AN: Ah! Took FOREVER! Sorry about that.

Alright, loads of development in this chapter, as well as more characters introduced. And I'm not even done yet, how exciting! But yes, pretty soon it will all come together in my grandmaster plot of doom…

And until then, you must wait. I'm evil. Eh. *shrugs carelessly*

But, more of that awesome Peter/Bella interaction, which I love. Although, not quite romance, I'm at that stage where I'm trying to show that there kind of possibly could be, you know what I mean? It'll come soon enough, though, I assure you. And I'm uber excited about it!

So, here's the chapter after a bit longer of a wait than you're used to—after all, it's not THE day after I submitted the other. My streak is broken. :'(

Ah well. Easy come, easy go. Enjoy! :D

Oh, wait, to sally94: the painting was something to that affect, you are correct!

And also to Allebasii: I will admit I did like the idea of using a painting of the future in the story, but I swear on my life I'm not gonna copy! And I've read Interview With a Vampire—love the book! And yes, it does put the Cullens to shame, lol. Edward is right in feeling ashamed…I feel sick saying that. It's just his creepy possessive-ness has begun to bug the crap outta me. I know you're a vampire and all, but that gives you NO right to sneak into my room and watch me sleep…perv…

And ah, I'm ranting too! But thanks for telling me about the prequel, I will read it soon, promise! And if I ever need advice I'll be sure to come to you! :D

Alright, now you may continue!

Immolation Chapter 8: Special

"Talents can stay hidden until you stumble across them by accident, or desperately need them…"

The sun was warm on my face and I fluttered my eyes, rolling over to get away from it—only to land with a loud plop on the carpet. Wait…there isn't any carpet in my room… I cracked open an eye to examine my surroundings, not even phased by the pain in my shoulder and chest from the fall. White carpet that simply reeked of new house met me, and I craned my neck to see the living room of Claire and Peter.

That's right…Peter and I hung out last night… I sat up and looked at the thin blanket that had wrapped itself around my legs, effectively making me look like a burrito. I wiggled out of it and looked around for Peter—then realized he had probably gone to his room after I fell asleep. But got a—dare I say pleasant?—surprise when I saw a crumpled blanket and pillow on the couch across from the chair I had been in.

Peter walked into the room then, and I could smell something…burning. I knitted my brow, still partially asleep. "Is the house on fire?"

He sighed. "Close enough. I'm cooking."

I felt the corners of my lips tug upward. "Wow. First time for everything, I guess." He chuckled and nodded, before walking over and sticking out his hand.

"Need some help?" I blushed and took it, nodding and saying thanks. I followed him into the kitchen to be met with a hilarious sight. Peter spread his arms in an arc, "This is my attempt at making pancakes."

I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing, but found it a wasted effort. Some weird, brownish goo was all over the counters, stove, and a pan. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's hilarious, but I'm kind of hungry. But not hungry enough to eat…whatever that is." He pointed to the pan, where a dark brown lump was sizzling.

I continued to laugh for a moment, but managed to reign myself in enough to speak. "It's sweet that you tried," I consoled him.

He grumbled. "Tried."

I laughed again. "It takes practice."

He crossed his arms and looked at me from the corner of his eye, though I detected playfulness about his features. "I thought you said you've been cooking since you were little?"

I shrugged. "If I had left it to Renee, I would have starved. Or died from shock."

"Shock?"

I shook my head with mock solemnity, "You don't wanna know what she tried to shove down my throat. Hell, to this day I still don't know." He laughed, but I made a shooing motion. "You go ahead and do whatever. I'll salvage…" I glanced back at the mess of a kitchen he left. "…what I can."

"Can I watch?"

I turned around and gave him my best why-would-you-want-to-do-that look. "What?"

He shrugged coolly, "Bella, I'm a twenty-nine year old man. I need to learn sometime."

I laughed. "I'll give you that…alright. Just…" I shot him another look after surveying the irreversible damage. "…don't touch anything, please." He nodded and leaned back against the counter as I dug through his fridge. I found eggs and bacon and, in his pantry, some beans. I knew with the right spices and the tortilla shells I had spotted earlier, I could make some breakfast burritos easily. I felt his eyes on me as I moved, which was sort of unnerving, and yet not as bad as I would have thought it would be.

I set everything down and began to clean up, which wasn't a very hard or long chore, thank goodness. The cooking didn't take very long either—or maybe it was just that I seemed to space out while doing it. I just had a…bad feeling. About what, exactly, was beyond me. I simply did.

Either way, breakfast reached the table. Peter and I sat across from each other, and as I looked up at him, I couldn't help but feel painfully embarrassed about my behavior from the night before. Although after the breakdown it was easy to talk with him again; now, in the light of day, I felt awkward.

I chewed thoughtfully on my burrito, hoping the right words to say would fall out of the sky. But before they could, Peter's hand appeared in my line of vision. "You alright?" his voice was concerned, as it always seemed to be. I smiled.

"Fine," I said. "Just…thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing," I paused, but realized that he could mistake it for defensiveness. "Not like, I don't wanna tell you, just literally, I was zoning out there. Sorry."

He shook his head, indicating that it was alright. There was a moment of silence that, to me, seemed pretty awkward. I sighed, angry at myself. Why had it been so easy to be around him yesterday, even after my cry-fest, and yet today I couldn't think of anything to say to him?

Maybe it was because…other than them, Claire, and my family, I'd never really had other friends. And Peter was definitely what I'd call a friend. Briefly, I wondered if he considered me a friend, but pushed it from my mind. I honestly doubted it—after all, it was probably Claire that asked him to hang out with me. She knew I had nothing else to do.

But it was strange. What do you say to someone who was…what, eleven years older than you? And a man, no less. Not to mention all the extraordinary things that only complicated the situation further. I was speechless around him—caught between wonder at his abilities and nervousness just because he was…him. Not anything personal, but he was tall and intense and…well, said abilities definitely made me worry about getting on his bad side.

I bit my lip, feeling like the silence was pressing in on me. I scrambled for something to break it with. "So…you said you think I could be…?" I didn't complete the sentence. I simply didn't want to.

He understood anyway. "I'm pretty sure. I can read anybody and everybody. Except for you." Finished with my burrito, I rested my chin on my hand.

"But…I can't be special," I was simply pointing out the obvious. I hung out with special people and…well, other things, but I wasn't one of them. "Try again," I urged finally. It would work this time. "Maybe there was just…bad reception last time."

He laughed, but then the humor faded from his eyes, replaced with that same intense concentration. Again, I felt like he was staring straight through my eyes and into me, unlocking all my secrets and memories. And though it was uncomfortable to think that he was able to do that, I didn't let my insecurities show.

Until I felt a sharp jab in my right temple. It was like someone had poked my brain with a needle—metaphorically, of course. I yelped and rubbed it, breaking our eye contact and his concentration.

His hands wavered over my arm that was resting on the table. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head to clear it. "Was that…you?"

"Was what me?"

"It was like…" Like what, exactly? Was it stupid to assume that I could feel someone trying to read my mind? Probably. It was most likely a headache…though I had a feeling that headaches didn't flare up and then disappear completely. "Like I got jabbed in the head."

He looked down at the tabletop. "I don't know, it might have been. I'm sure you have a power Bella—if you felt me trying to get in, then there's simply no denying it."

I chewed on my bottom lip. "Okay…let's say, hypothetically, I do have a power. What do we do about it?"

He shrugged, retracting the hand he had placed on my arm—when did that happen? "We work on improving it. Like any ability, powers can be exercised and trained, and then controlled. Maybe this blocking ability can do more than just that."

I felt my brows knit, and I brought my pinkie nail to my teeth in thought. "Are you saying like in Activating Evolution, when Dr. Suresh talks about how certain powers are so closely related they can both be used by one person?"

"In a way, yeah," he said.

"But this is all…hypothetical, right?" I asked hopefully. I wanted to leave saving the world to Claire and Peter…Lord knows I'd only succeed in making it worse…

He shot me a stern look. "Bella."

I stared back at him for a few minutes, before blinking and admitting defeat. "When does this 'training' of yours start?"

He looked over at the clock, and stood up. "We've gotta go pick up Nathan and take him to the airport! Dammit!"

"What?"

"I lost track of the time—and I meant to order him a ticket yesterday, but forgot," he said as he rushed out of the room. I followed into the hall, where he handed me my jacket. I scraped my hair back so it didn't look so terrible, threw it on, and we left quickly.

III

Matt Parkman kept a firm grip on Molly's hand as they waited outside the art gallery. She looked up at him worriedly, sensing that something was wrong in his jerky actions and tense face, but she didn't ask. She threw the wrapper to her sandwich in the garbage just as a door opened. The woman from earlier came out with the canvas, wrapped in sturdy brown paper. "Take good care of it and have a very nice day," she said, turning and winking at Molly, before going back into the store.

Matt kept her hand as he led her across the street to his car. They both got in—she in the back, of course—and buckled their seatbelts. He instructed her to make sure the painting didn't bump around too much, but said she should get some rest at least once during their trip. As it turned out, they were the last things on her mind.

"Are you mad?" she asked quietly.

The question took him by surprise. "Me? Mad? No."

"Good." And then she was silent, staring out the window. Hours began to tick into each other, and finally he heard her steady breathing and muddled, dream-like thoughts. He sighed and gazed out the window. They were in Illinois now—it wouldn't be very long until they made it to Washington. He checked the map, making sure he was on the right road, yawned, and settled back in his seat. Though he was tired, the panic he felt inside kept him going.

I can't believe that's what we will come to…it's a suicide mission, if I'm being honest with myself…and how dare I drag Molly into this…

But there was one thing that shocked him more than any other.

Peter Petrelli. You're alive.

III

Gina flipped her blonde hair, ignoring the shouting in the back of her mind. Stop! Let me out! She nearly laughed at the pleading girl, but ignored her.

She needed to get out of here. Briefly, she considered just simply going into L.A., but it seemed too close for comfort. That bastard husband of Niki's would surely track her down, and the moment she saw one of them, it'd be disaster. Niki would probably make this huge heroic escape and go back on the medication. And what fun would that be?

So she went to the airport, and read the huge sign with information on that day's flights. She went with the first one to catch her eye. I've always wanted to go to Seattle.

She looked over at a nearby mirror and smirked, ignoring the cries.

No! No! Let me out!

III

Elle huffed angrily, looking at her father in dismay. "High school? I've never been to normal school, let alone high school! I'm not some stupid teenager!"

Bob rolled his eyes, pressing down his irritation. "I'm sorry, dear, but you'll have to deal with it."

She growled, electricity dancing on the tips of her fingers. "I don't look like a teenager anyhow! I'm a twenty-four year old woman Daddy!"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to—she would obey him, and the both of them knew it. They had a small contest in which he stared her down—before she lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Fine," she said begrudgingly. "What am I there for?"

He waved his hand in a vague gesture. "Befriend the Swan girl, and find out her secrets."

She stamped her foot and whined. "Can't we just capture her and interrogate her?"

"We don't know what connections she has," he warned. "I don't want any backfire—and the Petrelli brothers cannot know we're here. Not yet. Now—just do as you're told."

She knew the conversation was over, and he had won the argument. With a disheartened sigh, she left the room and shut the door, walking into the foyer of the large house they were currently occupying. The Haitian was nowhere to be seen, so she ambled over to the abandoned grand piano and ran her hand over the keys, before making her way up the huge staircase to the third floor. She looked out the long row of windows as she walked, dragging her hand along the wall.

This just sucked. She had to try and be friends with this girl, all because she knew about some kind of vampire jazz. She was certain she could find out a different way—any other way than this—but Daddy insisted. So she had no other choice.

III

The newborns were especially volatile today because of the new arrivals—they didn't like their territory being taken over. But he was able to keep them controlled, with Victoria's strict orders to prevent any casualties in the back of his mind. Currently, she was out hunting, but would be back soon.

For now, the only thing he could focus on was breaking up fights and stopping runaways. That was, until a scout Victoria had sent into the forests returned to him. She stood to her full height in front of him. "I have news."

"Speak," he said disinterestedly, his eyes scanning the mass of hissing and growling.

"There are humans in the forest, near Port Angeles's outskirts. And ashes. A vampire's ashes." He looked over at her, surprised.

Humans…near a vampire's ashes? Do they know, or are they just there by coincidence?

She seemed to expect his question. "They've been there for a few days—well, leaving and coming back. There were two, but now there's three. And they also mentioned Isabella Swan."

He felt shocked. He thought Isabella was the only one who knew of their existence, but apparently the Cullen coven's trust was misplaced when they bestowed it upon her. "So she's told."

"I suppose." And with that, the girl flitted off obediently.

He fell extremely silent, no longer breathing in his thought. So there're humans in the forest, looking at the remains of a vampire… He called back to the girl, who was by his side immediately.

"Was there evidence of a fight?" Maybe these humans are those mongrels Victoria has mentioned before.

"None at all. Not even of wood or lighter fluid—it's as if he suddenly caught fire." He waved her off then.

So apparently the wolves were able to kill this vampire without a fight—though he didn't see how. The beasts weren't nearly as quiet or agile as his kind, which made a surprise attack hard to do. If it weren't for their extreme healing and strength, they would be child's play to them. It was simply in numbers they were dangerous.

And he had the sneaking suspicion this vampire was Laurent. So unless, somehow, the wolves managed to get him while he was vulnerable…which still, they would usually use some wood to burn, and it seemed unlikely they would simply forget to. The only other possibility, though, was that he had miraculously gotten struck by lightning.

Highly unlikely…although quite amusing…

He cleared his throat, no closer to the answer than before. He would simply have to ask Victoria.

III

The ride to the hospital was a quiet one, and after we had signed Nathan out and gotten him into the car, the silence only deepened. It was getting under my skin for some reason—I just felt like something should be said.

And then it was. "Nathan, this is Bella. Bella, this is Nathan, my brother."

I smiled at him, though I doubt he saw it, and reached around awkwardly to take his outstretched hand and shake it. "A pleasure to meet you."

"As it's a pleasure to meet you." His voice was tight, like Noah's had been when he met me. I bit my lip. Why did it seem that everyone but Peter and Claire didn't trust me? In fact, I wasn't even sure how Peter himself felt.

After about fifteen seconds of a now extremely awkward silence, Peter spoke. "She's the one who came up with the idea of putting Claire's blood in your system."

Nathan started. And, being me, I only saw the bad side to his statement. "She knows about you? Us?"

Peter relaxed him. "She's one of us."

He seemed to accept that. "Oh."

Nothing was said, even when we got to the airport. I noticed the way Peter would constantly look over at Nathan, as if he was going to fall apart any second—the love and worry in his gaze astounded me. Even though his brother had been in on the plot to blow him up, he loved him above all that. Although, when Nathan flew in and saved New York, he had redeemed himself in my eyes.

And suddenly, on our way to the terminal, Nathan grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Peter. I panicked—what was he doing? Why were we leaving Peter behind? He set me in front of him and had to bend down just slightly to look in my eyes. "Calm down. I just wanted to thank you."

I stilled. "What? Thank me?"

He nodded. "Peter would never have taken my death or if I had been scarred from the burns well at all. He would have continually beat himself up over it. And you saved the both of us from that—I owe you quite a bit. Thank you."

I felt strangely flattered—by his serious air and business-like appearance, I got the impression Nathan wasn't the one to say thank you often. I smiled at him. "It was no problem. You should thank Claire, actually; it was her blood, after all."

He nodded, letting go of my arms. "I will. And, by the way, if you ever need a favor, I'm sure you can call me." He slipped me his number quickly, and then we made our way to Peter—who was walking back the way we came, looking extremely worried and slightly panicked. And yet he relaxed when he spotted us.

"Bella! Nathan!" He came up to us quickly. "What happened? Where'd you go?"

Nathan lied smoothly, and I couldn't help but feel just slightly affronted—was he not able to admit thanking me? "I asked Bella to take me to get something to drink because I figured she'd know where to go better than you."

Peter's worry faded. "Thanks for letting me know," he said drily. Then we went on our way, seeing Nathan off on his baggage-less flight. We waited until the plane was out of view before making our way back to Peter's house. Of course, he asked if I wanted to go home, but I simply had nothing to do. So, soon we arrived.

Only for him to torture me.

III

I rubbed my throbbing temples; my head feeling like it was going to explode. Peter had been beating at my, what he referred to as "natural defenses", trying to see if he could find a way in. So far he hadn't, and was in probably as much pain as I was—if his grimace was any indication. I wasn't sure why we continued this, even though it put us in pain, but his response was simple when I asked.

"Because, Bella, we wanna find out how strong your shield is," he said reasonably.

My irritation welled. "Obviously strong enough for you not to read my mind. Isn't that enough?" I snapped.

He sighed, before agreeing. "Alright. I'll give you that."

"But we're still not done, are we?"

He shook his head. "Suresh has this idea that shields can be bended, extended, moved, all that good stuff. Why not try it out?"

I gazed at him for a moment, trying to give him my best why-me look, but admitted defeat. "Fine. What next, Mr. Tutor?"

He smiled, but otherwise seemed to ignore the comment. "What do you wanna do?" I thought about it. The easiest option seemed to be extending my shield beyond myself—in the book it was referred to as stretching it. After all, it sounded like a better plan to practice protecting others rather than un-shielding myself and protecting no one. And yet there was nobody else here to test this on, as it was Sunday, and Claire wouldn't be back until tomorrow night.

So it was decided. "I'll try and…I don't know, push my shield away from myself or something."

He smiled and playfully ruffled my hair. "That's the spirit!"

I glared at him, before sighing and closing my eyes. I nodded that I was ready, and soon felt the pressure in my head. Peter had previously described my shield as a "steel vault" all around my mind, so I tried to find it. I visualized my mind being a wide open room, and watched myself walk all the way to the farthest edge where a tall, bolted, metallic wall stretched to the dark sky.

Was my mind really this empty?

I focused on the task at hand, hoping my crappy visual would have the desired effect. With my little mind-self, I pushed against the wall. It didn't budge. I watched as she exerted herself, red in the face and sweaty…

I shook myself out of it. Okay, this wasn't the way to go—and the pressure Peter created kept building, only further antagonizing the massive headache I was sporting. I opened my eyes to find Peter's on me—they locked. I tried to do what he was doing—stare into him, but I doubted I got the whole intensity thing right.

I cursed my mind for wandering and snapped it back into place. I tried to feel for something—some kind of wall or barrier or something, but was coming up empty.

"Stop, stop," I said finally. "I need to rest. You're killing me here." The look on Peter's face was one of disappointment, and I could only guess he thought I was quitting. But no, not now—now I had put in a real effort to find this wall, and I'd be damned if I didn't follow through. I was too stubborn for that—I simply couldn't give up or my failure would eat at me.

I took a deep breath. "Alright. Go." He looked fairly surprised, but pleased as he nodded.

And let the torture begin.