Author's Warning: As mentioned in a similar previous chapter, the story is an overall PG-13 with the exception of an occasional chapter being R-rated. This is another chapter to which that warning applies.

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"The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble."
--Clara Ortega

Chapter 7

The late October night was colder than Peter guessed it would be but he attributed it to the tormenting fever still inside him rather than to the season. He sniffled and rubbed his arms for warm friction, wishing he'd taken a jacket with him since the T-shirt he wore was not nearly enough for his thin frame to be warmed by. Wiping the clammy sweat from his brow, he stopped walking to catch his breath, wishing that the fatigue that bothered him would leave. Lugging the goddamned paintings from one borough to the next did not help either; although he was aware that it shouldn't have had this much of an effect on him.

His stomach rumbled and he thought of the dinner Alex was cooking that he was not eating. In retrospect it was likely a bad idea that he left without putting food in his stomach; he desperately needed to regain his lost strength and running about in the cold night air was not going to fix it. He folded and placed the comic book he realized was still in his hand in his back pocket and continued walking.

The neighborhood was dark and relatively silent. In the shadows a dog barked and he shut his eyes against the incapacitating blue headlights of a passing car. The clatter of the subway zooming across the overpass above him made him glance up. Teenagers strolling toward him in a pack forced him move off to the side to allow them passage, his body tense and rigid as they brushed against him. One touched his arm then looked back over his shoulder and for an eternal split second Peter thought the kid could see him despite his current invisibility. But the teen continued up the street with his friends without fuss and Peter sighed relief. Suddenly stepping out for his wanted breath of fresh air did not seem to be such a bright idea after all.

He walked onward, arriving at a busy street when the aroma of freshly baking pizza besieged him like a tempting succubus. He was absolutely famished! Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, he headed toward the pizzeria, his mouth salivating uncontrollably. Stepping inside the joint, he noticed easily that other than himself, the three men behind the counter making pizzas were the only ones present. He watched ravenously as the oven door was opened to check on the pies inside. One of them, a plain cheese, was slipped out and placed inside a box that was in turn placed on the counter.

"Hey, Dom!" the man who removed the pie addressed to his co-worker who was in the back preparing a pan. "This one's ready! Go on and deliver it, will ya!"

With the speed of a cobra and as much remorse, Peter snatched the box from the counter and dashed out of the pizzeria. He slowed down only when he was a block away and noted then that he was near the Coney Island boardwalk, the rides emerging like gigantic Japanese kaiju in the dark. Was he close to the spot where Elle found him? Considering the state Elle said he was in there was no possibility for him to recall the exact location of where he was found. But the mysteries could wait a while. For now all he wanted to do was settle someplace and eat in peace.

Traipsing out on the sand, he chose a spot to sit down, reaching behind him to remove the comic book from his back pocket before his rear end hit the sand. Hungrily devouring his first slice, he opened the comic and began reading from page one. As he went through pages and slices, he was riveted to the story unfolding before him and found himself unable to put the book down.

The story did indeed rocket five years into the future when, as Elle promised, Sylar took presidency and ordered a mass holocaust of his super-powered kin. By consuming the brains of these special people, the monster stole their powers for himself. Peter's heart dropped into his stomach as the slice he held fell to the sand when he saw that one of the stolen powers happened to be visual manipulation, as the man who was supposed to be Sylar came to resemble Nathan. Horror stricken, Peter fought back the desperate urge to race to the mansion and protect his sibling.

It would've been the right thing to do, regardless of their past brotherly rapport. He was confident that Nathan would've done the same for him despite all the unpleasant memories that randomly disturbed him. He loves me and I owe him for something! I just know it! Frustrated, he tossed the comic away and watched its thin pages turn and rattle in the gusts brought ashore by the tide. He wanted to help but did not know how. He didn't know what was going on and with every passing hour a restless desperation coiled around him without mercy. Living in the dark this way when danger was afoot near him made him anxious. Out there somewhere lurked a great threat enclosing him and his loved ones while each precious minute was being wasted on trying to figure things out. How could he fight an enemy of which he knew nothing? He would die if something happened to Nathan; he felt that fact intertwined within the fabric of his soul.

Rising from the soft, cool sand, he retrieved the comic with a guilty feeling for abusing what was not his property. Returning it back to his pocket, he used the cold waves of ocean to clean the pizza grease from his hands when his eyes happened to make a discovery. Above him at the edge of the boardwalk stood the figure of a man who was staring up into the sky. Intrigued by being in the presence of someone who could not see him, Peter indulged openly in the role of voyeur. The voice of another he could hear but not see reached him then the man he could see spoke but both voices were too low, too drowned out by the crash of the waves for him to understand them clearly. Peter cocked his head and stepped closer, dying to hear just a snippet of the conversation.

Alas, it did not work so Peter backed off. What right did he have to pry? He told Elle that he didn't believe he was the type of person who abused his gifts yet here he was abusing them the first opportunity he got.

Hypocrite! Leave the man to his thoughts! Stop being so nosey! You wouldn't like it if you were in his place!

The second speaker stepped into view, however, and regained Peter's interest for as he stepped into the light the young man saw the freakishly tattooed man reach out and take hold of the other man by the sleeve. Coaxing him backwards, the tattooed man began to lead the other man away and Peter stole a quick look at the dazed man's handsome, soiled face. Staggering backward, he wondered if who he was seeing was truly Nathan or was it a fata morgana manifested from simple wishful thinking.

No, it was definitely his brother, his flesh and blood, his hero. Brought to tears by this chance encounter, Peter wiped away those tears that accumulated in his doting eyes with a quick swipe from the back of his hand. Heart swollen with ancestral affection, he stared at Nathan who retained the power of his breeding notwithstanding his untidy appearance. Peter's heart ruptured when he made the transpicuous note that the remnants of Nathan's suit were burnt…burnt like how Elle said his body had been burnt.

Oh god! What did I do to him? It's my fault! Everything that happened to him is my fault! All of this that's happened is my fault!

The young nurse was at once down trodden yet excited upon fatefully being allowed to observe his brother so candidly. The spell was broken when the men walked from the edge of the boardwalk and out of sight, leaving Peter to fight the urge to shout Nathan's name at the top of his lungs. Had it not meant unintentionally drawing unwanted attention to himself he would've done just that. Inherent instinct to protect companioned with fear of the unknown prohibited him; a vindictive enemy was out there and the last thing Peter wanted was to unwittingly expose Nathan to it any more than he already was. It wasn't yet time to reunite with his brother, he knew.

But his spirit soared with the glimpse of the estranged life he desired to return to. It meant hope and the chance to start fresh. Could it be that Nathan stood out on the pier watching the skies for his little brother's return? Elle suggested that Peter had in fact been the object which had fallen from the sky rather than the meteor that the officials declared it as. Of course it made no sense why or how he would be in the sky in the first place but that was a fleeting thought in his mind. Nathan staring up into the sky seemed to validate that probability. For all of the bad experiences with Nathan that Peter remembered, the younger Petrelli son was convinced that if big brother was scouring the skies then he was wishing on a star for his baby brother's safe return.

This moment and its implications was an ineffable experience for Peter. He watched for as long as he could until the well-bred politician and the sideshow freak blended into their dark enshrouded background. Reaching out towards his brother, Peter softly called out to him but it was pointless. Nathan did not have the ability of enhanced hearing and his cry went unheard.

Overwrought with emotion, Peter turned around to step back only to find himself plunging to the beach below. The wind was knocked from his chest as he landed hard and face first into the sand. Feebly standing and wiping the sand from his delicate face, Peter was mystified at what just happened.

"I flew!" he muttered, eyes wide with surprise. "I flew!"

Then it should've been no surprise, for the memory he had of disclosing to Nathan that he thought he could fly prognosticated that newfound capability. Elle would be ecstatic to learn that she was correct in her assumption of a flying ability. What else could he do? He felt like a magician and the magician's audience all in one: he continued to astonish himself with the tricks he came up with.

This was what occupied his mind on his journey back to the apartment building. Only by pure homing instinct was he able to find the place on his own because the second guessing he would've done if he paid attention would've certainly gotten him lost.

Exhausted by the time he returned to the Miasnikov apartment, Peter originally meant to permit himself to collapse on the rickety sofa and doze heavily on a belly full of pizza slices. Finding Alex spread akimbo there caught him off guard until he remembered that his gracious host had taken the night off. This also denoted that Elle was asleep in the bedroom and, with a pleasant sort of horror, Peter understood that he was being trusted to sleep beside the girl in her brother's bed.

Don't fuck it up, Pete! This trust means a lot!

It felt as if every pore in his body ached with the need for sleep but he refused to slip into bed next to a woman as an unwashed wretch. He ventured into the bathroom to wash up and give his teeth a quick brush with the new toothbrush that Alex bought for him at the market while grocery shopping earlier. Rinsing the toothbrush then his mouth, he cupped his hands together, gathering water that he used to cleanse his face.

When he stood upright he came eye to eye with himself in the mirror and he paused to stare inquisitively at his reflection. How incredibly frustrating to gaze upon a face known to be your own and yet know absolutely nothing about who stared back at you. What godly wrath he incurred to be cursed with amnesia he shuddered to think of. Each passing hour peeled away the layers from the stranger he currently was to unveil the real man beneath. With all that he already discovered, it frightened him. So far he liked who he'd been but he also liked who he was now. Where the line between them was drawn he did not know and hoped that it was thin.

Not wanting to upset himself further, he turned his back to the mirror, wiped off his face with a towel hanging on the rack and entered the bedroom. As expected, Elle was fast asleep nestled snugly beneath the covers and lying on her side facing where he would soon be. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach for a reason that he could not define and he gulped. Should he sleep fully clothed and on top of the blankets? Would it be alright to sleep in his underwear? Hesitantly stripping down to only his borrowed boxer briefs, he unfolded the blanket that awaited him, the same one he used before, and stretched out beside her, covering himself up to the chest and sighing to help relax his worn body.

Without notice, Elle scooted closer and haphazardly flung her arm around him, nearly striking him in the face. Stunned, he allowed her to huddle against his extra warm body. Placing her head upon his chest, she groaned her approved satisfaction. Uncertain as to how to react, he at first froze before deciding to enclose her within the arm she rested upon. She smiled and mumbled something in her sleep that sounded suspiciously like "I love you, Dave."

The words left hollowness in his heart as his thoughts rambled toward Simone Deveaux. How many nights did he spend with Simone in his arms? Would it be morally wrong if he pretended he was holding her now rather than Elle? Just for a while until he fell asleep. Then tomorrow he would feel guilty for doing it but it would offer some needed solace at the moment. It was bad enough that he was greatly upset that he loved a woman whose ex-boyfriend he was obviously embattled in rivalry with for her yet he could not even remember what she looked like. He desperately wanted to remember because if he could recall one small physical aspect of her then perhaps he could truly be comforted a little. He contemplated seeking her out but according to Elle, Simone disappeared a few weeks ago, sinking his heart once again.

Everywhere he turned for answers there was a maddening dead end. All he ever managed to uncover were answers that were too incredible to believe. He just wanted to remember something about Simone, more about his connection with Isaac, anything about his relationships with Nathan and Claire. What he knew always seemed to lean toward the negative: his bitter competition with Isaac, his unrequited worship for Nathan, his cathartic love with Simone. For a reason unknown, he felt as if he must've been a hurting, disgraceful ulcer to his family and everyone else around him. Maybe Elle was right. Maybe it was best that he took advantage of this disappearance and amnesia, kept away from them all and started new elsewhere. But then there was Claire, of whom there didn't seem to be anything negative surfacing for. Was she his sole missing link to happiness?

As he let himself ebb into sleep he decided to make his thoughts safe and switched from Simone to Claire. It was then when he finally was able to achieve some desired peace.

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Reptilicus and his girlfriend Miranda, a stripper who performed at Coney Island's Friday night burlesque show, scrutinized the strange guest who had been taken into the small living space which they called home at the back of Reptilicus' performance area. They offered the outsider a cup of tea or coffee but he didn't respond and instead continued to blankly stare at the room in front of him.

"Who is he?" Miranda whispered.

"I have no idea," Reptilicus answered. "I was taking my normal walk through the midway and there he was, just staring off into the night sky like he was waiting for something."

"Is he just going to continue staring like that? He's giving me the creeps."

"What do you want me to do, Randi? I can't leave him out there. He'd get his ass kicked wandering around in a stupor like that."

"We should call the police. Maybe he was already attacked and that's why he's acting this way."

"Could be. He said he lost his brother. Said he fell from the sky."

"Fell from the sky? And you didn't find that odd? Sounds like drugs to me. Looks like drugs to me."

"This doesn't look like any drug induced reaction that I've ever seen. It looks more like shock from some kind of trauma."

"But what kind of trauma?"

"Don't know. Loss of his brother. Maybe his brother died and he hasn't come to terms with it yet. Maybe there was a recent car accident. He looks like he's come from a fire or something. Which reminds me. Go get him something else to wear from my dresser."

Miranda flashed him a dubious look but Reptilicus' eyes wouldn't separate from their visitor.

"Do it, Randi," he insisted. "He can't sit here in these rags."

Reluctantly the dancer went to do what was asked of her and, seizing the opportunity, the fire breather verged closer to their guest.

"Hey, man" he softly called. "What's your name? What happened to you?"

There was still a zero response.

"Were you in an accident? A fire? You look like you've crawled out of a fire and that is definitely something I know about."

Still null.

Trying another approach, he asked, "What happened to your brother? Can you tell me so I can figure out how to help you?"

Not looking at his host, the man repeated his words from earlier: "I lost my brother."

"I know. You told me that already. How did you lose your brother?"

"He fell from the sky. I can't find him."

Reptilicus sighed deeply.

"And they call me a freak," he muttered underneath his breath.

Randi returned with the clothes which she dispassionately dropped down on an empty chair.

"Find out anything?" she inquired.

"He lost his brother."

"We already knew that."

"I know. But that's all I can get outta him." They paused. "Something really fucked up happened to him. We gotta take him to the police. A serious crime might've been committed here. Plus there might be a missing persons report for him or something."

"Good idea. And do it as fast as possible. He freaks me the fuck out. If he's saying he lost his brother then maybe he killed his brother. Ever think of that?"

"We'll let him stay out here on the couch for the night and take him to the police in the morning."

"You can't take him now?"

"I don't think he killed anybody. Doesn't look like he has blood on him except for his own from minor cuts and burns. That's why I think he might've gotten into an accident."

Randi raised her hands defensively and stated, "I trust you. You've got better instincts about people than I do. But we are locking our bedroom door tonight."

Ending with that assertion, she promenaded back into the bedroom with the sexy saunter that was the definitive trait for a dancer.

Reptilicus sighed, left alone with the man still staring at ghosts drifting solely before his eyes.

"Can you at least remember your own name?" he demanded gently. "Give me some kind of hint."

It was futile. The man remained indifferent as the sideshow worker expected.

"Well, here are some clean clothes so you can get dressed and sleep out here on the couch. I'll give you a blanket. Tomorrow first thing I'll take you in to the police station or the hospital, whichever you prefer, and they can figure out who you are. Does that sound good?"

When he received no acknowledgement he reclaimed a blanket from the small closet in the room and offered it to the comatose man who merely peered at it as if it was the first time he saw a blanket in his life. Giving up, Reptilicus left it folded over the sofa and began walking into the next room, muttering a good night in his wake. Once he reached a safe distance up the dark hallway, he turned back around to enquiringly watch the deadpan stranger.

The man kept as still as a statue.

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Isaac, I need your help.

You need help? Ask Simone. You already took her. What else do you want from me?

You painted me. A picture of me flying. OK, it happened. It was real. I flew.

Congratulations.

I'm telling you that I believe you. That you can paint the future. So, whatever is happening to you it's happening to me too.

Peter sat up like a bolt in bed, opening his unseeing eyes which were once again covered entirely by the white cataracts of prescience. His hands searched the nightstand beside the bed, his groping fingers finding what they desired: a pad of paper and a pen. Furiously he began to sketch.

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Dawn was breaking and Amber Romerovski was too tired to stand by the time she'd gotten off the subway. Returning home to Sheepshead Bay was not an easy task to accomplish when you've been out clubbing all night until the bouncers kicked you out at closing. It was a losing battle to remain awake and she knew of at least one time she in fact had fallen asleep, wakened only by a particularly rough bump on the tracks.

She nearly tripped over her own back pack after she left the train and took the steps down to the street as quickly as she could manage without a repeat of the fiasco. She was thankful that her walk from the station stop wouldn't be that long. Just ten minutes.

Ten minutes.

But ten minutes seemed eternal when your feet hurt and your legs felt as if they would collapse with every step taken.

Ten minutes, Amber, you've done this before! If you did it then you can do it now!

It was minute comfort but it needed to suffice and carry her toward her destination.

Another nine minutes, Amber, and you can collapse on your nice, warm bed! Just peel off these goddamned shoes and don't even bother to shower! That can wait until you wake up later!

She thought she saw something out the corner of her eye that looked suspiciously like lightning but by the time she turned her head in that direction it was gone, leaving behind the lingering scent of ozone. Just like lightning. But how the hell could it be lightning? There wasn't a single cloud in the lessening night sky.

Yawning, she continued on without a second thought.

Eight more minutes, Amber! Hang in there! You're doing good, girl!

Amber's brain began to grow as numb as her legs were and she stumbled, forgetting to drive herself onward with inspirational thoughts. She knew she was going to make it. She always did in the past. It was a cinch. She'd done it countless times before. This time was no different. She would make it.

Seven minutes later she dropped her keys as she tried to unlock the front door to the two-family house where her apartment was. Stumbling inside, she carelessly tried to swing the door closed behind her.

Before the door managed to shut on its own, a hand shot out and held it ajar.

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The cataracts vanished from Peter's eyes and the young man swooned drunkenly from being off equilibrium. Dumbfounded that he was sitting up with pen and paper in his hand when his last known memory was of falling asleep, he noticed the pen was again being held left-handedly. Terror gripped him; the only time he held anything left-handly was when his precognitive abilities were accessed. While staring at the drawing on the paper, he immediately understood what had involuntarily transpired. Squinting in the dim light to try to figure out what the picture was of, all he could decipher were two characters that were human but nothing more. Excited, he violently shook Elle by the shoulder, calling her hysterically.

Elle woke in a dour mood, shoving his hand off of her as she griped, "Goddamn you, Dave! What the hell is it now?!"

"I drew something!"

"That's nice! Good night!"

"No, Elle! I drew something!"

Flustered, Elle rolled over. Then it struck her with a delayed reaction.

"You drew something!" she commented, sitting up next to him. Snatching the paper out of his grasp, she demanded, "Let me see!"

She stared at it for a few seconds, unable to see it clearly until he drew back the curtains so that light was shed across the paper.

"It's somebody being electrocuted," he pointed out. "Tortured."

"By Grace Moriarty. Or at least it looks like her again."

"She must be someone like me. Someone special."

"Or maybe you just have the hots for her."

"I don't think so. This is the second time I drew her surrounded by electricity. I think she can produce it or at least control it."

"Great. Just what we need. An electrified Hollywood superdiva."

Elle unexpectedly clawed Peter's forearm, causing him pain that was ignored for more pressing matters as it healed.

"Oh my god!" she gasped. "That's my apartment!"

"Your apartment? Are you sure? How do you know?"

"I know my own apartment when I see it, Dave! Look! That vase!" She pointed to a floral contraption in the background on a bureau top. "It's hideous. My mom gave it to me as a housewarming gift."

"If that's your apartment then Grace is torturing…"

"Amber!"

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"Good morning, sleepy head," the sultry female voice purred behind Amber.

The girl whirled around with a frightened gasp.

"Hi," she returned with a disoriented look, squinting in the harshened morning light. "Who the hell are you?"

"Misery."

Amber wasn't as thick as Elle passed her off as being. Adrenaline shot through the young woman's body as she turned on her no longer tired heels and retreated. But she wasn't fast enough to outrun lightning. Grace smirked and charges of electricity forked over her entire body as she raised her hand and, with all the fury of a Yankees' pitcher, heaved a palm full of electricity at the girl. It struck Amber across the back, setting her a burning, melting hole into the back of the girl's leather jacket as she dropped her cataleptic dead weight to the floor.

"Some challenge would've been nice," Grace said with the undertone of boredom.

She took her time, toying with her prey despite the fact that the girl with the ridiculous pink hair was out cold. It was an enjoyable game for her. Make the bitch suffer. She would just be one of many cut down in her quest to avenge her cherished Gabriel.

Dragging the punk girl by the arm, she towed her to the kitchen and released her. She rummaged around the cabinets for anything to bind the girl with and, finding a staple roll of grey duct tape, deemed it worthy enough to perform the task, and set to work securing her captive to a chair.

"This is going to hurt just a little," the movie star muttered.

Electricity fluttering over her fingers and into her palm, Grace placed her electrified hand over Amber's heart, shocking her back to awareness with an excruciated shriek. Grace sadistically waited a few seconds longer than she needed to before withdrawing.

"Now that I have your undivided attention," snarled the beauty, "where is Peter Petrelli?"

Amber sputtered and looked at Grace wild-eyed.

"Who?" was all she could muster, warranting another prolonged shock.

"Peter Petrelli. Where is he?"

"I don't know who the fuck you're talking about!"

Another shock, one even longer still, and this time Amber screamed.

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Peter leapt from the bed and scurried for his floor strewn clothing to hastily dress.

"What are you doing?" Elle interrogated, terrified of the inevitable answer.

"Going to your apartment. Where is it?"

She rattled off a litany of directions.

"But you're not going without me!"

"You're staying here, Elle! This is way too dangerous for you!"

"No! I'm not letting you go alone! She'll kill you!"

"I can't die, remember? You can!"

"No, Peter, don't go!"

Now fully dressed, Peter rose from the bed and used his invisibility to exit both the room and the apartment without being hindered or detected.

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"You were on TV talking about your roommate," clarified Grace sternly.

"Elle?"

"Yes. Elle. She's with Peter Petrelli. Where is he?"

"You're a fucking crazy bitch – Ahhhh!!!"

The electricity felt like hot needles being shoved into Amber's flesh and she began to perspire heavily. Pissed off at being referred to in a derogatory term, Grace spitefully reinforced the voltage of the current to intensify her torture. Amber howled, her blackened flesh charring and cooking, hair singeing, all of which sent thin tendrils of smoke curling up toward the ceiling.

"Hiding him will accomplish nothing," growled the determined Grace. "Tell me his whereabouts or you will perish."

"I d-on't kn-ow! I don't know wh-where h-he is! I don't know who he is!"

"Where is your roommate?"

"I don't know where she is either!"

"Don't protect them!"

"I'm not, I'm not! Owwww!"

Another copious shock, more screaming. The hair on the torture victim's arms ignited into flame but smouldered out when Grace relieved Amber from the electrocution.

"You know who he is!" maintained Grace. "Italian, good looking, on the pretty side, dark hair, slight frame, eyes like a wounded deer stuck in headlights."

"There must be a hundred guys around in this neighborhood alone who look like that!" panted Amber. "It's New York fucking City! Do you know how many ethnic looking people are around here? We're the Great Fucking Melting Pot!"

She wailed louder, harder as the pococurante Grace used her electrocution method to cruelly extract what she wanted from her prisoner, that being the pleasure of the girl's suffering. The rancid stench of cooking human flesh permeated the apartment as Amber was fried alive, the skin blackening and peeling back to expose raw flesh and nerve, the jactitation of her body so violent that her wrists tore through the layers of tape that bound her. This time Grace did not stop.

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If there ever had been a time when Peter wished he could remember how to fly it was definitely now as he raced on foot to Elle's apartment. With no spare time for experimentation with his undiscovered abilities, including his desperately needed and no longer theoretical ability of flight, he wished super speed was included among them. There was no way he was going to make it to the house in time but he needed to try. The sudden roar of sirens and foghorn-like sound in the distance indicated that a group of fire engines were approaching.

Please don't turn left! Please…don't…turn…left!

Blurs of blazing red paint and flashing lights careened passed him then, to his dismay, turned left.

Peter forced himself to run faster, motivated by a burst of new dread. When he reached the house there was no need to check addresses to know which it was. The correct one was engulfed in flames and a crowd of spectators, other occupants of the two-family house Elle lived in joined with residents of the adjacent homes to cluster around outside as firemen dashed inside for chance of rescue.

Horrified, Peter stood incorporeal and watched, invisible from the eyes of the audience he aligned himself with. They wouldn't have seen him even if he reappeared, so entranced they were with the scene. As with most humans, they could not avert their eyes from tragedy. However, he too was stationary, unable to divert from the calamity unfolding.

The only thing that removed him from the inferno was when he was jostled by someone colliding with him. Whirling around, he saw a distraught Elle on the verge of hysterics. Wrapping an arm around her waist to share his invisibility, he clamped his hand over her mouth and whispered, "It's Peter! Be quiet or they'll hear us!"

But Elle could not contain her revulsion of the sight of her home ablaze. Her home, her belongings, her memories, her friend: everything gone. Incinerated into a pyre of worthless ash. Stifling a sob, she wrapped her arms around Peter and buried her face against his neck.

"I'm sorry," he said in a mollified whisper. "I tried to get here as fast as I could. Sorry I wasn't fast enough."

Elle sniffled then half muttered, half sobbed something so profound yet equally comical that Peter needed to hug her as a reward for her perpetual good nature even when it was unintended: "I wanted to kill her but I didn't want her dead."

He encircled her tightly inside his arms, nuzzled back against her and murmured affectionately, "Come on, silly. Let's go home. There's nothing else we can do here."

He felt pressure as she nodded against him, ignoring the trickle of tears she left in her wake when she pulled back, careful to stay within his arms so the bond of invisibility wouldn't be broken. He guided her away from the scene of billowing black smoke, lost memoirs and probing eyes and back in the direction of Alex's apartment.

He wanted to get her off the public streets and back to someplace where they could talk and grieve in peace. Also he sensed that Grace Moriarty was not the sort of woman who would abscond from a crime scene she fashioned. The woman was a big Hollywood star according to Elle and she would probably want to soak in the limelight of the chaos she propagated, even if it was anonymously. There was no longer any doubt that Grace Moriarty was announcing her enmity to him. The last thing he wanted was to be caught unprepared by a lunatic with a sadist's focus, not when he couldn't understand her motive behind why she was targeting either him or Elle in the first place.

They took their time in returning to the apartment, walking leisurely under the cloak of his invisibility gift. All the way back Elle clung to his body as if he was rescuing her from eminent death. Since Grace had tortured and murdered Elle's roommate and subsequently burnt down their house, he just may have saved the pretty fangirl's life.

He lifted the invisibility only after they inconspicuously slipped back inside Alex's apartment but by then Elle was in such a state of shock that he needed to usher the dolorous girl back to bedroom and help her sit on the bed. Inspired by everything that had taken place, he went back out to the living area to repossess the Mendez paintings as well as the one he did and dragged them back into the bedroom, careful not to disturb Alex who was still asleep on the couch. To offer himself and Elle privacy he shut the door behind him.

"Are you OK?" he asked Elle softly.

She blinked several times then replied in a strained voice, "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Do you want a glass of water or something?"

"Uh uh. I'm good. Oh wait. Does Alex have any more vodka left?"

"I think we finished it off before. We meaning you."

She smiled at his friendly teasing. It was typical of her to want to celebrate the truncated life of a friend with inebriation.

"Sorry I'm being weird," she amended. "I just can't believe all of this has been happening. My roommate was killed by an electrified movie star."

"I'm afraid so."

"How can she be like that and be famous? Wouldn't the paparazzi know that she's a human eel?! God, how incompetent are they? They can report to us about Britney Spears going Kojak but they can't let us know one of the most important things in Tinseltown?!"

"I'm sure this is a different situation, Elle. She must've learned to hide it very well."

"Fucking bitch!" she shouted, then covered her mouth with a quaking hand in regret that she freely yelled when Alex sleeping just outside the door. "I want to get her back for this."

"So you did like Amber."

"We'd known each other since we were little kids," she owned up. "Since we were eight years old. Yeah, we had our differences but she was still my friend."

She gazed teary-eyed at Peter who wiped the tears from her face with his thumb.

"It's my fault," he muttered, plagued again with culpability. "I failed. I should've gotten there sooner. I'm living in this surreal, incredible world where nothing makes any sense. I have all of these superpowers, these capabilities, and I couldn't reach her in time. What good are my abilities if I couldn't help her? I could've saved her but I was too late."

There was a substantial pause between them as their temperaments reversed with Peter increasingly growing upset while Elle gathered her wits and proffered succor to Peter. Everything was visibly taking its toll on him. The fallen hero bowed his head in shame and silently allowed his tears to fall without humiliation for doing so. The sight was enough to stir Elle's heart and she drew him into her arms. He rested his head upon her shoulder, his face buried against her neck.

"I'm sorry I'm a failure," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Peter," she lightly whispered against his forehead, smoothing back his hair as she joined him in tears. "Don't blame yourself. You're not a failure. You're still only human even though you can stop things with your mind."

Sniffling, he pulled free of her arms and looked at her with dewy eyes, smiling weakly. She returned the smile warmly. Wiping his tears with the back of his hand, he unpredictably leaned over as if to kiss her but paused when he got too near. An awkward moment of hesitation hovered between them before Elle closed the gap, pressing her lips softly against his. Thinking twice, he abstained but smiled sweetly when she didn't, as if she awaited him to return.

In this he did not disappoint. Capturing her mouth again, he kissed her with newfound assertiveness. The moment of indecision at once transformed into a mutual passionate aggression, the signature of desperation for comfort. Her hands were cool silk against his hot bare chest underneath the shirt she was divesting his body of. He leaned back and let her zealously devour his flesh, his hands roaming her body with impatient caresses, slipping beneath the T-shirt she wore to mimic her actions. When his hand slipped into her bra, another round of second thoughts interrupted his advancement.

"Don't stop," she whispered urgently. "I want this. You need this."

She kissed him firmly on the mouth, coaxing him with her tongue to return her affection. Being an empirical witness of death and destruction at the hands of someone out to cause them harm brought the normally timid man out of his shell. Life was too short, he reasoned, as he progressively cupped her small breast and reached around to unhook her bra. He struggled with it single-handedly until the frustrated Elle stopped to remove it herself. Leaning up to suckle a tender spot of her neck, he helped her shed the rest of her clothing like an unwanted skin. Each feathery brush of her finger tips across his flesh ignited desirous heat within him, impairing his self-discipline to the degree that he trembled just to retain a gentlemanly composure. He groaned as she slid his borrowed jeans down then lowered herself to hungrily engulf his hardness inside her mouth.

Should I be doing this? he questioned. I need her, I need someone right now! Everything else in my life is so uncertain! She's all I have! Then is it wrong for me to let this happen?

These worries caused him to shift away from her, calling her name in voice that mirrored both his friendly concerns and his manly wants. Despite his power to do so, Elle seemed to be the one who read his mind.

"Don't think," she dispelled his doubts, lying back and pulling him down atop her. "Just react."

Her advice made logical sense to him so he leaned down for another kiss while she embraced him in welcome, pressing his body down against hers. Accepting her compassion, he coupled his body with hers, she arching up to meet him as he buried himself within her completely, both physically and emotionally. But he briefly kept still as perhaps it was this intimate connection which suddenly opened the avenues of streaming thought he heard Elle say without her uttering of a single word.

Can't believe this is finally happening! What took him so long? He's soooo hot! Feels good too! He's hard in all the right places! Such a shame! Oh, god, he's amazing! Could keep him forever!

Her thinking became hysterical and cluttered and he dizzied from the mental eavesdropping. The thoughts came in such forceful litany that he was unable to stave off the sound and keep it away. Cupping her face in his hand, he did the only thing he knew would help and wantonly kissed her. It worked like a charm as she stopped thinking.

"Don't think," he repeated to her softly, "just react."

Passing him a bewildered expression, she touched his face and they kissed again as he began to move inside her with all the care of someone not wanting to crush a fragile flower beneath his weight. She sighed as he found a good rhythm for them both and set to pleasuring her. Not certain how experienced he was or if he was experienced at all, he realized that in this state of amnesia he was like a virgin again. Earlier Elle became envious of his relationship with Simone Deveaux but in truth he didn't know if he'd actually had sex with Simone. He was aware of a rivalry with Isaac Mendez for the woman's affections but nothing more. Whether or not they'd consummated their affair was still unknown. Perhaps his love had been unreturned. He guessed that at his age he was a virgin no longer but he liked the idea of having an odd sort of purity to bring to Elle. The beauty of sex was that it required no memory of identity or history. Sex was raw instinct, biology guided by nature to take its course. He was aware that his anatomy was meant to fuse with hers and the functions thereafter were performed from that raw instinct which was enough to get him by.

However, the disappointing part was that he could only do what he imagined she would get pleasure from rather than performing acts he knew she enjoyed, continually engaged in kissing her as a distraction in case he wasn't any good. Her fingers toyed with his hair, stroked his back, and clutched his hips to guide him in the manner that pleased her most. She wasn't shy in instructing him, telling him which spot and how fast or how deep. For this he was indebted because whatever he knew prior meant nothing. Servicing a woman well enough to furnish her with pleasure was not pure instinctual function. That demanded skill and if he would live to regret this tryst later then the one thing Peter wanted to take from it was that he was able to gratify her.

Her legs quivered uncontrollably in a weakened state around his waist so to help her with supportive comfort he hooked them by the knees with his elbows, making his thrusts into her smoother and deeper. Soon after he felt her body tense and he intrinsically knew that she was about to climax. Plunging harder and faster, he brought her to an orgasm that set her into a shrieking, back scratching fit of ecstasy. Worried that her noise would rouse the interest of her sleeping brother, he stifled her cry with an impassioned kiss. After the crescendo of her orgasm lessened she approvingly smiled at him and he returned it with one that brimmed with affection.

"Don't stop," she panted.

"Don't intend to," he promised.

And he didn't. The feel of her squeezing contractions around him made him moan with bliss and it took great effort to continue preventing himself from reaching his own climax shortly after hers was reached. Her body was exquisite as it tightened around him, becoming slicker from her arousal, making it increasingly difficult for him to hold back. Here was where he wanted to stay for as long as he could: submerged deep inside her body, mind and soul, becoming a part of her in a beautifully intimate way.

Creating soft love sounds in her throat, she bit into his neck, sucking the flesh there lovingly. He let her because it would heal any way, just as the profound wells she put in his back with her fingernails mended seconds after she created them. He moaned as she traced the tendon in his neck with her tongue, stopping to suck at his pulse, her breath heavy against him. Reaching between them, his fingers searched for a spot he knew must exist and when she writhed in aroused excitement underneath him he knew it definitely did, proving he had some level of experience. Rubbing the nub of flesh while he steadily continued to thrust, he managed to give her a second orgasm which in turn caused her slickened body to clasp around him impossibly tighter.

"Fuck, Elle!" he muttered, placing his forehead against hers as he worked harder yet still gently.

She kissed him, he obliging and when he slipped his tongue into her mouth she playfully sucked on it. Losing himself in the act, his restraint crumbled and he pressed into her as deep as possible then spilled himself with a satisfied moan, his heart racing and body trembling.

"Are you OK?" he inquired sweetly, his eyes large and emanating poignant sentiment.

"I couldn't be more right," she declared, stroking one of his finely cut high cheekbones.

Kissing her leisurely a few more times, he separated from her, taking his place at her side. Longing to still be a part of her, he nestled closer and requested, "Please hold me for a while."

Accepting him into her arms, she pressed him firmly against her.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Not just for the sex but for everything."

"You're welcome, Dave."

Fulfilled and sated, they wrapped around each other and fell back asleep.

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By the time Reptilicus and Randi woke up that morning, their recondite guest had already been awake for an hour and a half. Restive during the entire night, he stood at the window staring out at the Coney Island workers preparing for the anticipated busy day and a periodic jogger, waiting to quiz the man who'd took him in the night before.

It felt as if an eternity passed before his bizarre hosts roused from their slumber; he would've already been long gone without notice had he not wanted to ask them a few things before departing.

Just when he was about to give up and leave any way he heard a scuffle behind him accompanied by a half-yawned, half-muttered "Good morning" behind him. He turned and found Randi, as unglamorous as a burlesque dancer could be bundled up in a robe and wearing a pair of glasses as she prepared to make coffee in the little coffee maker on the counter.

"Want some caffeine?" she offered.

"Yes, please," he responded which visibly surprised her.

"You spoke!" she acknowledged. "Wait here for a minute."

Hurriedly she retreated to the rear of the living quarters, presumably to get her boyfriend or husband or whatever the hell he was to her. Seconds later, both of the midway freaks appeared.

"Hey," Reptilicus addressed. "How are you? Did you sleep well? Do you remember anything?"

He sighed and nodded.

"I remember everything."

"You do? What happened to you, man? What's your name?"

"You honestly don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"Who I am?"

The fire breather shrugged. "I guess not. Should I?"

"Does the name Nathan Petrelli sound familiar?"

"Yeah, it does," added Randi, interrupting the coffee making she had gone back to. "Newly elected Congressman. You're him?"

"You know my name but not my face?"

"I don't follow politics. In case you haven't noticed, we're in our own world down here. But I've heard your name in passing."

"You keep saying that you lost your brother," Reptilicus recurred. "What exactly did you mean by that?"

There was no way Nathan planned to reveal the truth to these people or to anyone else for that matter. He owed them for taking him in but there was limited truth he could tell and being a politician made him a practiced liar.

"There was an accident," he fibbed with a stony, straight face. "We were drinking on the beach to celebrate."

"How exemplary of you," Randi quipped smartly.

Nathan gave her a warning look before continuing.

"He had a little more to drink than he could handle and unwisely decided to go for a swim. I tried to stop him but I wasn't exactly in the best of conditions myself. He got swept away by the tide."

"Oh my god!" Randi exclaimed, handing Nathan a mug of freshly made coffee. "Are you serious?!"

"Fuck," Reptilicus swore. "Did you call somebody? The coast guard or…"

"No. I wasn't in good shape, granted, but I tried looking for him myself. Couldn't find him. By the time I sobered up too much time elapsed."

"You have to tell somebody, man. Not telling the authorities could've definitely cost him his life. They might've been able to rescue him. It's been a long time for somebody to be lost out in the water now. His chances aren't good at all."

"No. I suppose they aren't."

"You should call right away. Every minute counts."

Nathan despondently shook his head.

"I don't think it matters any more."

"Of course it matters! It matters because he's your brother! He's your brother, man!"

"I appreciate your concern and all that you've done for me, I honestly do. However, we Petrellis take care of our own business. I'm sure other members of our family are looking for him. For us both, actually."

Randi and Reptilicus couldn't believe what they were hearing. One minute this man was compassionate for his brother, the next callous. Only a politician possessed the ability to shock a pair of sideshow performers who earned their living by shocking others. That was the way of the politician and perhaps Nathan had been involved in it long enough to lose most of his conscience after all.

"I just need to get home to make a few calls," he insisted. "Do either of you have a car?"

"I do," Randi stated.

"Can either one of you drive me home?"

The freakish pair gaped at each other in wonder.

"I'll drive you back," Reptilicus offered. "Randi should get more beauty sleep."

Nathan nodded and genially thanked them, knowing fully well that the real reason Reptilicus proposed to drive was because he didn't want the woman to be alone with who appeared to be a homicidal Congressman.

"Then let's go," suggested Nathan before finishing his coffee.

While the men left the apartment and walked out to the car, Nathan dreaded the unwelcome reception he expected to receive once he arrived at the Petrelli mansion.

------------------

Author's Note: Seasons Greetings, one and all, and thanks for your continued readership. I just wanted to drop a quick A/N to let you know that I am preparing to undergo a surgery in the near future (hopefully in early January at the latest – it depends on my surgeon's availability) which could delay in the next chapter of MBK. However, I will continue checking my emails and will keep in touch with you that way should I be unable to post the next chapter before the surgery. I expect that you will get at least one more chapter before then but I wanted to announce it in case I couldn't manage. This surgery will not affect the contest for autographed magazine in any way so do not worry about that particular issue. As for this chapter, I'd like to dedicate it to my niece Emily (who we nearly lost in surgery last week) and my newest infant niece Jennifer (born the same day we almost lost Emily – how frightening is that?) Life is simultaneously grand and terrifying, isn't it?

Update: It's been drawn to my attention that only members of FF.N can send me emails and private messages from my bio page, which I was not aware of. If anyone is interested in Hayden's autographed magazine please email your answer to my question along with your theory to me at infectedwithlupinus at yahoo dot com. Because of this error, I will extend the deadline for another month until January 20, 2008. My apologies for any frustrated/upset readers.