"Rough day?"

"Could be worse."

"Could be worse? My, my, Peter. You're being optimistic today."

"Today has been quiet," Peter explained. "It hasn't been this quiet for a long time. I might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right?"

"That's what I've been telling you all along! You need to stop worrying and start living for once in your life. If you don't do it now, you never..."

"Stop," Peter interrupted. "I know what you're gonna say, so just... leave it, okay? I don't need it and I sure as hell don't want it."

"For Christ's sake. I wasn't even gonna say anything."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Peter had lost his ability to read minds, but he didn't have to be a telepath to know what was going on. "You think you know me. You think you know what I want, what I need, but you're wrong. That's not the kind of..." Peter paused and frowned at the glass that was being placed before him. "Hey," he said in an aggressive tone, "that's not what I asked for."

The bartender, a boy who looked like he wasn't even old enough to drink himself, stopped with what he was doing and looked at Peter in confusion. "I just gave you two."

"Yes, and now I need the same, again."

It was obvious that Daniel (his name according to his name-tag) didn't know what to do. Peter even doubted he knew what was going on. But then the boy's face suddenly changed and it looked like he was finally starting to realize who he was talking to. "Sure," he said quickly. "Coming right up."

Peter rolled his eyes and sipped from his whiskey. It was true what people said. He had to get used to it, but once he did, it was actually quite tasteful. The warm feeling he got inside was also quite nice. "Poor guy. First day at work and look who he has to serve." He lifted his glass for another swig, but stopped it halfway when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hello, Peter."

Peter lifted his brow and turned around on his stool. "Noah..." he said, trying to sound surprised and annoyed at the same time. "You found me."

"Yes, I did. Who were you talking to?"

"Oh, just..." Peter looked at the empty barstool on his left, "nobody really."

Noah raised an eyebrow. He hadn't spoken to Peter for quite some time. He had tried to call him, but without much success. And there he was, alone, in a bar, drinking in the middle of the day and talking to himself. That was not a good sign. "Can you tell me why you haven't answered any of my calls?" he asked as he placed his crutches against the bar and sat down on the stool on Peter's right.

"I thought you'd take the hint eventually," Peter answered with a shrug. "You and Micah, you just don't give up, do you? Or should I say you and Rebel?"

"Micah tried to contact you?"

"Yup."

Noah wanted to ask why, but then the barkeeper appeared and placed a glass with something that looked like whiskey in it, in front of Peter. The other glass, the one in Peter's hand, looked like it had hardly been drunk from. That was no good sign either. "Why?"

Peter shrugged. "Don't know."

"You're not interested in finding out?"

"Nope." Peter pushed the glass towards Noah. "You want it?"

Noah shook his head and pushed the glass back. "No, thanks."

"Not your drink?" Peter said as he looked at down at the liquor.

"I'm on medication, Peter. That's not something I want to combine with alcohol. I'll just have some water." The latter he said to the barman, who nodded his head in return and began to fill a glass with water.

"Suit yourself."

Noah watched as Peter sipped from his drink in silence. The younger man didn't look that young anymore. He face was pale, his eyes worn and tired. With Peter that usually meant he was working too much or overusing his ability, but Noah had the feeling that that wasn't the case this time. "How's work?" he asked to be sure.

"What work?" Peter asked back. He waited until Daniel had given Noah his water before raising his own glass. "To unemployment," he cheered as he clinked their glasses together. "Something we're both not familiar with."

"Unemployment?" Noah asked with his glass still raised. "How did that happen?"

Peter shrugged and shook his head. "Not showing up for work because you're trying to save thousands of people from a man who summons earthquakes is no excuse apparently."

"You got fired because of that?"

"No, I did not get fired because of that." Peter placed his glass back on the wooden surface and sighed loudly. Loud enough to get the message across. He wasn't in the mood to talk about it. It had been painful enough when it happened. "Look, Noah. Just cut to the chase, okay? Why are you here?"

So far for trying to start a conversation. "I talked to Angela today." She was the only one who had answered his calls. "I was in the neighbourhood and thought I might as well see her while I'm here and ask her a few questions."

"Oh."

"She's worried about you."

"And she sends you to tell me?" Peter shook his head in a disappointment. It was just so typical of her. "Whatever she told you, just ignore it. I'm sure she has seen something terrible in one her dreams and now she wants you to warn me, 'cause she can't do it herself. It's always the same with her. That ability of hers, it messes with her head. Dreaming the future... it's not healthy."

Noah cleared his throat and looked around to see if anybody heard them. The place was as good as empty (apart from four other man, two women and the barkeeper himself) but Peter was talking loud enough for them to hear him.

"Just stop worrying, Noah. It doesn't matter anymore if anyone hears us. We can talk freely now." Peter drank the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, pushed it away and pulled the other towards himself. "Isn't that just great? We have your daughter to thank for that."

Noah didn't know whether that was a scornful remark towards Claire or if Peter was just being sarcastic, but he looked like he already had a few so Noah ignored it.

"If my mother is the only reason you're here, you better go. I'm not interested."

"It's not." Without looking at Peter, Noah asked, "Have you registered yet?"

"Have I registered yet? Really? You went through all that trouble just to find out if I was breaking the law or not?" Peter looked to his left for a moment before adding, "If I had known, I could have saved you all the effort."

Noah found that very hard to believe somehow. "I left you tons of messages."

"Yes, I noticed." Peter breathed in through his nose slowly. Noah was really pushing it. "Okay, maybe I shouldn't have ignored you like that. I didn't know that it was just because of that stupid registration law." Stupid was an understatement. "But to answer your question. Yes, I did it. It's not like I had much choice."

"Really?" Noah wasn't expecting that. "What did you have to do?"

"Not much. I had to sign these forms. They drew a tube of blood, took a swab from the inside of my mouth and..." Peter looked down at his drink and suddenly came to a realization. "The Company had all that information already. Why aren't they using that?"

"Most of it got lost in the explosion. What was left of it was passed on to Building 26 and is now in hands of the FBI, I guess." It would have been better for everyone if those files were destroyed all together. "I thought you of all people wouldn't abide by their rules."

"It's the law, Noah. I can't just break it. I did what was asked from me and honestly, I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"You're not worried that it might fall into the wrong hands?"

"No. And even if, then what? What are they gonna do, use my blood to try and make a new formula?" Peter scoffed at the mere idea. "They can't. My father, my father the catalyst, is dead. I don't see how my DNA falling into the wrong hands is going to change any of that."

"What if they use it for research? What if they use it to try and make another virus? You can't tell me you haven't thought about any of that and actually mean it. I know you and I know you wouldn't want to make the same mistake twice."

"You're overreacting."

"Maybe I am. But I think it's important to consider the possibility." Noah took his glass and drank half of it, before he grabbed his crutches and stood. "I'll leave you to it."

Peter didn't bother to say goodbye. He just closed his eyes and listened to the clicking sound Noah's crutches made each time they landed on the floor tiles. He was glad that Noah was finally leaving. Even though he had to admit, it was nice to talk to someone else for a change. A familiar face.

Peter opened his eyes and hesitated one moment before asking, "Did she do it?"

Noah stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Who did what?"

"My mother. Did she register?"

Noah smiled faintly. Peter had not totally forgotten about his family. At last, a good sign. "Maybe you should call her sometime and ask her yourself." It was his last advice to Peter before he left.

"My god, I thought he'd never shut up."

Peter turned his head to the left again, but still didn't know exactly where to look. "Tell me about it." Noah may have been a little persistent, but it was understandable. The former Company agent wasn't used to sitting back and minding his own business. He needed something to do, to have something to keep his mind occupied. Peter recognized it because he used to be exactly the same.

"I had no idea you were such a good liar, though. Must be running in the family, eh?"

"Yeah. It must be." It wasn't something to be proud of, but Peter had indeed lied to Noah. He did think about the risks. He didn't want his DNA to be used for research. He didn't want another virus or maybe even something worse. That's why he didn't do it. He never registered. He made it all up.

It was easy to leave it there, but he still felt the need to justify why he had lied. "It's not his problem. If I had told him the truth he would have made it his problem. That's not what I want." The idea was to get rid of Noah, not to have him stick around longer. "Experience shows that he'll stay out of my way, as long as he believes I'm fine."

"Well, you know what they say. Once a Company man, always a Company man."

The glass Peter still had his hand wrapped around, suddenly disappeared. He didn't see it, but he did feel it move away from his hand. "What about you? You used to be just like him."

"No, no. I may have been an agent once, but I sure as hell ain't no agent anymore. That part of my life ended when they decided to put a bullet through my chest. Three bullets, to be exact."

"You could have seen it coming."

"The funny thing is, I did see it coming."

"You just let it happen?"

"I was dumb enough to think I had a friend. See, that's what I've been trying to tell you, Peter. You can never trust anyone. Not your friends, not your family. No one."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? Okay, name one person you thought you could trust who didn't screw you over in the end."

Peter made eye contact with the barman and gestured for another refill. It gave him a moment to think about Claude's question. The first names that popped up in his head were, ironically enough, those of the people who had done the most damage.

His parents. One of them tried to kill him, the other couldn't care less if he was killed. His brother, who had screwed him over more than anyone else in his entire life. His colleagues, who had complained about him to their chief of staff after finding out he had an ability. Adam, the perfect example of putting all your trust in the wrong person. The list was pretty long. Mohinder, Matt, Noah...

Emma was someone who he had trusted, someone who never took advantage of his trust. But Claude didn't know Emma. He'd probably accuse Peter of making her up if he mentioned her. Claude himself had always been pretty straight-forward, but Peter couldn't use the Englishman as an example. It would only prove his point that nobody could be trusted. That left only one person. "Claire."

"What, the girl who outed your dead brother on live television?"

"That wasn't intentional."

"She could've taken your feelings into consideration, but if you think it wasn't intentional, I won't argue with that."

There was about a minute of silence in which Peter didn't know what else to say. Claude had made his point. Trusting people only ever came with a lot of pain and a lot more disappointment. There were just a few exceptions.

"Bob is dead, right?" Claude suddenly asked.

"Bob Bishop? Yeah."

"So, is Linderman."

Peter nodded his head. Bob had been killed by Sylar and Linderman... Well, he never found out just exactly how the man had died, but it had never been important enough to ask.

"Kaito, also dead. Charles, dead. Thompson, dead. Spektor, your father, all the others. They're all dead. Except for your mother, of course. But she's no longer involved with the Company. Neither is Bennet, apparently. So, who the hell is in charge now?"

"Nobody I guess," Peter said with a frown. He never thought nor cared to ask his mom, Noah or anyone else about what happened to the Company. "I don't even think it exists anymore."

"I hope so. Bunch of idiots... Don't get me wrong, I think they truly had good intentions when they started the whole thing. But you know where it went wrong? It was when they all started having their own ideas of what was right. With their own ulterior motives and their own people like me and Noah who blindly carried out their orders. I'm telling you, they were all corrupt."

Peter agreed wholeheartedly. He didn't know much about the ideas of those who ran the Company, he didn't even know most of the people themselves, but he knew how the Company dealt with problems. He knew a few people who were considered problems by the Company. He himself used to be one of their problems and the way he and the others were dealt with, was absolutely not the right one. "It's gone, Claude. Let's just hope it stays that way."

"Amen to that."

Peter watched as Claude's drink appeared and disappeared every once in a while, which was kind of a funny thing to see. Several other people began to notice it as well, but they all had their eyes on Peter. They didn't know it wasn't him using his ability. "I think I'm gonna go."

"Get out while you still can, mate."

Peter looked at the empty space next to him. For a moment there, he thought he was able to remember the smirk on Claude's face. He was almost able to picture it in his head. "You'll see me around." He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, threw some money on the bar and stood.

"Too late," Claude said. "Here they come."

Peter frowned and turned around. His heart sank. "No, not again." Two cops had just entered the bar and were obviously looking for someone. "Damn it..." Peter pulled his hood even further over his head and started looking for a way out.

"Last chance, Peter. Take it or leave it."

If Claude mentioned it one more time, Peter had no other choice but to lash out at him. He didn't even care if he missed. "Shut up. Go see if there's a way out through the back."

"Peter Petrelli? Put your hands where we can see them."

Peter was already on his way to the kitchen, because that's where he supposed the other exit was, but he stopped and turned around at the sound of his own name. "What, these things?" he asked in a bantering tone. He held his hands at both sides of his head and smiled. He just couldn't help it. "You're way in over your heads, you know that right?"

The two cops, a man and a woman, began to approach him slowly. They still had their guns aimed at him, but it was obvious that they didn't know how to handle the situation. It made Peter wonder why they had been sent to deal with him in the first place. Two cops against an evolved human... Didn't they know that that was bound to go wrong?

"No one needs to get hurt," the woman said.

Are they for real? "I'm not going to hurt anyone," Peter said as he looked at the other people in the room. It was as clear as day. They were afraid of him. The way they looked at him, the way everybody looked at him these days.

"Turn around slowly."

He didn't turn around. He kept looking both police man and woman in the eye. They were within arm's reach now. Whatever he wanted to say wasn't going to help the situation anymore. They were here to arrest him.

It had happened before, they came for him a few days back, but he ran away that time.

And now they had found him again. Someone must have called them while he wasn't paying attention. There really was no other way to explain it. But why? Was it because they heard the things he and Claude talked about? Or was it their fear of him that made them do it? "There's no need for this."

"Last warning. Turn around and keep those hands where we can see them."

Peter had two options. He either surrendered and went with them or resisted arrest and went after Claude. He knew for certain that if he went with them, he would have no other choice but to give his DNA and there was no way he was going to let that happen. Running away was the only option. But if he wanted to get out, he had to get away from them first, without getting hurt.

Peter tried to focus. He tried to concentrate on their hands, on loosening the grip they had on their guns, but the alcohol in his blood was making it very difficult to do something as simple as that. It took him a few seconds before he managed to actually drop those weapons on the ground.

To make sure they wouldn't pick them up as soon as he turned around, he swiped them over the floor, all the way to the other side of the room. He turned the lights off (just in case) and went into kitchen. "Claude?" There was no personnel in the kitchen, which was a big relieve. There was, however, an exit. Peter didn't hesitate, left the kitchen as fast as he could and ran into an alley.

"All these years and you're still just as stubborn."

Claude's voice came from the right. "What am I supposed to do with your ability, eh? Sneaking around, stealing, living out on the street. What kind of life is that?"

"The kind you're already living. You're just too much of an idiot to admit it."

"I'm not gonna have the same conversation over and over again, Claude."

"You might wanna reconsider that," Claude said through the sound of sirens in the distance.

Peter stood with clenched fists at his sides. He had to make another decision, and fast. He had to choose between taking invisibility from the incredibly annoying Englishman, so he could escape and maybe live a little more peacefully. Or he could keep his current ability and try to make a run for it. Surrendering was not an option. "Claude."

"Still here."

"Where?"

"Here."

Next Chapter: Cause of Death