The front door swung open, nearly flinging it off its hinges as he came in. He didn't think on controlling his powers at the moment as he swaggered into the entry way of the house, his hands in his pockets. His eyes were focused intently on the floor a few paces in front of his feet as he walked, though he wasn't thinking about what he saw. Making his way to his brother's office he allowed the door to creek open in front of him and fell into a chair in front of the desk.

Nathan Petrelli hardly glanced up from his occupation to acknowledge his brother's brooding entrance, though he knew full well he'd end up addressing it eventually and decided to cut to the chase.

"You're back early, aren't you?" he observed, still not looking up from his desk.

Peter let out a sarcastic laugh but said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he stretched out in the stiff chair.

Nathan then looked at him fully as he slowly came to a conclusion in his mind. He tried not to smile. "She didn't show up?" he asked innocently but Peter would have none of it.

"I can read your mind, you know." He grumbled back.

"Incredibly unethical. I may have some great state secret I'd have to kill you over if you knew." Nathan replied automatically.

Peter decided to avoid the argument that could follow after a statement like that. His mind was tired. His shoulders slumped a little and he leaned forward in the chair.

"No, she didn't." he said simply.

Nathan reclined in his chair and sighed, eyeing his younger brother for a few moments before deciding what to say, "There's a rule you know. This stuff," he waved his hand vaguely in the air as though swatting slow moving imaginary flies, "inevitably happens to every human being at least once in their adult life. There's rejection and acceptance, disappointment and love."

Peter pursed his lips and shook his head, "So this," he waved his hand in front of him as Nathan had done, "has happened to you before?" he knew the answer but waited for Nathan to admit it.

Nathan paused, his wisdom flushed down the toilet. His gaze strayed to the book shelves along the wall and above Peter's head as he thought of something to say besides the obvious answer. "No." he said finally, "I was only trying to make you feel better."

"This would have been my first date since Simone and she doesn't even show up. What is that supposed to tell me?"

Peter's recently found belief in signs, fate, and destiny was obviously not limited to the powers he possessed. Nathan had come to admire that about him and wish that he could have more sheer faith in things the way his brother did. But as it was obviously being shown, it did have its setbacks.

He sighed, "Nothing. It tells you absolutely nothing, Peter." He stood up and stretched. "There could be a hundred reasons why she didn't come." He continued, "She could have been held up at work - "

"She works nights."

"She could have been involved in some kind of accident on the way – "

"I was told she'd be walking from her building to meet me."

Nathan glared at him for a moment, "Or," he smiled mischievously, "She could very well have shown up, taken a gander at you and left."

Peter didn't laugh or scowl in response to his undeniable cheek. Instead he hung his head a little and seemed quite intent on examining his fingernails. Nathan's wind was lost a little at the lack of any sort of reaction to his stale sense of humor but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Peter was thoroughly disturbed by this small experience as insignificant as it would have appeared to another person.

Nathan sat in a chair next to Peter and patted him on the knee, determined to sound as sincere as he felt, "This is one girl, Peter, one time. Don't let it define the rest of your future with women because most will tell you that it cannot be predicted no matter what role fate happens to play.
"Whatever reason she had for not coming does not matter. Someday you will find the one who will show up for you. All you can do right now is tap into your hope, which I know you have quite a bit of, and be persistent, and patient."

"I thought I had found her already." Peter mumbled, running his fingers through his dark hair.

"Perhaps you did, and perhaps not. I'm just telling you right now that you shouldn't give up on yourself. It's not fair to those of us who refuse to do so."

Peter gave him a small smile which Nathan returned before patting him on the back and returning to his desk. He wouldn't be able to explain the actual importance of his meeting to Nathan, he would refuse to understand as he always had. This was more necessary to Peter than meeting the love of his life, his soul mate, or whatever else anybody called their other half.

In a way however, since he never did see her as he had planned Nathan was probably right. He should forget about it and move on.

Deciding he was too preoccupied to stay indoors, Peter went back outside for a walk and perhaps a little flying as well to clear his head. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he headed out without thinking on the direction he was heading.

It took more than some fresh air to clear his mind, he soon realized. He automatically began thinking of his dreams of late. They had been worsening over the past week though as frequent and confusing as they were to him he did not consider them nightmares. Because of them, whether asleep or awake, he knew every inch and detail of her face, a face he had expected to see as he sat, waiting to meet her. He had also believed that he would also be a witness to a part of his dream come to life before his eyes.

But she didn't come.

He'd seen her face so many times – a sad face with a mouth that relaxed into a small frown, eyes that pierced him to his very heart as though she could know the very depths of his being by merely looking at him.

Peter Petrelli feared those eyes yet he longed to see them. Just once he would like to know of any kind of stability in his future – any at all. For a reason not even known to him he believed – he knew those eyes could show him that.

Yet she never came.

His hand twitched at his side as he walked when the images of her came to mind. He pushed it away, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He would not draw her again. He would not. Not until he could see her and perhaps make some small sense of himself as well. Realizing where he was, he instinctively looked up. Claire's apartment was only a few blocks away – Nathan, with a little push from Peter, had insisted on keeping her close by and cared for since she had no other family left. He was her father after all.
Without a second thought, Peter continued down the street. This was all her fault anyway.

"Is it finished already?" she said, watching him hold her shoe, now in one piece, and examine it closely for anything he may have missed. If that were possible despite his working quickly.

His work pace had quickened due to her questions. She was naturally curious about him and he found that he was about her, though he never replied with a question of his own during their stunted conversation.

Normally, Gabriel had come to be at ease lying to people he was a stranger to or only acquainted with, rarely using his name, making up vague and innocent stories about his past in order to gain a person's trust. It worried him that with Ellen, this woman who's power he knew to be so great that he could smell it on her, he was not comfortable making up falsehoods to satisfy her questions which is why his answers were short, vague, and not very informative as she had hoped them to be.

Did he always live in New York? He'd grown up in Queens.
She was from upstate.

Did he always know he wanted to be a watch maker? …Yes.
Her mother had wanted her to become a physician, someone with incredible accomplishments.
Ellen was a singer.
She had trouble merely watching hospital dramas on television though all of the injuries and results of infections were not real.

Gabriel agreed that he didn't like the sight of blood either but at times it was necessary for doctors to find solutions of course. The smell of it was worse anyway.

The shoe was finished, he found that he'd done a thorough job but couldn't be certain at how long it would last because of the quality of the shoe itself. He smiled shyly, sincerely, and handed it to her. The brush of her warm fingertips on his hands as she took the shoe from him tingled on his skin and faded.

"Thank you, Gabriel." She said as she accepted it from him.

The use of his name normally unnerved and upset him, even when his mother had spoken it yet he hardly felt a glimmer of that when it was in Ellen's voice. He hadn't wanted to tell her yet it was forced from him by a power he never knew was inside him.

She unknowingly gleaned the truth from him without any effort at all and he couldn't keep it from her. It frightened him.

He watched the shoe slip easily back onto her foot. She was leaving, leaving him. Gabriel thought frantically, his control slipping as she moved off of the counter and onto her feet again. The foot belonging to the once broken shoe, lifted gingerly off the floor and set gently down again as she stood on it.

"Better than new." She was saying.

He quickly moved forward to her but spoke calmly, "You probably shouldn't be standing so soon." His mind was a mess of thoughts, continually questioning what he was doing.

"Did it need to set up first or something?" she scrambled to get the shoe off her foot.

"No, no, um," he said but stopped in mid sentence as rose to look at him again. Her eyes bore into him until his insides screamed for him to be rid of her. A lock of hair slipped out of her clip and fell against her face as she looked at him. She was concerned. Concerned for him. He could not fathom anyone looking like that for his well being.

"Gabriel," she said and stepped closer to him.

He didn't respond but lifted his hand to her and brushed the hair away with strong fingers. The touch of her skin mesmerized him and he could not find the cause. He pushed her hair back but his hand lingered there, barely touching her cheek.

Ellen smiled despite herself. There were oddities about him. In many ways he was like a child; quiet, innocent, allowing the world to pass him by as he stayed in his workshop. She found it endearing and accepted his touch.

She put her hand over his. Her deliberate contact with him seemed to pull him back to her.

"Are you alright?" she said quietly as his eyes refocused on her own.

In a panic, he jerked his hand away from her muttering a barely audible apology and held his arms stiffly at his sides as he spoke, "I meant to say," he said carefully, "Your ankle looks like it may be sprained, you probably shouldn't walk on it right away."

Ellen examined her ankle. The bruising was spreading though the swelling wasn't too bad. Gabriel took the break from her gaze and looked at his hand, his eyes flitting back and forth from it to Ellen.

"I can put some ice on it when I get home." She said.

Gabriel thought on this for a moment. She should go. She needed to go. A voice in his head bellowed over the storm of broken thoughts. She is distracting, making you thoughtless. Her power can wait for now. Let her go.

He hesitated as the ongoing battle inside his mind strengthened due to Ellen's presence. He would have her stay and do no harm to her – for now. But she did need to leave if not for her own sake than for his. He had already lost his control once. But if she stayed – he so wanted her to and for that reason alone she had to go.

"At least," he took her hand bravely, "let me walk you home."

Ellen smiled, relieved. He was very handsome with lovely dark eyes and a kind smile but she had only just met him and he was rather standoffish. At any rate, she found it difficult to believe that someone living in the middle of New York could be that simple in his ways.