A Sylar ends up being a guy, though Peter is pretty sure his name was Gabriel last time he saw him and he hadn't been introduced to monochrome black or hair gel. He's in a plexiglas, well cage is the most practical way to put it, but it looks a little less clinical and austere than that. The look on his face is vaguely frustrated, thick eyebrows scrunched together as he's trailing wiring and banging on the glass hard enough for it to vibrate.
"Mohinder," he yells, as various objects inside the cage whirl around like a tornado before smacking ineffectually into the glass. "This isn't working!"
Except to Peter it looks very much like it is working. He scans the room but doesn't see Lincoln or Scully, so bust there, but doesn't see any harm in sticking around for a moment for the show.
"Extraordinary," Walter exclaims, excitedly scribbling something down while chewing on a red vine but Dr. Suresh doesn't look quite as enthusiastic with the results. "Marinder, is his telekinesis limited to lighter objects currently?"
"For now," Mohinder sighs, not even bothering to correct Dr. Bishop's odd quirk for forgetting names, since it seems to not just be isolated to him. Lincoln's been called every president Mohinder can remember from long ago taking an American History class in Madras, and the names he calls many of the others aren't nearly as nice.
Looking at Sylar's brain wave patterns thoroughly, he tries his best to avoiding the other man's eyes, doesn't want him to see that he's baffled that Gabriel's -no, Sylar. This isn't your Gabriel anymore- tests are showing no improvement. That what he's seeing isn't particularly hopeful, telekinesis aside. They're still basically at square one with their precious Patient Zero. "He claims in his timeline it was much stronger, levitation, teleportation, kinetic fields. But I think he's one of the few we've seen who have actually regressed in their abilities since crossing over."
"Regressed my ass," Peter huffs, his eyes are still glued on Sylar who is now casually floating objects at non-lethal speeds, watches the office supplies drift around lazily. He's a quick learn, possibly quicker than Peter even, already catching Peter staring at him discreetly and grins. It's the grin of a very cunning predator, even white teeth shark-like and ready to rip a carotid artery to shreds at a moment's notice. The action's somehow still incredibly unnerving even to Peter who has seen it all (in four different universes no less), even though he probably should have expected it from a man who obviously can't be trusted not to harm others and is therefore in a plexiglas cage.
It's insight at least that this Sylar isn't someone to be trifled with later, at any rate.
Peter rolls his eyes at the bravado, turns to walk away but not before hearing the resonating thud of a stapler smacking exactly where his head would be if there wasn't any barrier.
Sylar gives him an innocent look before ominously waving goodbye.
"Bye Peter," he drawls. "Can't wait for you to visit again. The good doctor has told me so much about you. How special you are. I can't wait to see what makes you… tick."
Mohinder begins to say something but Peter cuts him off with a wave of his hand, halfway out of the lab already.
.
.
.
They cheated destiny, she thinks as she stares into the mirrors of her mind, knowing in one iteration she's asleep in bed, tucked safely in an ATFP bed, Lee by her side. Perverted the natural order, stole something from Mother Nature and Mother Nature tends to guard her secrets jealously, possessively even.
Her pupils dilate and her mind opens as not just Olivia's gift, thousands of iterations of herself pour in, clamor to be the one heard by her mind as she sifts for the more relevant ones, the one's most similar to their world. She sees hundreds of universes falling apart before her eyes, hundreds more hanging by a thread, some already withered hopeless husks, others about as stable as the one she is now.
None of them are better, and none of it gives her hope.
In some she's a doctor, a dancer, a soldier, a sailor, a junkie. In all of them (including this one) she's a weapon to be wielded by those who know more than she does, a piece of metal to be crafted into something exquisite and sharply honed for the coming war, whatever that version of the war may be. It's a bitter feeling being used by the universe, but through all of them she finds a thread of hope and follows it to its origin.
All of them know what it's like to be loved by Lincoln in some way. Some iterations are cherished, coveted, craved, many of them reciprocate the feeling mutual, but only one version knows what it's like to love Peter Bishop, and to be loved by Peter in turn and that voice is the loudest of all, so loud 'Liv can't find herself willing to disobey. After all, they cheated the cosmos really, and the cosmos wants its dues back, some quid pro quo. She can feel the bone deep hum that the universe wants the Olivia that was supposed to reside here take back her rightful place, not this strange impostor from a strange land, and she can feel the pull like an undertow so bad she lets it swallow her whole.
She will never be alone again.
In another timeline she gasps as she opens her eyes and pulls the electrodes from her head, the IV from her arm and both Walter and Suresh are saying something to her, Peter helping her out with strong hands around her arms as she stumbles. They're all saying things to her but its like the volume has been turned down almost to mute as more memories explode behind her eyes, and just looking at Peter's aura makes her head hurt. She nearly retches from the vertigo, but manages to keep herself upright with his help, wobbly legs moving in the direction of the nearest wastebasket.
Lee snuffles and throws a protective arm around her midsection, dead asleep for the first time in ages. It brings a smile to her weary face when draws her closer and she can hear the gentle hum of the baby monitor mercifully quiet on her nightstand. The back of her neck itches and she knows her tattoo will be missing tomorrow.
It's only the beginning.