The Show Must Go On

"You did good today."

Sylar's shoulders stiffened. He tore his gaze from the stream of cars passing below, glancing back to where Peter was wandering over with a steaming mug in each hand. He was dressed in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, smiling gently from behind wet hair that was now well and truly back to its natural, floppy state. While the construct was generally a wholesome one, Sylar saw right through the interrogation for what it truly was.

He dropped his eyeline back over the side of the building, crossing his arms against the slight chill and leaning his shoulder against the angelic sculpture that was the only thing dividing him from an endless stretch of open air. It was a long way down.

"Funny. That's not what you used to call it."

Shivering slightly within his own fresh nightwear, Sylar still didn't feel clean. Even though he'd rubbed his skin raw with as many soaps as he could get his hands on, today's mission was stubbornly ingrained into his pores.

( )

Peter's gut squirmed at the sight: the silhouette of a lone man, empty pigeon cages and an ornate stone carving lit by the backlight of the city that never sleeps. He hadn't seen much of Sylar in the few hours since they'd teleported back here, and not through his own choice. It was saddening, although unsurprising, to see the guy was still as laden with guilt as he had been back in the casino. Peter tried to hide sorrow from his face as he made his way to the low wall encircling the rooftop.

It was dark atop Charles Devaux's building, that time of night that cast up memories of heartbreak and training and long lost allies. That was the past, though. Distant history. And so much had changed since those days.

Trying not to feel so nervous, Peter set a mug of rich coffee down beside Sylar, shrugging. "I didn't think you'd be able to sleep either so... what the hell, right?" He then pretended to join him in watching over the city, even though his attention was focused solely on the shaken man at his side.

Despite the connotations of it, and even the events of the day, somehow Peter couldn't deny the beauty of this place. The rooftop was eroding slightly, abandoned since the Company had stopped using it and Claude had disappeared for good, but there was still something special about it that even neglect couldn't hide.

Peter blew on his burning coffee but didn't take a sip. Sylar hadn't even touched his. It was never a good sign when he passed up anything edible.

"...You didn't kill him." Peter said quietly, sturdily, giving in and looking directly at the watchmaker's troubled face. "You stopped him before he could hurt more innocent people."

( )

Sylar tensed at those words and fought not to close his eyes in pain. It was just as difficult to avoid Peter's probing gaze and instead keep his eyes ahead, or above, or below, or anywhere that wasn't in line with the man. He knew he was ridiculously transparent anyway, and that the empath was already attune to his strife, but it was easier to keep it together when he could at least pretend to hold onto a scrap of poise.

The rooftop sculpture dug into his shoulder, and he watched the tendrils of steam rising from the mug on the wall that Peter had brought him – his favourite mug, Sylar noted, filled with coffee that looked to be exactly the way he liked it. This little man really did know him. But of course he would, them having spent five years in purgatory locked together, right? Five years that Sylar had come to think of as the five most important in his life, along with believing going to Matt for help that day was the best mistake he'd ever made... But now he wasn't so sure. What was the point of enduring all that agony, every day, every hour, every minute of painful redemption if it hadn't even made a difference?

"...For a moment back there... I really believed I'd..."

"But you didn't."

"I know." Telling himself not to be so juvenile, Sylar composed his features as best as he could and turned what he hoped was only a wistful expression to his friend. "But it could've happened just as easily."

Peter was quiet, his lips tight and eyes rich with understanding as Sylar worked on how to express himself without giving in to the urge to cry. It wasn't that he couldn't justify his actions – Peter was right: he'd taken down a bad guy to save innocents. It wasn't like one of said innocents had been caught in the crossfire, thank god. But it had almost come at the price of an unwelcome, poisonous act that clung to Sylar like the memory of an old nightmare he couldn't seem to shake. One which he had been trying to outrun for almost a decade. It would be so easy to succumb to the burn behind his eyelids, if only for a temporary relief... but he had to remain calm. Clear-headed. Because there was still a job to do and he couldn't just turn his back on it now that things were suddenly going to become even more difficult.

"I've been so reckless, Peter." He laughed hollowly, helplessly, averting his eyes yet again to the millions of lights spanning the city like stars. "I mean, who the hell did I think I was kidding? I'm dangerous, and I can't just pretend it's not an issue while we're out there trying to do good in the world..."

"Hey, no, don't you do that." Peter dropped his coffee to the wall with a soft clunk and pulled Sylar around to face him by the arm. "You've been amazing out there – just think of all the people you've helped since the carnival!" He looked upset, Sylar hated to see, but the intelligent man knew the emotion wasn't directed at him. Peter drew in a deep breath, and his next words were laced with more quiet resolve than before. "Yeah, you're right. You are dangerous. But we've known that all along. It doesn't change anything, it only means that you could do bad things... not that you will."

( )

Peter's fingers kneaded Sylar's upper arm by themselves, willing courage to form out of nothing and infiltrate both men.

He felt awful. He wished he could magically make this okay. He wished that Sylar could be as content and fulfilled as he had been during dinner, that he hadn't had to hold the fort all by himself while Peter played nurse on the sidelines and spilled his feelings to a complete stranger over the one person who'd stuck by him through hell and back. He shouldn't have stayed so long with Lucia. He should've just fixed up her arm as quickly as possible and gone to help Sylar, instead of being so selfish in the middle of a mission. If he'd done his job better then Sylar wouldn't have had the chance to think he'd killed someone: if Peter had done his duty and moved on; had fought alongside his friend; or had even just stopped time like he was supposed to do in the first place then maybe he could have prevented this from happening?

Sylar tried to force a short-lived smile, one that was genuinely grateful but couldn't last. "Harris, he..." He faded off and licked his lips, dipping his head and hiding closed eyes under a furrowed brow. "I knew what he was feeling, Peter. I remembered it. It was too... familiar, too recent..." Peter softened his hold on the man's arm when Sylar threatened to choke up. "And I hated that. I hated it! I – I wish I could've...!" He paused to breathe out deeply, and all the passion faded from his gentle voice until it remained nothing but bruised. "I just don't want to be that person anymore."

Sometimes it was so easy for Peter to disassociate the murderer from his friend. Sometimes he couldn't even see any trace of the man who used to exist within Sylar. They were such different people, so much effort had been invested into that transformation... but he could only imagine what Sylar was going through at this moment, to imagine all his hard work unravelling before his eyes.

There was too much to consider after today's adventure, too much to feel, but right then every emotion but empathy drained away from Peter's bleeding heart. Noah, Claire, Angela, Renautas, Lucia, even M.F.Harris could wait for now.

Physically hurting on his friend's behalf, the empath stepped close enough to smell multiple different soaps upon Sylar's skin. He stroked his hand up the taller man's shoulder and into his drying hair, cradling the back of his head in true Petrelli fashion. Heart shining through his features, he had to work to expel more than a whisper from his throat that wouldn't be stolen by the sounds of traffic below.

"Sylar? Listen to me."

The other man did, averting shining eyes over the city that reflected the view like glass. Even though regeneration had now healed his bruised ribs, Peter would swear they fractured all over again.

"You're not that person anymore." He insisted softly. "All that's behind us now, I watched you change. And the fact you're getting so cut up about this proves that. All the things you did? Yeah, they happened, but that doesn't matter anymore. We can't change that and it'll never go away. What matters is us, here, now. What we're doing now." He let his hand drift around closer to Sylar's face, hovering millimetres from heated skin. "Okay? Try not to let Noah get into your head, bud. That's what he wants." Sylar finally met his pleading gaze and Peter smiled weakly for him for as long as he could sustain it. "Don't let them win."

( )

The night was warm and the slight breeze pleasant, but Sylar shivered again despite this. Peter's hand wasn't even touching his cheek but he could still feel the intensity of his palm and eyes feeding life into this killer's wizened heart. He needed this. He needed to hear the words and he craved the compassion: two novelties he had never known in his past life. He recalled the many times they'd rehearsed this routine of talking each other down from the ledge; when they were the only two people in the world and Peter was the guiding light at the end of the tunnel; and remembered again how lucky they were to have even made it this far.

Sylar wanted to capture and gift how much he appreciated the man's efforts to redeem him (even now, how many years in) but he just couldn't get a handle on it. He tried his best to play his part and make this interaction heal his wounds but it didn't.

Peter Petrelli had always been too trusting, too kind. Since he had befriended that kid at the playground who had later pushed him down and stolen his lunch box; to when he'd actually learned to forgive the despicable cretin who had murdered his own brother. Peter's faith in him meant more than Sylar could express, but that did not mean it was justified. All the evidence for this was neatly packaged in everyone else the guy had ever chosen to trust. Look how that had turned out.

"Is there anything I can do?" Peter asked. His eyes were large and honest and captivating. His thumb brushed Sylar's cheekbone for the slightest of moments before his hand dropped back to his shoulder.

For a second the watchmaker seriously considered taking the manipulative route and nodding his head, just so he could indulge in the care he knew Peter would keep bestowing upon him in a heartbeat. It would be nice. It wouldn't fix everything, but it would be cathartic to set down the weight of his chains and take a breather. He'd been carrying the brunt of the world for so long that his back was now bowed by it, and the idea of passing the burden for even a short while was very appealing indeed. It would be nice, even though he didn't deserve it. It would also be incredibly selfish while Peter was so fragile, himself.

In the dusty darkness Sylar could still make out the look on the other man's face: a look that was very similar to what Sylar had been feeling for him recently. Concern. Worry. Hopelessness. Searching for any attempt to make it better... They were both such hypocrites. Such useless, whiny crybabies who were unable to help themselves, let alone each other! But at least that didn't stop them from trying. It would not stop Sylar from trying.

Consciously pulling himself back together for the sake of their never ending mission, and Peter's many issues, he tried to blink back the burn in his eyes before it could spill over and acted like the grown man he damn well should be by now.

"No." He said quietly, gathering strength to his shaky voice. "Nothing you're not already doing. Just stay. With me. Help me keep trying to make the world a better place." This time when he smiled it was real although it was small.

( )

Peter could tell that his friend was merely ripping this thread into yet another loose end to deal with later, but he could respect and identify too well with the desire to carry on with their duty in the face of pain. The job was far from over, and tomorrow would only bring more issues needing seen to. It wasn't like they could call in a sick day, after all, not when there were people out there who needed them. No matter how much these heroes suffered the world would keep turning, Renautas would keep hunting, and the show must always go on.

But that didn't mean Peter liked it. It was one thing when he was the one hurting on the inside, and another altogether when someone else was suffering in silence. He could have pressed the matter further. He could have stayed and talked all night until he was more certain that Sylar believed his assurances. Instead he just rubbed the other man's shoulder gently, his palm tickled by soft t-shirt fabric.

"I'm not going anywhere."

There was a fraction of a second where Sylar seemed to drop his shields, a moment when he nearly leaned into the touch. But then he ducked back with handcrafted nonchalance, letting the night's air leak between them.

He cleared his throat. "Not that this hasn't been fun, but I think we should get some sleep, don't you?" Peter blinked at the sudden change of attitude. He could physically see the pretence encasing the weeping tenderness hiding within his friend. Hands in his pyjama pockets, Sylar backed towards the open door leading into the building, a faint shade of apology touching his face. "It's been a long day, Peter... catch you in the morning, alright?"

Trying not to feel so hurt at the sudden dismissal, the empath just watched as Sylar was engulfed by flowing white curtains within the span of a few, long-legged strides. He sighed softly. "Alright."

It was barely audible, far too late for his agreement to even make a difference. He would give Sylar the space he clearly needed, even though he hated the thought of it when the man was in pain. Hell – when Peter, himself, was in pain! However, tomorrow was a new day. A new mission. Maybe by then Sylar would have had time to let his words sink in? He deeply hoped so.

Peter Petrelli turned to face the open world again, pressing his hands to the smooth stone of the wall and allowing the night's breeze to stroke his face and hair with touches that were supposed to be soothing. A door closed beyond the curtains. And then he was left alone on this fateful rooftop, accompanied only by the rest of the city playing out without him and the two cooling mugs of coffee sitting side by side on the wall.

( )( )( )

Central Park was bathed under gorgeous, crisp sunlight, beaming proudly from a cloudless turquoise sky as baby leaves grew in the trees and flowers bloomed all around. Bees had awakened for the season and birds were singing overhead, drowned out by the hubbub of tourists and New Yorkers alike who had congregated to enjoy the heat.

Spring was finally blossoming into the early days of summer, and it seemed not one person in the city was going to waste such a novelty, as everyone was out with their children and partners and dogs, laughing or lounging or kissing in the grass. It was humbling just to be a part of this. This was life. This was precious. This was definitely worth fighting for.

Yet, unseen by any who looked for it, a mini storm cloud threatened to break over the heads of two dark-haired men hiding in the cover of the trees. Peter and Sylar walked silently side by side beneath the patchwork shade of leaves, carefully maintaining a distance from the rest of the city-dwellers. It was probably a good idea to keep to themselves when the news had spent all night and morning rather unfavourably reporting on the evo vigilantes' incident at the Linderman Casino, even if they'd still yet to be identified. However, Sylar had to admit that he was grateful for the distance for another reason.

The thought of getting too close to a group of vulnerable, unsuspecting civilians was still unsettling in the light of a new day, but that didn't mean he couldn't watch them from afar. Or that he'd pass up a walk in the sun when Peter had suggested the idea after a rather brooding, quiet morning in the penthouse. Indulging the little man's desire was the least Sylar could do after storming out last night on his kind words and caring touches without even so much as a 'thank you'. He still felt bad about it, along with everything else tarnishing his busy conscience, and had tossed and turned all night under the pressure of his many transgressions: past and present.

He hadn't minded the idea of sitting inside all day today, sulking quietly. But luckily, finding himself outside like this, exposed, after the state he'd gotten himself into hadn't been nearly as bad as Sylar had worried it would be. In fact, it was a strange sensation to brave such a populated area on a day off, free from the shroud of a stolen appearance. Sylar loved the thrill of it. He enjoyed being himself out in the open air, he enjoyed seeing Peter's face beside him where others' might see it too, but most of all he enjoyed the phony sense of freedom that was just outside his grasp. They were still on alert of being discovered, but it was a welcome distraction. Better than nothing. Definitely better than Sylar's plans for the day, anyway.

It wasn't as if acting like normal people out for a day trip would suddenly erase the guilt from the casino, or stop Renautas from hunting them, but sometimes it was just... nice to be reminded why they were doing what they did. Fighting for civilians often got so busy that Sylar didn't have time for, well, the civilians themselves. So it was a novelty to be able to witness them thriving in their natural habitat like this, a comforting ease to yesterday's wound.

Plus, if food wouldn't take Sylar's mind off his worries then nothing would.

( )

Chewing his latest fry, Sylar wordlessly offered the box to Peter again. He smiled because he knew how generous these offers were, but this time just shook his head. He'd eaten enough already, but he also knew that Sylar would enjoy the stuff more than he would. It was gratifying to see him finally brightening back into himself, and if Peter had to force-feed the guy fast food in order to make him happy, so be it.

They continued to glide together in perfect step under the trees, while Sylar munched his snack and Peter walked so close to him that their sleeves touched. It had been so long since the pair had just hung out as simply as this. Aside from checking over their shoulders every few steps, it was almost like old times. But even though Peter had suggested a leisurely stroll as an excuse to kick their moping assess into gear, it wasn't purely for the fun of it...

From the outside they looked just like everyone else who'd met a friend to share the afternoon with: they'd returned the occasional smile shot their way and ignored any suspicious glances, and the guy selling the fries had even scowled and grunted at them the same as he did for his other customers, so that was a win, right? But Sylar still hadn't recovered from last night and Peter was trying so hard to put his newly practised talking-to-people thing to good use, in not being so afraid of the bustling crowds. The last mission was heavy on the duo's shoulders, fresh on their consciousnesses, and even when participating in what should have been a beautiful past-time with hundreds of other people, Peter was once again fighting to contain his feelings for Noah Bennet and his cause.

He could barely tear his gaze from the evos and non-specials sharing the park today in harmony. There was a teenage girl over on the grass casually freezing her friends' drinks to grateful response; and there was a father nearby her, throwing his giggling baby into the air with telekinesis to the horror of his frantic wife; meanwhile there were tons of people at all sides that could easily see these abilities in action – but nobody was complaining about it.

A gaggle of schoolgirls passed nearby. Peter counted no less than four pieces of Indestructible Girl merchandise adorning them, not including the dyed blonde hair and cheerleader uniforms. As always, at the thought of his now estranged niece, Peter's heart winced. However, the positive impact she'd had on these girls softened his usual scepticism towards her preaching. Right here, the bullshit love-and-peace-between-all charade that Claire was headlining her press tour with seemed painfully true. Right now, it was almost as if everything really was as okay as she was pretending.

"Shall we?"

Peter ripped his attention back to Sylar, who popped another few fries into his mouth and nodded at a particularly knobbly tree trunk nearby.

They settled down together at the base of the tree, their backs to rough bark and elbows resting on their knees. The stormcloud hovering above them dissipated into more of a fog that hovered nearby, not so heavy but still impossible to ignore. Peter gave in and helped Sylar eat his way through the fries, if only for something to do, as they sat and cast tired eyes over the park.

The spot was lovely: near the pond, subtly set back from the foreground of activities, with the tips of a bridge in sight in the distance. Here they could continue to invisibly observe life as it should be lived, love as it should be loved, and families as they were supposed to be. How many people had sat at this exact tree over its lifetime? Who had admired this view on a sunny day with a blanket and a picnic basket and their friends and family fighting over who got what sandwich? Peter swore he could almost feel the spirits of these unknown people gracing the area. It warmed his heart to witness this slice of time, the park and visitors so pristine that the whole thing could have easily burst into a musical number for a movie. At the same time, it picked at the ever-tender scars inside his chest.

That used to be him. Happy, oblivious, untainted. He'd had a mother who cared for him and a brother who'd always be there for him, and no matter what fight he'd just had with Arthur or which exam he'd just flunked even after busting his gut revising, at the end of the day he could spend time with his loved ones and believe he was loved in return. And then along came superhuman abilities. Closely followed by a Company. And nothing was ever the same again.

All these people here today, the girls, the dad – the baby, even – any one of them could be next on Renautas' hit list and Peter's heart broke for them. How many people woke up today not knowing their world would be ruined by dinnertime? How many people would lose their loved ones, just because of who they were? How many human beings with lives ahead of them would be stripped of that god-given luxury by a power-hungry, greedy organization who worked in the shadows and thought they had the right to commandeer the way of things?

The human/evo dynamic was crumbling more each day, despite Claire's public attempts to prevent the growing disease by pretending there wasn't one, but within this beautiful time capsule you'd never imagine anything other than peace. Peter silently applauded these people for braving the world despite the cracks marring the surface of it, for being so strong as to spit in the face of fear and be themselves, regardless. Human, evo, or otherwise: they all deserved to live free from the constant shadow of terror. They deserved to lie out in the open like today, drinking in the best sunlight and flavour and freedom that the world had to offer, and not to feel guilty about it.

But at any moment armed agents could swoop in and drag someone away from their family, sign them up to a lifetime as a company agent or ship them off to a prison-like confinement (Peter had no doubt Renautas owned one somewhere). He didn't even know what happened to the people who disappeared. The ones he and Sylar hadn't been aware of in order to rescue. He also didn't know exactly what Renautas were recruiting evos off the streets for, but he'd sure as hell bet it wasn't for the purpose of keeping abilities hidden to the world, à la Primatech.

He breathed out slowly, rubbing his hands together to dust off any lingering salt from the fries. "They have no idea what could happen, do they?"

( )

Sylar absent-mindedly toyed with the last fry in the box. He, too, was lost in a mass of memories about "happy families" and underground companies, only from two different lives: neither of which felt like they fully belonged to him. "No." He huffed wistfully. "Look at them: they're so small, so oblivious... vulnerable... I kinda envy them." He nibbled the end of the fry.

"You –? What?" Peter laughed, turning a surprised look Sylar's way. "You? Envy them?" The watchmaker rolled his eyes at Peter's teasing scepticism, glad of the familiarity of the tone to tether him to reality.

"I don't want to be like them. Obviously."

"Obviously."

"I mean I envy their freedom to be special and... well, not have to apologise for it." Sylar shut himself up with the remainder of the last fry and guiltily watched the short-lived humour slip away from Peter's face.

"Oh. Yeah." The empath tried to mask his sadness by looking out once again over the wonderfully innocent evos amongst the crowd. In profile his face was almost serene, but Sylar knew him well enough to be fooled. "Would be nice."

Dammit. The whole reason he'd agreed to this walk was to compensate for blowing off Peter's reassurances last night, but clearly Sylar wasn't doing a good job of that. He wasn't too sure how to proceed. Should he bring up the exchange from the rooftop, thank Peter and pretend it had fixed his problem? It probably wasn't too good an idea though when they were in the presence of other people such as this and emotions had to be carefully monitored.

Instead, without overthinking it, Sylar simply reached over with his unsalted hand and cupped Peter's knee, knocking the other man's arm from its perch. Okay, so it was a clumsy reassurance, but he couldn't pat his back because of the tree and their seating arrangements, and he highly doubted Peter would prefer to hug it out in the grass like the dozens of happy couples strewn around them (Sylar could just imagine the look on his face...!). No, a clumsy reassurance it would have to be.

( )

It took a moment before Peter realised what was happening, but when he did it wiped away a good few layers of misery smothering his insides. For the first time since the rooftop last night, he looked upon his friend, and not the self-consciously guarded version of the man. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so alienated from the guy he'd used to be: validated through others' eyes and out of reach across the invisible divide of time.

"Yeah, well." Sylar shrugged, the corners of his mouth dimpling before a smile hit. "It's no fun when there's no danger involved. We'd get bored after an hour or two..."

The man's hand was large and warm, a sturdy weight that somehow said thank you, sorry, and we're in it together all at once. Peter cherished the touch more than usual after having his own rejected last night. His chest swelled and his eyes crinkled kindly, and he happily sat still without dislodging the palm heating his knee. "Yeah."

After a shared moment of gratitude, Peter leaned his head back against the tree trunk, looking out over the park through heavy eyelids. He felt a little better; there was no sense to mope over the hand he'd been dealt in life, but that pressure inside his chest didn't stop growing. It only expanded until it could possibly be described as painful. Slowly, he came to recognise the weight, colour and jagged edges of the words building from an idea into a decision, and in turn forming a definitive sentence that he didn't really want to say, but knew he was going to anyway.

It would disturb the settling waters. It might not go down too lightly. Jesus, it was even something Peter had been deliberately avoiding for months, now! Perhaps if Sylar hadn't just said what he did then Peter would have been able to contain it, but he had so he couldn't.

( )

Sylar patted Peter's knee a few more times before drawing his hand back, happy to feel the shared sense of understanding encircle them both for the first time all day. He hated it when they were out of sync, even though he solely took the blame this time.

A breeze fluttered by the knobbly tree and lifted the front tendrils of both men's hair, carrying with it the smell of grass, fries and faint cigarette smoke. Sylar shifted from the rough bark of the tree to lie flat in fragrant grass instead, eyes closed, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. He took the time to lick the salt from his fingers and absorb this last second of blissful reprieve beside his only friend in the world, because he knew what Peter was going to say before he said it. He could practically taste the words that were colouring the very air around them.

"...I want to go to Renautas."

The grass tickled Sylar's ears as he shook his head, chuckling hopelessly. He knew this was coming. He still wasn't ready to embrace it. "I know you do." When he cracked open one eye to peer up at Peter, he saw the guy looked surprised by the ease with which his plan had been accepted. Please. As if he wasn't so transparent that this could never be a surprise.

"I wish we didn't have to, but it makes sense, doesn't it?" Peter insisted, hazel irises misting with resignation. "What we've been doing isn't enough. This way, maybe we can destroy everything Noah has on us, on everyone, before his traps get outta control and hurt someone."

Sylar brought his gaze to the heavens above, resting both hands across his stomach. It was a glistening, smooth canvas of blue up there. Perfect conditions for flying, now that those lucky ones who could didn't need to hide in clouds. It would be nice to enjoy that someday...

He couldn't deny that the other man's thinking was valid: this was the logical next course of action. Like in dealing with a duplicator, attacking the base was, annoyingly, a better plan than to keep running around the outskirts of the problem. Being good at plans, Sylar had anticipated this one probably long before Peter had. And last night's... change in perspective... was hardly hindering his enthusiasm to get to the root of the whole Renautas issue.

He sighed at the utter recklessness of what he was agreeing to. He could barely even believe he was doing it. "It's not going to be easy."

Peter spat out a hollow laugh, even though this whole scenario was far from funny. "What? And everything else so far was?"

"We're talking about the most advanced technological organisation on the planet, Peter." He turned a raised eyebrow the empath's way. "You think we can just waltz in the front door and flash fake IDs?"

Peter's mouth fell into a sombre line and his eyes sang with honest determination. "We have to try something." Oh, how Sylar knew that look. It was his all-heart-and-no-brains-end-up-dead look. It always preceded trouble. Sylar couldn't hate it no matter how much he tried.

The former villain re-arranged his features and stance as to not come across so condescending, leaning up on his elbows in the cool grass. It wasn't Peter's fault that he never thought to plot ahead. "Yes, we can try."

( )

Peter's heart leapt at Sylar's co-operation.

"But we need to do this properly." The watchmaker continued. "We can't just dive in there unprepared, navigate the place and get out without getting caught. We need a plan, we need help – ideally, someone who knows the place – and we need a miracle to get past all that security."

Impressed, Peter couldn't help but smile despite the daunting conversation. He'd been preparing to fight for his cause. He'd expected Sylar to politely decline his proposal (at the best case scenario), not to embrace the very real likelihood of such danger and perhaps their toughest operation to date with such cool-headedness – never mind preparation. Even that slight detail made the rest of the deathwish mission not seem as terrifying.

Toying with his fingers, Peter dipped his head so his proud expression was hidden from the rest of the park. "You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

"And you haven't." Sylar raised an eyebrow again. Ordinarily, Peter might be inclined to retort to such a jab at his inability to do things right: but here, in the middle of a rare, peaceful Central Park, with Sylar's handprint still lingering on his knee and the man's support easing the weight on Peter's shoulders, it didn't bother him at all.

"Lucky I've got you, then." He flashed a tiny grin. He could already feel himself evolving into mission-mode. He felt that telltale purpose flow within him like someone had opened a valve inside. It was more than invited after such a let-down at the casino yesterday, not to mention because Peter had been conflicted for hours, pointlessly chewing over this idea for fear it would cause a fight when exposed. Now that it hadn't, he was torn once again, but this time between gratitude and hesitation that they were really about to set off down this path with no obstacles holding them back. Or, well, only one obstacle.

"I foresee an issue, Peter." Sylar drawled, dropping back into the grass again as if they had merely settled on who was cooking dinner tonight, not that they were going to try to infiltrate Renautas' perilous hive. "Nothing to freak out over, but we're just so popular at the moment that I can't decide which of our many allies to turn to..."

The park was bustling with people. So was the city. So was the entire country. Yet these two men suddenly felt very, very alone in the midst of it all. Peter breathed in the mixed, lush smells of the park, lolling his head back against the tree again. Shit. Even if they had multiple options, nobody in their right mind would help these two outcasts with their cause: a repentant ex-villain with a killer inferiority complex and a clingy, emotional wreck who'd managed to accidentally turn everyone he'd ever known against him.

"So..." Peter mused flatly. "How do we get help if everyone hates us?"

The two exiled men fell into silence and wallowed as the rest of the park thrived on, knowing not one of those people would be able to provide a helpful answer to their predicament.

Amongst the buzzing bees and birdsong, a synthetic bleep! sounded from Peter's pocket. Hauled out of self pity, the pair jumped and locked equally shocked gazes. Sylar was the only person who ever texted this private number, so who...?

He scurried over as Peter nervously fished out his phone, so they could read the incoming message together.

'All you have to do is ask for it.'

( )( )( )

"It's a trap, Peter!"

"We don't know that."

Sylar scoffed and threw his arms into the air, tripping along behind Peter's stride like a good little companion accompanying him to the gallows. "It's clearly a trap. Whoever that is has been spying on us – probably for weeks! And now you're seriously going to run in there and turn yourself over after everything we've been through?" His agitation echoed uncomfortably loudly off the glass windows lining each side of the corridor.

Peter sighed and faltered in his steps, turning to Sylar with that annoyingly self-assured look in his eyes, reserved only for instilling the high-and-mighty treatment. Oh, how much Sylar used to despise it...

"What if you're wrong? You said yourself: we need a miracle, and I don't see any alternatives lining up for us, do you? He said he was gonna help us."

Eyebrows sky high, Sylar leaned back in disbelief, as if to see Peter better through the dense cloud of stupid. "He also said the place is secure. And you actually believe him?" The thought alone was hilarious! This cesspit had always been nothing but corrupt, draped in bad memories like ribbons of ancient cobwebs. Sylar had happily been under the impression that he'd never have to return here again.

Peter, meanwhile, apparently had other ideas. The man was silent while he pondered whether to reply or not. "You saved him, remember?" He said quietly. "He's not gonna hurt you."

"We don't even know if it's him."

Tensing his jaw, Peter visibly threw caution (and sanity) to the wind and turned his back on Sylar to keep stalking down the long, dull corridor, his boots pounding on concrete. "There's one way to find out."

Choking on which curse to throw after the stubborn empath but unable to decide on just one, Sylar balled his hands into fists and stomped along obediently. With every step closer he was certain he was signing away his freedom, and he almost pulled a muscle in his neck from peering into every neighbouring window they passed for signs of an impending attack.

He couldn't believe Peter would be so obtuse as to fall for the bait! But at the very least, if this was a trap (which Sylar was unpleasantly sure it would be), there was no way in hell he was going to just allow the little brat to get captured on his own.

( )

Of course Sylar's words hadn't completely rebounded off, however, Peter latched onto the civilians' happiness back at the park, and his utmost desire to be able to preserve such afternoons for future generations, to keep him walking steadily towards the furthest end of his lengthy path.

He understood Sylar's worries, but flowing stronger through his core than concern was a simple feeling that it was going to be okay. That his urge to trust this contact was the right one. They'd asked for a miracle and one had been gifted in the form of a friend when the rest of the world offered them nothing. Peter wasn't about to pass up such a gift.

It was difficult, though, to ignore the hairs on the back of his neck standing up when they finally reached the door. Sylar fumed at his side, and Peter wished he didn't have to be so mad, but he said nothing. Even though it was pointless (as the glass walls and door would have already given away their position to anyone lingering out of sight) he waited for a second, listening for any worrying noises before making his move.

No sound from inside. Which was either very good or very bad.

When Peter grasped the handle the door opened easily. Unlocked? He chose to take that as a sign of invitation.

Standing in the open doorway, he cleared his throat. "H-hello?" His voice was far too loud in the otherwise deadly silent loft. He narrowed his eyes and blinked to orient his vision to the unnatural darkness within, having forgotten that this place was somehow always dull inside, as if it could filter out the sunlight just to maintain its artsy, studio vibe. Taking a step over the threshold, Peter swallowed his reservations and stood his ground for whatever was next to come his way.

( )

Sylar crept into the loft on his companion's heels, senses heightened and abilities on hand even though he hoped he wouldn't have to use them (he wouldn't mind a break from using electricity, especially). It seemed as if the place was deserted – or at least pointedly lacking in dozens of armed and armoured agents here to take them down. Still he wasn't quite ready to drop his shields. Or admit that he might possibly have over-reacted.

Despite the warm day, he felt cold just from standing here once more. Isaac Mendez's old studio had barely changed except for being stripped back to the bare bones: old easels, tins of paint and empty shelves littered the floor and walls; scents of oils and turpentine were ingrained in the very bricks of the place; and the pitiful leftovers of the old owner's prophetic paintings were piled up in the back. Primatech or, more likely, Renautas must've ransacked the place for anything of use, leaving behind only a sad, forgotten workspace of many past encounters.

A workspace, Sylar finally noted, that had canned food and comic books stacked neatly in the far corner? Beside a modified laptop, bulging backpack and a freshly made bed...?

"Thanks for coming."

Both Peter and Sylar startled at the sudden voice, watching warily as movement stirred from a darkened alcove of the loft. The former killer's stomach dropped and his heart began to race faster as he waited, out here in the open, one of two of the country's most wanted targets. If it had been Renautas agents then he and Peter would've been well and truly screwed! ...But it wasn't Renautas agents. Sylar finally admitted that to himself, half relieved and half hating that he'd been proven wrong.

For he had been wrong. He knew that now. With a twist in his gut he recognised the quiet, coarse voice and tousled curls of the boy who emerged from the shadows to greet them.

( )

Peter couldn't help but stare.

"...Rebel?"

Holy shit... this was Micah Sanders...? He looked... different than what Peter had been expecting, to say the least. Softer, younger, much too young to be living it rough in an abandoned artist's loft by himself! The kid was barely even a teenager; tanned cheeks gaunt from living off a poor diet but his face still round from youth; black hair overgrown and untended; and eyes gentle but marked by seeing too much for his age.

Instantly Peter forgot why he was here and only wanted to help this kid, to find him a family or at the very least buy him a decent meal. This was no way for anyone to live – never mind someone so young! The life of a fugitive on the run who was branded a target by his ability was not a game, Peter knew from experience, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone. Who knew how long this guy had been living this way? He would've been even younger at the time he'd helped Peter and Matt infiltrate Building 26 to put a stop to the government facility... The thought that Peter had used his aid and never even thought about him for more than imagining some techno whiz in a lab somewhere now stung at him. Sure, Sylar had recounted the time he'd tracked down the fugitive "Rebel" for Danko, but now the reason why he'd let his target escape took on a whole new meaning.

Peter had to actually struggle to compose himself and hide all heartbreak from his smile. He doubted they'd been invited here for a pity party.

"Hey, hi... thank you! For helping us..." Taking the stairs down to the main level of the loft, Peter cleared his throat again and led Sylar across Matt Parkman's repainted floor mural of Washington D.C. on fire. As soon as he got close enough, he took Micah's hand in both his own in greeting. "It's great to finally meet you in person, I'm P-"

"Peter Petrelli. I know who you are." Micah grinned and Peter was pleased to see life inject his youthful features. "You're a hero. You're the good guy."

Taken aback, Peter could feel his face starting to heat. When Micah dropped his hand Peter played with his hair to distract from his blushing cheeks. "...Thanks?" He was still recovering from the surprise of Rebel's identity even before being stunted by such sudden, unexpected praise.

The boy's approving gaze didn't falter but his smile began to fade, as if he'd just remembered that this was a serious matter. "I was there that night in Kirby Plaza." He croaked softly, almost wistfully.

A knot formed itself in Peter's airway. "You were?" He breathed.

Vividly cast back in time to that night, he couldn't for the life of him remember Micah being there (god, he must've been a child at the time...) but that didn't mean it wasn't true. Peter hadn't exactly noticed who was watching him and who wasn't, having been a little busy trying not to decimate the entire city. Just the thought, though... he could only imagine the impression he'd made.

As if he knew exactly what Peter was thinking and wanted to dispel those worries, the boy's face sparkled anew with pure admiration. "I saw what you did, what you were willing to do to save the city. It was amazing, just like a true hero."

( )

Forgotten and ignored outside this happy little reunion, Sylar scoffed bitterly. "Yeah, it was a blast..."

Sure, Micah meant well with his fanboy worship, but Sylar felt his defences rising anyway. So it hadn't been a trap set by Renautas, still, Sylar was sure he actually felt worse now than he would have done at the alternative. He quite liked the idea of hiding until the other two were finished reminiscing about the good ol' days when he had been a nasty obstacle of that night... Had they forgotten that tiny detail? Or did they just not realise how unpleasant it was to relive it in the light of amazing heroics?

Hands buried deep in his pockets, rocking awkwardly on the spot, he dropped his gaze from the flaked and peeling ceiling and into two matching expressions. Both guys looked slightly hurt, disapproving of his rather tactless sarcasm. Oh, so now they remembered he was here? If only that could feel more like a good thing.

Pulling an apologetic face, Sylar hunched his shoulders. "Sorry." He mumbled, intending to stand as silently and invisibly as possible until they were done. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Micah off helping them, or even remind the kid of their last, uh, eventful meeting.

This plan was disregarded when Micah took a step closer to Sylar, expanding the one-on-one conversation to make room for another member. The ex-killer tensed at the sudden scrutiny, wishing he didn't feel so awful every time he looked upon the young boy.

Awe seeped steadily across Micah's face, more than ever. "I also saw what you both did at the oil rig." Sylar's eyes darted up briefly to meet Peter's. "And in Vegas. I saw you catch those cable cars in San Francisco before anyone got hurt; you flew up and saved that little girl on the Statue of Liberty; and that falling bridge in Chicago would've crushed those people if you hadn't saved them!"

Okay. When the fanboy praise was shared between them, Sylar had to admit it wasn't so irritating. But while Peter seemed touched beyond the capability of speech by Micah's dedication to their actions, Sylar couldn't overlook one itty bitty issue that continued to bug him like a splinter.

( )

"So you've been watching us?"

Peter was shaken out of his flattered stupor by the edge in Sylar's voice. He watched as the man seemed to elongate into an even taller, even slimmer shape, and as the tender parts of his face hardened into the intimidating mask that Peter used to know too well.

Micah was not impervious to this display. "Yeah?" He said nervously, shuffling on the spot but never faltering in his courage.

Sylar responded too quickly and silkily for Peter to unstick his voice and intervene. "Spying on us, right?"

"No, not spying –"

"Listening to our conversations?"

"Not the private ones –!"

"So you've been watching our every move and listening to our conversations, and this has been going on for weeks now?" Sylar chuckled coldly. "That sounds mighty like an invasion of privacy to me – but clearly I'm wrong. I dunno, what d'you think, Peter -"

"I've been protecting you!" Micah's insistence echoed and rang itself out around the empty, concrete loft. "Yeah, I've been watching, keeping an eye out for the day you finally ask for help, but it's not what you think!"

Even before he'd said something so touching, Peter had been veering towards putting a protective arm around the kid in the wake of Sylar's attitude. As it was, he only crossed the distance to stand by Sylar, casually, accidentally, slightly in front of his path to Micah. The ex-killer was almost frazzling the air around himself, and Peter didn't need to look to know the man's lips were tightly pursed and his eyebrows pulled low as he worked over this new information.

Taking advantage of the pause, Peter refrained from kicking Sylar in the shin for scaring their new contact, and instead spoke gently to Micah. He crossed his arms loosely across his chest to stop himself bending to the kid's level like a patronizing parent, hoping it wasn't too late to tease back any trust that might have been wounded. "What d'you mean, protecting us?"

To his credit, the boy stood his ground in the wake of Sylar's attitude. When he opened his mouth, he exuded a level-headed confidence that was far above his years, as if he had deemed the argument less important than the matter at hand. Peter couldn't help but like this kid already.

"I've been feeding Renautas false data about where you're staying. Covering your tracks so they'll never know someone's been there. Sometimes I erase traces of you from CCTV, and I've been keeping your identities away from the press. You've got enough to worry about as it is, right?" Then he giggled, suddenly seeming much closer to his age. "Sometimes I send them "tips"... you'd never believe the stuff they fall for!"

Vacantly, Peter realised it must not have been Charles Devaux's spirit keeping them safe at the penthouse after all. No. It had been their real, live guardian angel. The air at his back noticeably cooled as Sylar's temper dissolved, and Peter felt both awful and honoured that someone would ever put so much effort into their best interests and he hadn't even known about it.

"Why would you help us?" Everything he was feeling filtered into his voice.

Again, the boy smiled a smile that was somehow untainted despite his living conditions and the world he belonged in. "I'm helping as many of us as I can. The good guys, the ones who deserve it."

He nodded in the general direction of his makeshift den – a workstation, of sorts. So this was how he was surviving? Day in, day out, alone in this rancid room with nothing but his laptop, all so he could invest his life in helping the "good guys"? The good guys which, Peter hadn't failed to notice, apparently included himself and Sylar. It would have been inspiring if it wasn't so heartbreaking.

"You've been living here?" He asked. Micah nodded, his messy curls swinging. "Where's your family? Do they know where you are?"

At once he regretted asking. The look that overcame that face could only mean one thing. Peter didn't need any details, there were too many horrible answers: maybe Micah's parents had disowned their son when they realised what he could do; they had abilities themselves and had suffered for this at the hands of the enemy; or maybe they'd died heroes while fighting the good fight, leaving their son all alone in this big, bad world with a bullseye on his back...?

Finally Peter couldn't take it any longer. With a sad exhalation, he uncrossed his arms to reach for Micah. He grasped a skinny shoulder with care, knowing it wouldn't solve anything but wishing for it to be so. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

( )

How could Peter make it look so easy? He'd barely known the kid two minutes and already there was a connection growing there, one easy and genuine and, most of all, compassionate. Meanwhile Sylar had actually saved Micah Sanders' life last time they'd met, and he'd been nothing but awkward and mean and had only served to dig himself a deeper hole since the moment they'd arrived! Damn it, he wished it didn't have to be so difficult when re-meeting his old, uh, acquaintances in this new life.

He watched with a mixture of affection and envy as the two selfless do-gooders shared this touching moment. Sylar didn't dare try to intrude or even make a sound. He'd only ruin it.

Peter held Micah's shoulder in a similar manner to how he had Sylar's last night, and the kid's face shone with that same faked bravado that Peter and Sylar had been wielding themselves lately. Huh. Maybe it wasn't so uncommon to be this fucked up after all?

"It's not too bad." Micah asserted. He almost sounded believable. "I always wanted to live in the city growing up. I never planned on breaking into old Primatech quarters, but it's the perfect place and it's not too hard to keep them thinking it's deserted." He seemed rather proud of himself for that last part.

Sylar didn't know where to look. He was on the verge of wandering over to nosey through the remaining paintings until the other two wrapped this up (it wasn't like he'd be missed, right?) when Peter straightened and gestured to the living quarters in the corner of the studio. "Can I?"

Micah nodded, and all at once Sylar retracted his wishes. He didn't want Peter to go and leave him alone with this boy, but he didn't manage more than a worried puff of breath after his friend's retreating, betraying back before it was just him and a former victim standing over the exact spot where Sylar had committed his first murder in this room.

It was not a fun feeling.

They stood in an uncomfortable silence as Peter's footsteps faded in volume. ...Maybe it would be less awkward if Micah would send him death stares instead of that understanding look? Or if he'd at least stop being so nice? Sylar found himself almost wishing for an angry retort or a well deserved punch to come his way – anything to break the ice – but he was well aware it was pointless to dream. Micah was much too kind for that type of thing. Which only made it worse.

( )

Peter climbed the stairs two at a time towards the makeshift computer lab. He failed to force away the memory of Simone's unseeing eyes and dead weight in his arms as he approached the last place he'd set eyes upon her. This place held too many ghosts. Too many secrets and broken hearts. It had always been a pit where bad things happened... but that didn't mean there wasn't hope on the horizon.

He didn't slow down until he was kneeling on the cold ground beside an impressive pile of 9th Wonders comic books and a heavily modified laptop, propped up on what appeared to have once been parts of an easel.

The scrolling text on the laptop screen made no sense to Peter. He caught glimpses of random names and what he assumed must be locations – Alex Woolsly, Molly Walker, Phoebe Frady – but couldn't hope to understand the tech speak that filled almost every inch of space in indecipherable code. It didn't matter. He could interpret enough to realise that Micah must have a hand in monitoring almost a hundred people's safety, if not more.

Despite the chill of the floor seeping through his jeans, Peter was unable to tear his gaze away or contain the stunned smile that broke over his face. This right here was solid evidence that there was still good in the world, that Renautas didn't control every corner of it as securely as they thought they did! Rebel was rebelling the constraints of society, just like Peter and Sylar were.

He, too, was helping people. He was making a stand. They weren't alone.

( )

The silence was driving him mad. Sylar couldn't not look at Micah any longer, it felt like hours already but only seconds had passed. He was not looking forward to the upcoming interaction. To kicking up old dust. He probably could get away with avoiding the topic altogether, but remorse, sadness and that still tender, good part of him were calling for more attention than his once mighty ego.

Finally, Sylar let out a sigh. With it, he tried to let go of the crippling humiliation that had festered in silence since the first time he'd met Rebel, nine long years ago from his perspective.

"Listen, Micah..." He started, bringing his face into full view of the kid's knowing eyes.

"It's okay." The technopath smiled.

Sylar's internal organs sizzled and his voice suddenly lost its strength. "It's not okay."

"You don't have to apologise." Micah blinked up at him with those young, yet weathered, eyes. "I know you were hurting back then, you were confused. I understand what that's like. And what it can do to a person."

It stung more that he was being so gracious. Far too gracious. First to go to such lengths to protect them (even if the snooping was still a factor Sylar couldn't warm to), and then not to cast up the former villain's witnessed mental breakdown. Everyone else he'd used to know would definitely hold onto such leverage and exert it like the weapon it was. But today alone, Micah had proved himself to be not like everyone else. He really was one of the good ones.

No wonder he and Peter got on like a house on fire. Sylar dug his hands deeper into his pockets but denied the natural reaction to hunch in on himself. He didn't even know what to say. Should he accept the easy way out? Fight to say his piece? Even after all this time, it was still cripplingly embarrassing to know Micah had caught him shape-shifting into his dead mother and having a half-cracked conversation with himself. Sylar had accidentally forgotten to tell Peter that detail of the story. And the part where, ashamed, he'd kicked the kid out into the streets followed by death threats.

However, miraculously, it seemed like the victim of said attack had no intention of holding a grudge. "I'm glad you're feeling better." Micah said quietly, before Sylar had even decided which route to take. "I'm glad you're finally using your powers for good."

He looked sympathetic, an emotion which Sylar would go out of his way to quash in everyone who dared try it on him. He might have attempted to now if there hadn't been such pride exuding from the kid also.

"I always knew you had it in you to be a hero."

Sylar wasn't too sure he liked the twinge of superiority that this homeless child seemed to be displaying towards him. But as for the statement, itself? Well, Micah had just said the magic words. Sylar didn't even need a lie detector ability to know the kid was speaking from the heart. Almost reluctantly, he allowed the last of his reservations to unwind, surrendered to the fuzzy feeling inside and the inevitable smile that softened the angles of his face.

Looking down the difference in their heights, Sylar hummed through curved lips. "You did, didn't you?"

He could tell the exact second Micah realised he was in the clear. The little face beamed in the type of smile he'd given Peter easily, but it was the first time Sylar had earned it, himself. It was... a weird sensation. Even Hiro still had a slight guarded vibe about him whenever they spoke, and aside from Peter, Sylar couldn't even remember the last time someone had gifted him such a genuine gesture. He tried to return it, but got the feeling he'd only come across as an estranged loner who had no clue or experience in how to bond with kids. In other words, he didn't fool anyone to the truth.

The young guy lifted his attention from Sylar enough to turn his head away, a sign of trust that did not go unnoticed. He drew Sylar's eye along with his own to the third party engrossed in the laptop at the side of the room.

"All you needed this whole time was a friend, and I'm glad you chose him." He half giggled again, a rusty, pleasant sound. "But it shouldn't have been such a surprise: the hero redeems the villain and they go on together to save the world...? It's textbook stuff."

The references weren't much appreciated on Sylar's end, however he chose to overlook them this once. Micah had been alone with nothing but comic books for so long, after all. Sylar remembered the temporary phase in the early years of Parkman's punishment when his own thoughts had been formatted like the narration in the books that were his only company, so he cut the kid some slack. Except on one point.

"I didn't choose him." He murmured fondly, eyes still on his only friend.

Funny, sometimes Sylar could so clearly recall the moment when everything in his universe had changed. Between one endless second and the next, the world was suddenly lacking the cold edges he had grown to accept; the first distant sound in years was echoing in his head, and all at once there was an unmistakable figure standing at the far end of the street: a real, living, human being imprinted against the vacant backdrop of nothingness... No, Sylar hadn't chosen Peter Petrelli of all people to burst into his world in a flurry of self-righteousness, steel fists and emotion. At the time he'd just settled for the discount prize that had been dumped on his doorstop while there was no other option. Now, though – damage and baggage and all – he wouldn't exchange his winnings for anything.

He was shaken out of the empty streets of his mind when Micah started walking in Peter's direction, looking back for Sylar to follow. He obliged. "However you guys worked it out, I think it's really good that you did."

Sylar dropped a questioning gaze at his new companion as they crossed the floor side by side. For a moment he considered breaking open the topic of Parkman's punishment and the subsequent years spent locked together in a dream. But only for a moment.

Micah continued blabbering, as if it was the most everyday of topics and not one that some people prefer to keep private. "Now you're not lonely anymore."

( )

Peter caught the tail end of the conversation just as the other two climbed the stairs to join him at the laptop. Standing and stretching his stiff legs, he shuffled shyly and pretended he hadn't heard anything he hadn't been invited to listen to. It was probably about time they got down to the real reason of this meeting anyway, right?

"Uh... so, you're doing all this by yourself?" He asked Micah, but glanced briefly over his head at Sylar. The guy looked right back with a hint of I-suppose-you-might-have-been-right acquiescence touching his lips. He was definitely more relaxed than he had been earlier, which Peter gladly used to fuel his enthusiasm. Returning the secret smile, he stepped back to give the technopath access to his laptop.

"I'm in touch with people all over the world, but this is the main server." He'd barely touched a hand to the computer and it began to whir and flicker through hundreds of assorted documents. He scanned through the racing files with practised ease, knowing exactly what he was looking for. Peter couldn't help but watch this ability unfold in awe for the first time. "It's gets a little tiring, but I'm doing this for the same reason you do what you do: we can't let Renautas win. ...Which is why I called you here."

At last the filmreel of files slowed to a stop and a sole video feed sat alone on the screen. Micah broke his attention from his laptop to look at both Peter and Sylar in turn. He talked over a video of a recognisable, bespectacled man crossing a parking lot and entering a large building that was almost disguised behind ongoing renovations. Peter's hackles rose and fists clenched automatically.

"Noah Bennet has been working from the old Primatech headquarters in Odessa." Micah said. The footage cut to reveal a basic hallway that Noah descended; then cut to inside a dropping elevator; then Noah bypassing the security of a large, reinforced door that made Peter's knuckles whiten. "Most of his operations go down in the basement, but I don't have eyes inside. He spends hours in there, mostly in his office or this cell..." A digital blueprint of the basement floorplan flashed up on screen, with one cell in the block, the biggest one, highlighted.

Of course Noah was still working from this fucking building! Even burning the godforsaken place to ground couldn't put an end to it! Peter felt ill at the thought of going back there. How many times had he seen the inside of that corridor, the inside of the cells? His family had been buried up to their necks in the place and its many ministrations, and almost everyone Peter knew had been dragged into the shitshow at some point or other. It wasn't enough that Renautas' had a share in hundreds of corporations over the globe. It just had to resurrect the one place that could only be improved when reduced to a smoking mass of rubble.

( )

Sylar hated himself for actually being caught off guard by this disconcerting information. It was just so predictable that it was ridiculous. With difficulty, he held all regurgitated flashbacks and emotions at bay now that they had started to talk strategies, but made a mental note to kick something later. Hard. Where was the indestructible Wall when he needed it...?!

"And you can get us in there?" He directed at Micah, cataloguing the security system and the overall look of the place. It had certainly had a sleek, probably obscenely expensive, makeover since Sylar had last roamed those halls.

"Yeah, all the way to the basement. I can't make you invisible though, you'll still need a disguise –" Between Peter and Sylar, the third evo tensed as a sudden detour in thought seemed to overtake him. "...But I can make you disappear." He straightened up and stood back to observe them both at once.

The taste of a change in plans permeated the air, not harmful, yet enough to have Sylar suspiciously rake his eyes over the boy. Making someone disappear? Perhaps into a pile of dust? The phrase hit far too close to home right now.

"Invading Renautas is gonna be dangerous." Micah said pointlessly. "I can't promise nothing will go wrong in there. You're walking into the bad guys' lair, you've threatened their power and embarrassed them again and again, it's not gonna be pretty if they catch you."

"Thanks for that encouraging reminder."

Micah shook his head earnestly, his curls getting in his eyes. "...I said I'm gonna help you. And I will, I promise. Either by sneaking you in... or by sneaking you out."

...Oh. Sylar released his wary stance and sheepishly dropped his eyes. This unarmed, unallied tween had not only invited the two known most powerful evos to his secret hideout, but had shared precious intelligence and undeserved kind words with them as well. And now he was really offering to help extricate them from the madness had had no easy escape route...?

To his side, Peter looked about as humbled and surprised by this turn of events as Sylar felt. "Th-thanks, but... you don't have to do that..."

"But you could escape all this!" Sylar had no doubt that the kid was being totally genuine. He felt even worse for casting him out last time. "You can run and start a new life away from here! I can cover for you? I can leave a false trail somewhere they'll never find you... you can finally be free."

The sweet, sweet promise swam through the air of the loft, pure enough to counteract the stinging stench of turpentine. Everything else fell by the wayside, as if Peter and Sylar hadn't spent months working up to this moment.

Oh, how easy it would be to say yes. To turn their backs on Bennet and co. with their middle fingers raised and fuck off to somewhere no one knew them, a real, permanent reprieve that didn't involve time travel, '90s fashion and questionable haircuts...

Sylar didn't want to get carried away, but it was so undeniably tempting. The lure brushed past so close it arose the hairs on his arms. So close he could almost taste it. ...A fresh start... anonymity... happiness...?

( )

It was because the idea sounded so glorious that Peter knew he could never go for it. He wouldn't even know how to move on from this life of his, how to say goodbye to the family who never wanted to see him again, how to let go of his many charges who didn't even know his name... He could almost imagine the outlines of a faint picture: the alternative, the unknown. For all he knew it could be perfect... but even if running away turned out to be the best decision he'd ever made, it would never be the right one.

One look into Sylar's eyes revealed his entire thought process. Peter could see his friend's perspective as clearly as if he'd used Lydia's ability to read his soul again, and knew he had been stripped equally bare in return. They shared a conversation in one heartbeat, one unintelligible to the outside world and the watchful observer barely three steps away. Peter watched potential swirl in those deep, dark eyes. He then watched the scale of possibility ease back from the brink of fantasy and clunk down once more into the cold earth of real life.

It was too good to be true. Too easy. And neither of these men had ever known the meaning of that word.

A longing half-smile possessed Sylar's mouth and Peter nodded softly, then the taller man turned back to face Micah with the certainty with which he made every decision. One that, this time, Peter agreed with whole-heartedly.

"We're not running. Not until we see this thing through."

Micah seemed unaffected by the rejection of his generous offer. Instead the raw concern melted away from his youthful form and a sly grin crept over his face.

The tiny motion shook Peter to his senses like a hook behind the navel. He knew the "game on" look far too well to mistake it, so well that he made the effort to half mourn, half embrace his last chance to back out as he watched it slip through his fingers.

A glint of something infectious twinkled in Micah's eye. "I hoped you'd say that."

A/N: Thank you again for reading this chapter! I know it's been a long journey to get this far, and it means the world to me that you've stayed with me throughout it 3 I can promise there's a lot more story on the way, a lot more emotion, surprises and action, that I hope won't disappoint ^.^

I also hope you enjoyed this update, it was more of a slow, steady one, taking the time to recuperate between action that I think the boys needed, and we did too X) But in case it isn't obvious, next update will be right back into the thick of things now that our heroes are heading back to Odessa... (c'mon, surely you knew it was coming at some point? XP)

I've been meaning to say for ages: if you're on Tumblr and would like to see my thoughts on Heroes, little random posts about the show, or a ton of Peter and Sylar screenshots (many still to come), please go follow me over there - search for "FieryEclipse" ^.^