A/N: This is a two-part update, so if you've not read the first half already go do so before reading this chapter XP
Without You
Matt Parkman stomped and panted as he flurried his way around the office, clean, ceramic walls and streamlined furniture alight with the vibrant, deep hues of sunset. He tore through shelves with no care for the objects that fell to the floor; he scattered the minimalist contents of his desk while clumsily sifting through it, and he didn't care at all that someone else would have to tidy up the mess.
Fuck this job. Fuck Renautas. Fuck Noah fucking Bennet for ever dragging him out of retirement and back into this mess. Catch Sylar once and for all – save the world – finally be a hero – yeah, right! Matt hated to think that he'd actually jumped at the chance to clear the blame of letting a deranged serial killer back out on the loose the night of the Carnival. And the promise of an impressive job title and salary along with it hadn't exactly put him off, either. He'd done the stupid thing for his own means.
This time, however, Matt was going to be smart and get ahead of the game.
He continued to tirade his way through the otherwise empty office, shoving as much as he could into his already-bulging backpack. He couldn't take this any longer. For weeks now, his every action had been tainted by the fallout of that first interrogation with Sylar that had left a less-than-favourable stain on Matt and his reputation. Who would take him seriously now that he'd had to admit to being wrong? What good was a telepath that picked and chose only the most self-serving facts to pass on, after all? He knew they were all thinking it. Even if he wouldn't have had the privilege of literally hearing said thoughts following him everywhere he went.
Matt's footholds within this organization were becoming increasingly unstable with each passing day. Noah Bennet's lurking shadow didn't help at all: had the guy trained to protect his mind from the persuasions of a telepath? Because no matter how many times Matt tried to quash any ideas in that head that might lead to him discovering the whole trapped-Peter-and-Sylar-in-a-mental-prison-and-tried-to-hide-the-evidence-in-his-basement thing, Matt would swear Noah's suspicions of his part to play kept reviving anyway. And even though it should be impossible, Bennet always just seemed to know each time he tried to push a thought.
And now that the operation that had brought Matt here in the first place had run its course, it was deep in the process of being dismantled. Word (gleaned oh-so-subtly from the minds of those above) was that Bennet was all but demoted at this point; the paintings Matt had wasted months of his life slaving over were being removed already; Peter Petrelli was still living cluelessly with his mama; and now that Renautas had apparently given up on recruiting Sylar after countless dead-end interrogations, he'd had his memories erased too and was to be transported off site any minute now.
And the second the killer left Renautas HQ, Matt knew his value here would definitely run out. He'd fucked up too much with this one. Lied too many times, missed too many warning signs. He didn't doubt that Renautas wouldn't wait around to see if he did better next time.
And what was he supposed to do when the same organization he'd dedicated his time and efforts to turned on him? When they made him the next poor sucker to be strung up like a scarecrow and shipped to the offshore outpost as nothing more than a faulty product? Brainwash everyone in the entire goddmaned company?!
No. He was going to go back to L.A., get Janice and Matty and drive – just drive – anywhere far enough away from here that Renautas might give up on him. And if they didn't? Well, Matt might not be able to mind control a few thousand people at once, but a team of agents?! Just let them come!
"Going somewhere, are we?"
Matt startled upright behind his desk, halfway through a battle with the un-cooperative zipper on his rucksack. He started to sweat further even before turning around, all too familiar with that falsely polite tone.
"I, uh - Ms Kravid." He greeted, much too late in trying to pass off his escape as something casual. As if his flushed cheeks and breathlessness didn't give him away. "Oh, this? No, no I'm just... uh..."
"Preparing to let me down, Mr Parkman." Uncrossing her arms, Erica pushed off from the door frame and sauntered into the room, her usually brilliant white attire stained a bold amber by the sun. It only served to make her appear an even more intimidating figure than usual. "Noah Bennet spoke very highly of you when he recommended you for this position. I'd hoped you would prove a valuable addition to the company."
Matt sighed, resting his hands on his hips. He could have tried to deny his attempt to flee, or spin her any number of lies that painted him in a better light than the truth. But why waste the effort when it was so much easier to just send her on her way with less than a thought on his part? However, when he extended his ability to do just that, what he heard made him hesitate, even caught red-handed in the shit as he was.
"You're not here to fire me." He voiced this realisation aloud, unable to mask his surprise as the rest of his boss's intentions reverberated along his telepathy. "You're here to offer me a promotion? Why? Am I the next best thing you could find now that your plans for Sylar fell through?"
Erica Kravid sent a tight smirk Matt's way. "Does it matter? This is the opportunity you've dreamed of since your days directing traffic for the big boys." She came to a stop with both hands on Matt's desk. "Your ability ismost intriguing. It would be a shame to put such a thing to waste when we could do wonders together."
After a weak-willed stretch of hesitation, Matt scoffed, wiping the perspiration from his top lip. "No. No." He shook his head, finally managing to close the stupid goddamned zipper of his backpack. He swung the thing over his shoulder and pushed past his desk, skirting around his visitor to reach the door. "I can't stay. The things I've done – the secrets I've kept – it's too much. I broke so many rules already, it's just a matter of time before –"
Behind him, Erica condescendingly clicked her tongue. "I'm not interested in the past, Mr Parkman." Maybe it was something in her tone, then, or the self-assurance radiating so confidently from her thoughts, but Matt found that his feet stopped by themselves before he could leave the office. "My concern has always been the future."
And he could see it, then: a title, respect, in time becoming the head of his own division... All this was projected into his mind gift-wrapped and signed courtesy of Erica Kravid. It was too good to be true. Yet Matt didn't need to ask if she was lying when he already knew she was not. And he didn't need to shed a tear over the jump from being Bennet's understudy one day to becoming his boss the next.
The telepath's backpack hit the carpet with a thump. He turned to face Erica with his arms crossed, unconsciously mirroring the smug expression on her face. "Why don't you tell me more about this 'future', then?"
( )( )( )
Peter sat curled up within the open window, perched comfortably on the ledge with a balance that only came from years of practice.
He remembered hiding in this exact same spot as a kid after getting into trouble for some other pointless, stupid reason, Arthur's yells still ringing in his ears. He remembered brooding here each time Nathan went back out on active duty, until the tears stopped falling and he didn't feel so alone. He remembered looking out at this exact same view while twirling a bloodied shard of glass in his fingers, haunted by a recent death and dreams of exploding like a nuclear bomb.
But today there was none of that. There was just... nothing. Loneliness. Emptiness. And that was the problem.
By now the waning sun had crept around Peter's old bedroom like the hands on a clock face, stretching from the dusty CDs and old stereo in the corner to the faded Fantastic Four poster on the wall. Currently, he was watching a stunning evening replace another long, boring, uneventful day as the world carried on without him – a different world to the one Peter had left behind.
You'd think it would be difficult enough to wake up one morning missing months of your life, without everything else having seemingly transformed overnight as well, right? Three weeks in and it still felt like a dream. Or like one day Peter had been worried about stopping a madman from killing thousands of innocent lives at a Carnival, and the next he'd accidentally teleported himself into some bizarre future where Samuel Sullivan was no longer an issue, superhumans had been revealed to the public, all Peter's old abilities had somehow returned to him at once, his niece was a world famous celebrity fighting for human rights, and there was no way to get back to his own timeline.
It was a lot to take in at once.
And of course, there was Nathan. Apparently it had been months since the funeral. Everyone else had half a year on Peter in terms of acceptance. But for him, it was still too raw. He still didn't know what the hell to do with all these feelings that surged inward to claw at him from within. He wasn't ready to say goodbye to his brother yet. He was still so furious that whenever Sylar came to mind he wanted to murder the son of a bitch with his own two hands.
Sure, as a hospice nurse he'd helped people through the deaths of their loved ones, but that didn't mean he wasn't spectacularly unprepared to experience it, himself. Maybe it was because it had gone against everything he'd known? There wasn't time to make peace with it, to make Nathan feel comfortable and loved and help him feel satisfied with his time here on Earth before leaving. There hadn't even been time to say a real goodbye. It had been sudden, violent, merciless, cruel, it didn't need to have happened at all. It wasn't his time, but that didn't protect him from being stolen just the same.
And now Peter was just expected to get over it like everyone else apparently had, even though to him it felt like Nathan had only just slipped from his grasp atop Mercy Heights rooftop and fallen away forever...?
The empath sighed, trying not to drown beneath the tide of his new reality that stole the breath from his lungs. He let the warm, summer breeze trail his hair across his face and whisper towards the city standing proudly in the distance. Here, he was on the outskirts, away from everything and everyone. A willing captive, just has he had been once when stupidly trusting Bob Bishop and his claims of 'help' inside a Company facility.
At least this prison was familiar as home, even if the marble floors felt colder underfoot and the halls looked bigger than they'd used to, like Peter was a kid again. Except his father's office was empty now and no sound came from behind Nathan's door. Strange, that he'd lived back here for so many days already, but that these details caught him off guard each time he passed by...
"I see you still have a habit of seeking out heights when you're upset. Some might think it worrying."
Peter jumped at the unexpected voice behind him, a dangerous motion in his current position. Suddenly he felt guilty, like he'd just been caught doing something forbidden. "I'm not upset." He lied, having been brooding so hard he hadn't even heard the bedroom door open. Sending a small, unsure smile his visitor's way, he shifted to make room beside him on the window ledge, setting his feet back on solid ground.
"I don't need an ability to know when you're telling the truth, Peter, I'm your mother." Angela deposited a glass of water and his evening dose of Haitian pills just out of reach on the desk before perching beside him. Peter sat patiently while she neatened his hair from its wind-tousled state.
For a moment he contemplated lying again. He didn't want to upset her – since they'd lost Nathan it was harder not to cling to one another tighter than they had before, and harder to hold a grudge over a lifetime of betrayals now that they had only each other. Angela had been so patient and kind with Peter these past few weeks. She was his only source of comfort and company in this brave new world. Nobody else had checked up on him since his memory loss, but even if they'd known where he was, there was nobody out there who might care anyway. Nathan's empty space was still a raw and recent wound in Peter's heart; Claire was busy with the duties that came with being a worldwide superhuman sensation; Hesam had been cold with Peter since the whole Samuel Sullivan lawsuit thing at work; and even if he could consider the tentative affections he felt for Emma as friendship, Peter had well and truly fucked that over too by breaking her cello the last time they'd talked. Or at least, the last time he remembered.
And there was the problem, again, sneaking back around to bite him even when he wasn't expecting it. The whole missing-months-of-his-life thing.
There was nothing stopping Peter from leaving this house if he wanted. No cell door or armoured guards were in his way this time, but still he didn't try to escape. It was easier in here. Safe. Not to mention the truth that he was too afraid to ask kept him obediently inside like an invisible barrier, while guilt for an act he couldn't remember tethered him to this house like a chain around his ankle.
Because Peter knew he wouldn't be on house arrest unless it was necessary. He wouldn't be willingly suppressing his abilities if he didn't know the gap in his memory meant he'd done something awful, something that his mother was trying to spare him from with vague stories riddled with inconsistencies. And every over-compensating breakfast buffet and every new comic book she forced upon him to keep him happy only enforced this idea, but Peter didn't want any of it. Nothing she could do could fill the void that grew bigger and more ravenous inside his chest each day. Besides, what was the fun in reading about superheroes anyway when he'd lived and lost that life, himself?
Finally cracking beneath the knowing gaze of his mother, Peter let out a sigh. "Did it ever... hurt?" He asked, trying not to look too desperate for any sign of the assurance he craved from her. "When Dad would make you forget things. Could you feel it, after?"
The following wait was a long one, while Peter's heart beat heavily against his rib cage. Angela seemed to debate over her answer for too long before putting him out of his misery. "No." She confessed. It sounded like the truth.
Peter bowed his head, using the pretense of watching his fingers absently intertwine. He wanted to bury the way he was feeling, along with the cravings for something he couldn't place that only grew deeper each hour he existed in this life that didn't feel like his. He'd hoped these might be normal side-effects to having parts of your own life displaced, because it hadn't felt like this back in Ireland. But he'd supposed that was because he'd lost everything he'd ever known and everything he'd been at once. Everything was unfamiliar to him then. But if Arthur had freely ransacked Angela's memories for years and she'd never noticed the effects of it... then he didn't know what else to credit for his conflict.
It was certainly getting more and more difficult to blame it on the loss of his abilities, or Nathan's recent death. Every morning it took Peter longer to realise he was waking up alone, and even longer still to realise he had no reason to expect anything otherwise anyway. Then the ache kicked in. It felt like phantom pains, like missing a limb that was no longer there – except Peter was entirely intact. It felt as if he'd fallen asleep cuddled up to something warm but when he reached out there was nothing there, like he'd been crept out on during the night by someone he didn't even recognise. It was an unquenchable thirst or hunger for something he couldn't name, like pain constantly humming at a low frequency, along with the impact of every betrayal he'd ever known gut-punching him at once, and he had no idea how to justify these sensations as something he should be feeling.
It felt worryingly close to losing his mind.
( )
Mrs Petrelli's hardened, wizened heart cracked open at the state of her son in that moment. He wasn't crying and he wasn't bleeding like the nightmare that still lingered in her vision, but he may as well have been. Angela didn't need the revealing lens of dreams to see clearly what Peter was trying to hide from the world. It was what pushed her to carry through with the decision she'd been struggling to form all day.
She stroked his hair again, running the soft, dark strands through her fingers before trailing the overgrown ends back over the neckline of his t-shirt. He'd always hated getting haircuts, much to Angela's dismay over the years. But right now she was grateful for it, because inside he may have been wounded from years of lies and fighting, but outside he still looked very much like the sweet, gentle-natured boy she'd watched grow up into an extremely brave, kind and handsome young man.
"You've always been incredibly sensitive, dear." She said quietly. "You've always felt pain when others do not, even long before your abilities manifested." As if at the reminder of them, Peter avoided her eyes to reach for the Haitian pills awaiting him on the desk. Angela let him retrieve them before continuing. "It's what makes you such a rare and beautiful soul."
Surprise illuminated Peter's form, then, just like the sunset that touched upon his features. Not that Angela could blame him. He probably wasn't used to being reminded of his sensitivity without it being followed by a prompt to do something about it. But now, today, Angela stopped herself from voicing the ingrained reaction she had hounded him with all his life.
Working herself up to what she needed to say, she pried the bottle of pills from Peter's slack fingers, matter-of-factly setting them down on the ledge out of his reach. His brow furrowed a little in a question that Angela didn't answer.
"You're so much like me in many ways, dear. Strong, determined, stubborn. And you can't deny you have your father's courage." She said this despite knowing how much he'd always hated hearing it. Even now, she saw defensiveness stir in the depth of her son's eyes. It didn't stop her from reaching for his hand and cherishing it in both her own. "But everything that's good in you, Peter... that's all you." For the first time in weeks, Angela felt the first genuine smile touch her face, illuminating all the way into her eyes. "Patience. Kindness. Understanding. Trust. Selflessness." Each word seemed to swell in her chest more than the one before, until someone less resilient than Angela Petrelli might not have been able to speak anymore. "I still don't know where all this came from, but god knows, it would have done us all good to learn something from you. Maybe our family would still be together."
( )
Okay... Peter had no clue what to say to that.
He'd never been good at dealing with praise, having never had much practice at it, but today it was even worse than usual. The kind words he'd never even thought to expect should have brought him relief; instead they only crept uncomfortably up his spine. It wasn't that Peter didn't think they were genuine – because he did. But he knew they didn't come for free, not in this family.
Allowing his mother to pet his hand, Peter tried to ignore the uncertainty churning in his gut. It would have been nice to take the compliments and affectionate touches at face-value, but he wasn't that innocent anymore. "What's going on, Ma?" He asked carefully, dreading the answer.
Peter was bracing himself for impact even before Angela severed their eye contact and straightened her posture. It was only in that moment that he realised she looked different than she had even yesterday. Haunted. Like she knew something awful that he didn't. Peter wished he wasn't reminded of her breaking the news to him that Arthur's 'death' had been the latest suicide attempt of many.
Angela postponed her answer further by tracing the length of his fingers with her thumb. And it was that simple gesture, one that was for her sake instead of being used to manipulate him, that had Peter believing whatever she said next would be the truth. "I did something." Never one to concede easily, she deliberately met Peter's eyes for her confession. "I made a mistake."
Her hands seemed to grow heavier around his until he wanted to shake them off. He resisted. "You hurt someone." It wasn't a question. Because Peter had played this game too many times to expect anything else from this particularly resourceful woman by now.
Angela's brisk nod provided a contrast to the trembling smile on her face and the unshed tears brimming along her lashes. "I hurt the only person I love in this world."
Peter swallowed the slew of accusations that formed on his lips. Because of course her recent loving mother routine had been too good to be true. He had no excuse by now – after years of lies and more surprises than any family should be capable of – somehow, stupidly, naïvely... he still hadn't been expecting this. And it still hurt as much as it had the very first time.
Fuck. Skin beginning to itch where his mother's touched it, Peter pulled his hand free and rubbed his face in exasperation. Mostly at himself. Because despite a lifetime of experience screaming at him not to dare ask, he couldn't resist the pinprick glinting in the distance, the allure of an answer that might shed some light on how the broken pieces inside him came to be this way.
( )
"What did you do, Ma?"
"I took something from you. Something that was never mine to take."
"My memories? But you said -"
"More than just your memories." Angela blurted, before she could change her mind and un-sign her own death sentence. Hugging himself tightly, Peter frowned deeper, hurt and confused, and for a moment he reminded her so much of a weary, jaded soldier in the future with a scar tearing down the length of his once beautiful face... finally, Angela wobbled precariously on the fragile line between composure and remorse.
It had all been for nothing. She'd pushed him away in the first place chasing a dream that had always been a lie. Out of desperation, she'd tried to save him from his fate, instilled the fear of the apocalypse in Noah Bennet and Renautas to get them to do her bidding, all to stop her son from losing himself and ending the world. But now the world was set to end anyway, no matter what she'd done. The path leading to this point appeared wrong now looking back, the illusion was broken and she'd been the fool to believe in it at all! Because if she'd just left Peter to his own devices in the first place; if she'd just put up with his fraternization with Sylar and learned to share his affections with another; then she would still have him. He would still love her. He would be happy.
Of course the truth she'd denied was crystal clear in hindsight, but Angela Petrelli had always been cursed with the gift of looking forward in time, not back. And now she was faced with perhaps the hardest decision she'd ever had to make in her life.
"I thought I was protecting you, sweetheart." Her voice shook a little when Peter winced. It might have been easier to pry open her vault of secrets if she'd done so more than once every few years. Currently the hinges were stiff and the door was all but rusted shut, but Angela hauled them open even though it hurt her to confess and she could see it hurt Peter to listen. "I was selfish and frightened and I didn't want to lose you." She spoke quickly, before losing her nerve or choking up with something much more raw than self-preservation. "Now I see that I was wrong."
( )
Peter didn't move. He didn't voice a single one of the countless questions caught in the tornado of of his mind. He wasn't even sure he could move, or that he'd be able to make a sound past his tightly constricted throat. Where to even begin? Beyond countless blank spaces in the story Angela was weaving for him, he knew enough to gather that his family home, the rooms he'd learned to walk in, the 'familiar prison' for its 'willing captive' didn't feel much like the refuge it had just minutes ago.
He didn't want to be afraid. He didn't want to be so angry. Or feel resentment pressing down upon him like a physical weight. But he did, all at once, targeted at his mother for all the things she'd told him and everything else she wasn't saying, but mostly targeted at himself.
He couldn't believe he'd actually wanted to trust in her again! But was it too much to ask for the only thing left in his life to be genuine?! And now he knew Angela had lied again, and he'd fallen for every word, and she'd stolen from him! This formless, faceless source of warmth and comfort that Peter had missed and longed for all this time...? It was lost because of her. And then what? She'd had a change of heart? Since when was that a Petrelli M.O?! And a few vague words and an admittance of wrongdoing was supposed to make up for all the hurt and confusion Peter had been struggling to understand for weeks now?!
It didn't even matter that he didn't know what it was he was missing so terribly. It only mattered that he wanted it back more than he'd ever wanted anything before.
( )
This moment could very well be the last Angela would ever get to share with her remaining family before he remembered what she'd done to him. Before he knew what she was capable of and she lost him forever. So taking advantage of this, she reached gently for her son again. He tensed, his scowl flickering, but didn't stop her from stroking his shoulder, feeling the strong, real warmth of his person underhand.
Too clearly, she recalled the sight of him standing outside Sylar's cell in Renautas three weeks ago, arms out wide in an attempt to protect the killer – his friend – from further harm. To convince his assailants of their innocence in the end of the world. Angela remembered Peter's cries echoing around cold basement corridors, the terror in his eyes and the hand prints left behind on the glass, after.
She still couldn't blink away the vision of her dream earlier that day. The young man suffering in silence and bleeding from the heart, screaming on the inside so that no one had to see his pain.
"I should never have doubted you, Peter. I should have listened. You were only trying to do the right thing, you always do." She said, letting her shaking hand fall before Peter had the chance to recoil from it. She then procured from her pocket a slip of notepaper with neat handwriting marking the middle. "And that's why I know this time will be no different."
( )
Maybe it was a good thing that Peter's powers were still nullified by that morning's dose of medication otherwise he might have accidentally blasted the room apart, the way he was feeling right now. A scrap of paper? That was meant to make everything she'd done okay?!
He nearly bit through his own tongue to keep his voice from rising. "What's that?" He demanded, eyeing the offending piece of paper again without reaching for it, tightening his arms around himself so that he was in danger of leaving bruises.
"This will help you find what you lost." You mean what was stolen! Peter wanted to yell, but didn't. Apparently the look on his face got the message across anyway, because Angela tried to hide a swipe at her eyelashes before pushing her offering further toward him. "It's not too late to fix things. But by tomorrow, it will be."
Stiffly prying the shield of his arms down, Peter took the paper and scowled at it. He recognised the page as one torn from Angela's favourite notebook, lightly tinted lilac with delicate swirls at the corners. The soothing tone of the paper didn't mask its message, though: some sort of hand-drawn map above an address, he assumed, but it wasn't one Peter recognised. Colorado. There was a long, jumbled mass of numbers and letters written near the bottom and a numerical code below that. Upon this first glance it didn't make much sense, but Peter didn't need to understand the words to know what it meant.
His heart started bleeding for his mother at the same time hope came flooding back through his parched veins, as sweet and satisfying as nectar. "You'll let me leave?" He asked a little huskily, looking back up into Angela's all-knowing gaze. Large, familiar eyes that shone in the sunset, golden light catching the tears she refused to acknowledge.
Peter didn't even notice she'd retrieved the Haitian pills again until she pressed them into his free hand. "I just want you to be free to make your own choice, Peter."
Angela Petrelli smiled, and it was warm but sad, filled with the most love Peter had received in as far back as he could remember. Suddenly his chest hurt a little, and the urge to punch a wall was challenged by the urge to hug his mother tight and forgive all her mistakes for the hundredth time. Because betrayal was still ripping at his heart, but how could he maintain his anger when he could see with his own two eyes how much it was hurting her to do this, yet here she was still, admitting she was wrong and setting him free even though it meant she'd be alone? Never mind that this felt uncomfortably like a goodbye he'd hoped to never have to say.
Even though Peter knew he had every right to, he just couldn't make himself reject the kiss that Angela pressed to his forehead, or the soothing touches that ran through his hair one last time. He felt dizzy as soon as the woman rose to her feet and crossed the room, leaving him to sway on the edge of the window, alone. There were still too many questions tying his tongue into knots but he just knew he couldn't leave it like this. All he could manage before she left was a rather pleading, "I don't understand!"
Angela paused in the doorway. "You will, dear. I'm just not the person who can help you." She cast an eye back at him, and only because Peter had grown up with this woman could he tell that she was running away so she could finally cry in private.
A matching heat prickled at his own eyes. Because, yes, he couldn't remember being this angry with her for any reason other than the Sylar/Nathan body swap fiasco, but Peter had never been able to sit by, unfeeling, when someone else was upset. He'd always had to try his best to ease their suffering somehow. Especially when they were suffering because of him, and especially when it came to someone he loved.
( )
Angela hovered on the edge of the moment, selfishly dragging it out longer than she should have. She tried to take it all in to remember in detail: the perfectly preserved teenage bedroom, un-made bed and pile of comic books on the floor included; the distant silhouette of skyscrapers through the open window, dosed in amber light that blurred the edges of the man at the window; and then said young man, himself.
Almost dazed, Peter looked between the Haitian pills and the piece of paper in each hand, an ultimatum he had to make for himself and no one else, for once. The rage that had earlier wracked his form was now falling away with each second he let the truth sink in. And even now, Angela could tell he was biting back a 'thank you' that she wasn't worthy of. It only made her love him more.
Smoothing her blouse and patting her hair into place, she hauled herself back together in pieces as she made to close the door. But then there was a flurry of movement by the window, and then Peter was moving forward and then he was in her arms, holding so tight that she could feel his heart beating.
And it was this – this, not when breaking his hopeful illusions of a happy family for the countless time, or when handing him the key that would set him free to fall beyond her reach forever – that made Angela Petrelli, the famed Ice Queen, finally cave. Burying her face into her son's warm shoulder, she could no longer hide the sobs that wracked her body and shuddered against his. Peter just squeezed her in return, rocking her gently in their last hug, one she definitely didn't deserve.
"I'm s-sorry, sweetheart."
"I know, Ma. I know."
Over Peter's shoulder, through blurry, tear-filled eyes, Angela caught sight of the small bottle of Haitian pills lying discarded on the bed. Just as she knew it would be.
She never wanted to let go, because when she did it would be for ever. If this was how it felt to do the right thing for once in her life, Mrs Petrelli finally understood firsthand why so few people took this path. Of course, as always, Peter had often taken the difficult road that others were too afraid to seek, regardless of the consequences to himself. It took a unique type of soul to make it look so easy.
If only she'd appreciated that more before it was too late.
Angela clung to Peter until he softly broke the embrace. Then she couldn't bring herself to look at him at all as she backed into the hall, swiping at her running mascarra. The last glimpse she got of her youngest child, her last tether to this world, was a smudged outline shrouded in gold. Then she closed the door firmly between them, perfectly aware that the second Peter was alone he'd be climbing out that window like he used to as a teenager, free before she ever had the chance to change her mind.
( )( )( )
X marks the spot.
From above, it looked as harmless as a scattering of stars strewn across a vast, dark canvas. As he drew closer, the lights dispersed and artefacts morphed across the canvas, the shape of a large building protruding through the mist. Peter struggled to decipher what he was seeing past sparse clouds, the wind whipping his face and tugging at his hair as he descended through the night's sky, a little clumsily while still adapting to abilities he hadn't used in a long time.
It wasn't until he landed silently on the far end of the runway that he recognised the site as a giant aircraft hangar, surrounded by darkness and a chain link fence.
Holy shit.
It wasn't unlike the one Danko and his goons had used to transport bound specials off the face of the map once upon a time, if only five times bigger. The reminder alone of such a place cast goosebumps running across the empath's skin. He could even see the great bulk of a plane framed in the main atrium beyond the doors, waiting for its prey like a predator even larger than the one Peter had once accidentally turned to ice and crashed. He didn't even need to re-check Angela's directions to confirm he was in the right place.
The long flight from New York (economy class, considering the Haitian pills hadn't worn off yet) had given him plenty time to wonder where his mother had sent him. As each mile closed the distance between Peter and the answers that had been kept from him all this time, a new and more outlandish prospect would pop into his head. Was he headed to someone's house? A scrapyard? Was he recovering a weapon? A secret? An enhanced child who could put a pin to a map and tell him anything he wanted to know? He'd had no idea what to expect. But it wasn't this.
As soon as he'd landed in Colorado and cleared the airport, he hadn't hesitated to kick off into the refreshing night's sky with Angela's map securely in his pocket, desperate to find out for himself what was waiting at the other side of 'X'. Now that he was finally here, though? Peter found himself beginning to second guess the decision to leave the Petrelli mansion at all.
The base seemed to be used more as some sort of storage facility than anything else, he determined. From the outskirts of the runway, distant trucks and other vehicles were visible pulling in and out of the lot; as were darkly-dressed workers offloading crates to and from the hangar; observed the whole time by patrolling guards who were a little too well armed for Peter's liking. Shit. He didn't even need to see a Helix symbol or the multi-coloured "R" logo that had been plastered everywhere during Peter's memory-lapse to know what this was. Renautas – or in other words, The Company in disguise.
What the hell had he gotten himself caught up in during the months since the carnival...?
Whatever it was, he couldn't leave now. Not when he swore he could feel something inside that place tugging at him, like the other end of a magnet Peter was harbouring deep in his chest drawing him in. For weeks he'd wanted nothing more than to ease the sense that something important was missing, right? And he'd never be able to move on if he gave up when he'd come so far.
So, steeling himself, he ducked from the shadows surrounding the lot, calling on the memory of his old mentor to successfully render himself invisible. He clung to the ability like a shroud as he crept across the long stretch of tarmac, past vehicles and patrols marring the way between himself and the hangar standing large and imposing up ahead: a towering castle at the centre of a shark-infested moat.
With Angela's instructions weighing far too heavily in his pocket, Peter just ran on the unfounded faith that, no matter what he was to find in there, it had to be worth the risk.
( )( )( )
Inside, the place wasn't a castle at all, but a maze.
Rows upon rows of shipping containers wound forever through the hangar like haphazard prison cells, like domino pieces intertwined in some complex design only visible from above. Iron staircases disappeared into roofbeams and newly constructed levels above, still reinforced by scaffolding in places, but Peter never got close enough to see what was up there. Instead, he crept wide-eyed through the hangar, discovering more recent modifications with every turn until he could have been forgiven for confusing this place with the old Primatech Building, itself. He quickly lost track of the amount of cameras he passed, not to mention the security doors he managed to carefully phase through without dropping his hold on invisibility. He forced himself not to look at anything but the way ahead, Angela's note growing more and more crumpled in his hand as he slipped past armoured guards and a slowing trickle of worker bees and their treasures.
It was definitely some super expensive, creepily organized, totally not legal shit he'd just willingly stumbled his way into. Peter wished this didn't become clearer the further he got lost within the labyrinth that would be near impossible to escape in a hurry. He'd never done anything like this before. Sneaking into an off-limits hospital room with Nathan at his side held none of the danger, running into unstable sites on shift with Hesam wasn't the same, and even infiltrating Building 26 hadn't been nearly as daunting when he'd been accompanied by an extremely skilled telepath who could will his way out of trouble if he had to.
Tonight, on the other hand, Peter was uncomfortably aware that he was juggling a lot of still-sluggish abilities that he hadn't used in years. And that he was entirely and utterly alone.
He fought to keep his breathing even and his footsteps from ringing around the corridors lined in metal. Too many shipping containers passed by to count, each with their own serial number stamped on the door. Peter didn't try to look inside any, the only container that mattered to him for now was the one that matched the code he now understood scrawled neatly for him on Angela's good notepaper. Just being near the things cast back bad memories of darkness and confusion and pain in his wrist for what felt at the time like days, weeks or years. He didn't want to spend more time inside one than was absolutely necessary.
Peter would have been lost for good long ago if not for the lilac-tinted page in his slightly shaking fingers, now dog-eared at the corners and fragile to the touch thanks to the amount of times he'd worried over it the entire flight here. He knew the code off by heart now, but somehow having something even as small as this to hold on to gave him courage. It felt like he'd walked miles through the belly of the beast before Peter's heart leapt into his throat, and finally he tripped to a stop before another nondescript door identical to the others.
It was unnecessary, yet he still compared the number branded unmistakably before his eyes to the faded one in his mother's handwriting: a perfect match.
Peter would swear he could feel it. Something. The thing, waiting for him, inside. It burned so deeply beyond that single sheet of metal he was sure even the air was hotter to breathe in this spot than it had been elsewhere.
He stole only a moment to make the conscious choice to take his life back into his own hands. Then he took a deep breath, called up another of his newly restored powers, and cleanly phased himself through the door.
It was too dark to see anything.
Cold, stale air washed eerily over Peter like stepping into a mist, metallic on his tongue and casting up unwanted flashbacks of his imprisonment. Oh god. He took a tentative few steps into the unknown, reassured by the slight protection of invisibility, before the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. At first, he wasn't sure why. But then he heard it.
Breathing.
When his eyes adjusted to the dark, when a shape loomed out the darkness ahead and rage seared like fire through his veins, he didn't gasp aloud. He didn't move a muscle. He made no sign at all that he was even there.
But that didn't stop the bound and broken man strung up on the far wall from twitching to life, or his voice from echoing chillingly around the confines of the container. Sylar didn't even need to lift his head to know who had just discovered him.
"Petrelli."
A/N: Thank you, as always, for reading, I hope these two chapters were worth the ridiculous wait! Hopefully I'll have more time to write for the next one.
So... our two amnesiac boys together in a small enclosure with the person they think they hate most and a sh*t ton of history? Lots of potential for drama, huh? XP And what do you think of Angela's redemption? I know she's been one of the antagonists of the story, the manipulator pulling the strings the whole time, but everything she's done has been to try and protect Peter, in her own (and screwed-up) way. She's hardly been the perfect mother, but she does love him, and I thought it was important to see this in her finally – FINALLY – putting his actual needs first rather than doing her usual of killing and lying for what SHE thinks he needs!
If it's not obvious from the story itself, we're definitely hitting the final stretch now X'( Don't worry, there's a ton of action, angst, emotion and revelations still to come, but here's your fair warning that there won't be many more chapters left to go! /3 But a story has to end somewhere, right? And over three years in the making isn't too bad X) I'm guessing at maybe 3-4 chapters left to go, but knowing me this could easily expand depending on how many words each scene takes up hehe
I hope that if you've stuck with me, Peter and Sylar this far, you'll stay until the very end! And I'll try not to disappoint with all the goodies still to come...
