Brain's Notes:

Don't kill me!!! I know, I know. It's taken a while. But we had a few problems. Pinky was discouraged from writing because she discovered some mistake's she'd been making that I didn't want to tell her about because I knew it would have that effect. I was too busy to edit for a long time, but after reading some heart-warming reviews from a bunch of you awesome people out there, decided to press on and finish up chapter 4! Enjoy.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

If Juliette had run any faster up the stairs of the office building where she was employed she may have set a new climbing record. Her heart was pounding in her ears; not from the swiftness of her ascent or the weight of the laptop case she held, but from nerves. Nathan hadn't returned her phone calls. She considered calling him twice the night before, but she figured A) he needed some space and B) she would look a bit desperate. However, she could not help the excited and slightly anxious feeling that tickled her chest.

She had seen him heal right before her eyes from a multitude of wounds, and he rushed off before she could talk more to him about what had caused it.

He said he had to see someone who would know what his 'ability' was all about.

After setting down her laptop case with clumsy speed, she straightened her top and gave herself a moment to relax. She couldn't walk into his office looking frazzled. She was here to work. Even so, her tongue was practically itching to ask him all about what had happened the day before. In her hands she held a tray of coffee. Today, it was less of an offering to her boss and more of an excuse to go into his office. She took a deep breath, strode forward, and finding the door unlocked, stepped inside.

He sat with his feet on his desk, reading the morning paper.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked breathlessly. She could have smacked herself. The words escaped before her brain had a chance to filter them. What an unprofessional way to start a conversation…

"Of course, Ms. O'Neil." He replied in a professional tone, closing up the paper and dropping his legs. "Why wouldn't I be?" He looked slightly bored, maybe even a bit agitated.

"Well." She faltered, hurrying forward to set his Latte down on his desk. "With what happened with the clock, I just thought you might not be doing so well." There. Subtle, yet clear enough that he would know what she was talking about.

Or not. "Clock?" he asked.

Juliette's eyes snapped up to his, confused.

"Yes, the clock," she repeated. "Three days ago, when you cut your hand and," she lowered her voice. "Healed," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.

Nathan crinkled his forehead and moved just out of her reach.

"Ms. O'Neil, I have no idea what it is you are referring to," he looked down at her outstretched hand, "But I urge you to address me in a more professional manner."

He stood with finality and turned away from her in a rather rude, stuffy manner, staring out the window and adjusting his tie.

What on earth was happening?

"Nathan?" she asked, tentatively approaching him again, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Professional Manner!" he snapped, turning to glare at her. "Do I have to repeat myself?" His eyes narrowed.

"No, Sir." Her eyes widened and she took a tiny step backwards.

"Now, I believe you have work to do?" he demanded, pointing at the door.

"Yes, Sir."

Juliette's mind whirred so fast everything felt and seemed dizzy and fogged. She was hardly present as she completed her morning duties, almost as though she were a robot programmed to work and nothing else. She had so many confused, hurt thoughts it was enough to preoccupy her until the end of the century. Maybe he was in denial. Perhaps the person he'd gone to see had done something to him. Or maybe… maybe she was being shunned because she had witnessed something she wasn't meant to see.

Now she was sounding like a woman from a science fiction story. But she couldn't help it. People don't just… heal.

She tried again after her lunch break to get him to talk with her about what had happened. This time, she went in prepared to be cold-shouldered. She was ready for anything, and at the same time frightened. But she had to get to the bottom of what was going on, otherwise it would bother her until the end of time.

"Did you send the clock in to be repaired?" she asked as she set his afternoon Latte on his desk.

"What clock?" he asked distractedly, not looking up from the clutter of papers on his desk.

"The clock on your bookshelf? Your FAVORITE clock?" she persevered.

"Ms. O'Neil, I do NOT have a "favorite clock," he stated coolly. "Nor did I ask you to bring me any coffee."

Oh, what the HELL? She thought. He doesn't even want his coffee?

That was the last straw. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. Tears threatened to spill over as she desperately tried to come up with a reason as to why he would be so… mean to her.

"Nathan!" She exclaimed helplessly. His head snapped up, his eyes narrowed. He was frowning angrily.

"Ms. O'Neil, I urge you to," he began.

"Nathan! Please," she begged. "You can't keep pretending what happened the other night never happened!" She was beginning to be alarmed by his behavior. "Explain to me what's going on!"

He stood up, his chair rolling away and clanging into the window behind him from the force. He stepped slowly, menacingly around his desk until he was standing face-to-face with her.

"You are suspended, go home," he said lowly.

"Suspended?" she choked, too shocked to form coherent words.

"Take a week off, unpaid," he continued coldly. "And I expect the proper level of professionalism when you return. IF you return." He crossed his arms and nodded his head in the direction of the door.

She swallowed hard. Panic griped her chest. How could she convince him of what had happened? Why didn't he remember? Was she going crazy?

Her eyes searched his, desperate to find some clue as to his behavior. She found nothing but anger, and annoyance. She looked down to brace herself against the painful feeling in her chest, taking heaving breaths.

That's when her eyes fell upon the letter opener.

Was she going insane? She was beginning to doubt herself. Did he really heal the other night, or was it all a fantasy she'd dreamed up? No. It happened. It had to have happened. She could replay the memory as though it were occurring right in front of her. She had to prove to him, as well as herself, that she wasn't going crazy. She pushed past him, almost blind from the tears that had just begun to stream down her face, and took the letter opener in a trembling fist. She turned, holding it like a knife, and heaved a gasping breath.

"What are you doing?" Nathan began, raising his hands up in defense. He took a step backwards. "Ms. O'Neil, I'm sure we can talk about this calmly…"

She didn't respond. If she was going crazy, she may as well take the ball and run like hell with it. With a flick of her wrist, she'd made a small cut along one of his raised hands and dropped the sharp letter opener with a clang.

He gasped in pain, and gripped his hand in surprise. He looked from his hand to her, and his shocked expression soon turned to the most baleful glare she'd ever seen in her life. She almost cringed away from it.

"You are fired. Get the hell out of my office NOW!" He wasn't screaming. In fact, he was speaking in a voice so low she could hardly hear him.

Her eyes flashed to his hand, and with a relieved sigh she gestured to them, tears still pouring.

Nathan looked down at his bloody hand; bloody, but not bleeding. He held it up, examining it with a look of pure astonishment. The wound that was there just moments ago had vanished.

"What did you do to me?" he demanded, his chest heaving with anger and fear.

No! He thought. I can't heal. I DO NOT HEAL! Only one other man heals, and he's… he's.

"I didn't do anything," Juliette whimpered softly. "I just had to be sure. I had to show you, what you did."

Nathan shoved her aside, franticly looking for the door to his office. She stumbled, but caught herself on the edge of his desk, still crying and fearful, but now 100% sure she wasn't going batty.

"No. It's impossible!" he screamed, in a voice that made her shiver. He didn't sound like Nathan.

His back was to her as he fell to his knees, gripping the hand that had healed close to his chest.

"Nathan?" Juliette whispered, rising so that she was standing behind him. Her hand shook violently as she placed it on his shoulder. When he didn't move, she dropped to her knees behind him and waited for him to speak.

Was she hearing things? His body seemed to be making the strangest noises; like his bones were popping repeatedly and his skin was shifting. She pulled away with a gasp as his shoulder muscle seemed to jolt.

"Nathan?" she bit her lip. Her employer, and her friend hunched forward with a slight whine. Juliette had never been in a situation where she had been so afraid for another person before.

Not only that but… was he… taller? Instead of looking forward she found her eyes raising up slightly to look at the back of his head. Maybe it was her. Maybe she was shrinking back from him and she didn't even realize.

Nathan panted, again in a voice not his own. He seemed dizzy, disoriented. He hunched over more, but this time it was to retrieve the letter opener she had dropped. It was laying right in front of him. He gripped it with white knuckles, his body jerking.

Why is his hair like that? Juliette was beginning to think she had stepped into a nightmare. She took a deep breath and used the table to once again rise to her feet. She stepped around him, and as soon as she did so fell to her knees again.

She couldn't believe her own eyes.

Nathan was NOT Nathan, that was certain.

"What ARE you?" she choked on the words.

The man who kneeled pathetically in front of her looked pained, tormented, confused. In addition to his face and body changing, his eyes looked darker, more dangerous than she had ever seen.

He looked up at her slowly, and she backed away frantically, her muscles too numb to let her climb to her feet and run.

Darkness. That's all she could think of as he got to his feet. She looked up at him, and had she been able to find her voice, would have begged him not to hurt her. Without a single word, he muttered something and ran from the office.

Juliette slumped to the floor. No. This couldn't be happening. Who was that man? She had never seen him before in her life. He didn't resemble Nathan Petrelli in the slightest. He was too tall, too lean, and his features were much too dark. As she rested her head against the cold wood finish of Nathan's office floor, she realized she was still crying. She had no strength to pick herself up. She only had the coherency to hope that what she had just witnessed was a dream.

She arrived at the door of Nathan's house (house? More like mansion) less than an hour later. She was surprised and alarmed to find the front door was ajar. She had to force herself to step inside.

She had only been in Nathan's home one other time. He had called her at her apartment on a Saturday and asked for her him to bring him some papers that couldn't wait. Of course she had obliged him.

Her heels clicked softly on the tile floor of the entryway. The house was so quiet, and so huge compared to the tiny apartment she lived in.

She slowly moved through Nathan's house, her eyes absorbing her surroundings, entrancing her.

She was startled by a strangled, biting cry of pain from upstairs.

"Nathan!" She gasped to herself, rushing to the stairs despite her better judgment. Her legs carried her without her consent, and by the time she had reached the top step she was sure that going there was the worst mistake she had ever made in her life. But she had gone to investigate what the hell was going on, and damn it she was going to go through with it. She'd come this far. She had to be brave. She had to know what was happening to her boss. It was a morbid curiosity that she was sure would be the death of her.

As she approached the only door in the long hallway that was open, she paused. What would she find in there? Would she find Nathan, or the man she had never seen before, the one that frightened and intrigued her? She was positive that if she didn't go inside that room, it would bother her to the point of obsession her entire life. She needed answers.

She heard another cry, and what sounded like sobbing. The voice was most definitely not Nathan's. It was too deep, too… she couldn't think of a word to describe it. Different.

Gripped with fear, she clenched her fists and stepped inside the room, her jaw tight.

What she saw made her stomach churn.

The man sat, huddled in the corner of what seemed to be Nathan's home office, drenched in blood. He held the bloody letter opener she had first cut him with in his left hand. A deep gash on his right wrist was dripping with blood. It fell to the floor in a sickening arc. Then… the wound was gone.

"No." He muttered at his arm. "Stop it!"

She gasped as he shoved the blade into his arm again, dragging his flesh up in chunks with the blade in a jagged pattern. He made the same agonized, stricken cry she had heard before.

He paused and stared at his arm, blood gushing from the wound, onto his slacks, spilling down onto the floor, staining the carpet in a pool. His eyes widened as he began to heal.

"NO!" He shouted. "NO, GOD DAMN IT! NO!"

He raised the blade again.

"NATHAN!" Juliette couldn't bear to watch him slice himself so brutally again. She twitched, as though resisting the urge to go forward and approach him. "Nathan, STOP!" she commanded in a shaken voice.

"Nathan?" His eyes raised to hers, and she once again twitched, this time resisting the urge to run away as he barked out a peel of laughter. His laughter was eerie, she might even call it demented. It was not the laugh she knew Nathan Petrelli to have. The laughter soon turned to a choked sob, his jaw quivering.

"Not… Nathan," he whispered hoarsly, clutching the letter opener so tightly she could see the whites of his knuckles.

"Nathan." Once again tears welled up in her eyes, and despite herself she moved forward and sank down next to him. He didn't look at her. She still found him threatening, but the vulnerable, anguished look in his eyes was too much for her to bear. She reached forward and attempted to pry the letter opener from his hands. He held on tight.

"No." he muttered. "No, Juliette. I don't think… I don't think I'm Nathan."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pinky's Notes:

OOOOOKay!

sorry for the delay.

Brain is a genius who fixed my crap fic.

I have been reading some excellent sy-fic and i have some technique books on the way to me now. i also have both the heroes box sets on the way and plan to study Sylar and his interactions with "normal" people.

This story, to me, is worth doing properly. Brain agrees

she saved this chapter.
it took so much hard work on her part and she took my little pile of poorly composed words and good ideas and molded them into beauty.

Thank you, Brain!

***

Brain's Notes:

She's being way too hard on herself. We won't take that long on chapter 5! Don't worry people.