time – maybe this time would be different? Maybe this would finally be the stage of her life where Noah would treat her as an equal?
The pair shared a nice, almost back to normal moment like any average father and daughter out for a drink together on a New York City afternoon. And that would have been the end of it. They would have continued their talk and separated on a good note, Claire would have dutifully returned to her penthouse suite in the hotel to be cooped up again while she waited for Noah's promise of a job to come true, and Noah would have gone along late to whatever work thing he had been postponing until after. But it wasn't to be. Not anymore. Because Claire just happened to drop her eyes to the phone sitting slackly in Noah's hand, just happened to notice some sort of video still playing upside down, and just happened to catch sight of a familiar face, one that shouldn't have even been there in the first place.
( )
"Is that Peter?!"
Crap – Noah only realised too late that he hadn't been hiding the screen properly, and by then there was nothing he could do. Claire gasped, pulled her cheek out of his hold and leant across the table to get a better look at the phone that Noah hastily stowed in his pocket. "What is that? Are you spying on him?"
"Listen, Claire..."
"No! Don't do this again, Dad!" Claire accused, her face scrunching up. "Don't treat me like a idiot, please!" There was that razor-sharp glare that she had perfected so well. The blissful interval in their fall out was passing and the hurt, angry and distrusting Claire from the past few months was now sitting before Noah across the table. She didn't look like that little girl with braces and pigtails anymore.
The new, untouched chocolate milk sat forgotten to the side.
Inside, Noah was panicking. Outside, he was unreadable. He shouldn't have answered his phone. He shouldn't have listened to Taylor or taken Angela's bait. And now he couldn't lie his way out of this, because then he'd lose Claire again before he even caught her! He could, however, amend the details to spare her more unnecessary pain.
"Dad?!" Claire hissed, her eyebrows carved low in a betrayed frown, her teeth bared. "Why have you got surveillance footage of Peter? You said you weren't involved in that stuff anymore!"
( )
He'd better not lie! He'd better not insult her that way again! Not after everything she'd done to prove she wasn't a kid anymore, that she could look out for herself and lead an entire world movement without his meddling! That childish hope from earlier was retreating like a hand being slapped for reaching out too early, and she hated that she'd wanted to fall for his promises again.
Finally, Noah sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Now I don't want you to get upset..." Claire readied to defend herself – shrilly if need be – but the rest of the sentence wasn't the 'I'm doing some extra work on the side' rationale she'd been expecting. "Peter is involved in a terrorist attack. He's going to hurt a lot of people, and Renautas needs me to go in and get him."
"What?!" It was absurd. As unexpected as when Lyle had said he'd suddenly got a girlfriend. As unexpected as when Lyle said anything nowadays, actually, and Claire was certain at first that Noah was lying to her. The words themselves screamed deception, but his body language and tone were far from the usual style used when he span her a line. "That's impossible!" She cried, eyes scanning over her Dad's lined, tired face.
"I know you don't want to believe it -"
"Where is he?"
"...Far enough away that you don't have to worry about anything. I can get a team and chopper here in fifteen minutes, and I'll take him in unharmed –"
Once again, the young woman cut over the agent. "It must be a mistake! I just talked to him! He was here, at the hospital, what..." Claire thought quickly. "An hour ago? He's not a terrorist – he was fine!" She insisted. ...But was Peter really fine...? The memory of her uncle's gaunt and exhausted face, his agitation, and the sense of all those withheld secrets chimed uncomfortably in Claire's mind. And for the briefest second she faltered in her certainty.
( )
Noah shushed his daughter gently, aware of their domestic setting and that Claire had just said the word "terrorist" very loudly. Thankfully, nobody seemed to have noticed the commotion. Yet.
It seemed that Noah's choice of how to deal with this commotion had been made for him by Claire's involvement, as it often was. He couldn't very well ignore the rig and arrest Sylar afterwards now that Claire had recognised her uncle and his involvement, could he? So there went plan A. Which meant he really had to get moving in order to fulfil plan B... which was easier said than done when it came to dislodging Miss Claire Bennet from her point of view.
Noah quickly battered out a text calling for reinforcements and transportation. "I'm sorry, Claire, I have to take a rain check." He awkwardly started climbing free from the booth, hoping in vain that she might just let him go. At least this time there was the incentive of arranging the Renautas job to keep her coming back to him, and he clung to that thought.
As expected, Claire jumped to her feet too, but instead of arguing more or storming out and breaking Noah's heart yet again, she gathered her expensive coat and handbag in her arms and crossed to his side. "I'm coming with you." She insisted, so surely that it didn't register at first.
"Oh no you're not." He said slowly, almost questioningly.
"Oh yes I am!" Claire insisted, trying her best to be up in Noah's face despite the glaring height difference between them. "If what you said is true, then Peter needs help! Not to be arrested and thrown back in some cell. Who better to talk him down than me?"
Sometimes she could still baffle Noah with her naivete. She really was so young sometimes, still headstrong and possessing that childish awareness that Noah loved about her so. She was probably right though, and it wasn't that he thought she wouldn't do a good job of the mission... it was that Noah hadn't been planning on giving her real work to do that could put even one hair on her head, brown or blonde, into peril. A giant oil rig set to explode and the two most dangerous recorded evos were definitely a form of peril.
"Listen to me, Claire Bear -"
"Don't "Claire Bear" me, Dad! I wanna be an agent! What about everything you just said about being partners and having each other's back and helping people together...?"
Of course that would come around to bite him before he could even consider a believable, and not too hurtful, alternative that could be passed off as Claire's own misunderstanding. Extremely aware of the ticking clock, Noah performed his ingrained kindly father routine, the way he'd lie when only for her best interest. "I know what I said, sweetheart, and I meant it. But these things take time, you know that. Renautas is different that Primatech, and I could get in trouble for bringing you along without going through proper procedure. I'm sure you understand."
( )
Claire stood her ground stubbornly, glaring up at her father even after she endured the insulting kiss to her forehead. He'd promised. He'd smiled. He'd plastered her with chocolate milk and the very words she'd wanted to hear... and then he'd let her down again. Suddenly she was thirteen years old and her father had been called away from Thanksgiving dinner due to yet another paper emergency at work. Claire remembered how she'd finished her food and feigned a stomach ache after too much pie, then deliberately sneaked out with Jackie (oh, Jackie... she added another sorrowful edge to the memory) to the party her Dad had forbidden her from going to because Thanksgiving was a family event! A family event that apparently wasn't as important to Noah Bennet as his precious company.
It had been the first time she'd sneaked out against the rules. If he could bail even after ingraining the importance of family values at the holidays into her, if he could drop that belief at a moment's notice and leave the food to turn cold on his abandoned plate, then she damn well could too!
Of course, Claire had subsequently hated herself for lying to her parents who had scolded her once they, inevitably, found out, and told her how disappointed they were. They hadn't listened to her rationale, as if that was ever an option. The party had been worth it though, and if Claire hadn't gone she'd never have befriended the popular girls and would have been branded a loser forever. Mom and Dad hadn't understood, and Claire hadn't liked that they'd been upset in the process, but at least she'd made her own decision and stuck to her choice – the right one, as it had turned out. Her parents didn't always know what was best for her, how could they when they weren't her...? Once the initial guilt and regret had faded, Claire had realised she'd learned a valuable lesson from that night.
It was a value deeply ingrained in this young woman who could now be argued the most influential person in America, if not the world. She let Noah touch her cheek again and give her another few, false apologies, and let him leave the diner thinking he'd won.
Then of course, Claire followed him. Because if she wanted something: be that sneaking to a Thanksgiving party with her friends, thrusting the world into acceptance of evos and their abilities, or infiltrating her father's mission to help her struggling uncle and prove her worth... nobody was going to stop her.
A/N: Hi everyone! I can't believe it's taken so long for this update, my apologies X( Thank you for your patience and for reading, and as I say every single time (because it's true every single time!) I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, especially after a month long wait!
At least the good news is that I have some free time ahead of me, which of course will be put towards writing the next chapter X) Speaking of... it's going to be a big one, in terms of story and length, and it'll probably take quite long to write... BUT – I have a cool idea that I'd really appreciate some help with?
I've decided that I'm going to make a trailer/fan vid for this story, and I'm very excited about it and can't wait to share it with you all! The only problem is I've never made a fan vid before, and I have no clue how to get the footage off the DVDs etc DX So if someone can recommend me a good (free) software or any piece of advice as to how to get this working, I'd really appreciate it :D
I want to make the trailer before I post the next chapter of this story, and I intend to get started as soon as I can work out the technicalities. Hopefully it won't be too long before it's finished, so please bear with me X)
