Hey All! Back again!

BE SURE TO REREAD CHAPTER 3 BEFORE READING THIS! WE made some additions to chapter 3 that are vital for this chapter- mainly MOHINDER!

I Hope you all enjoy and checked out the new heroes promo!


Disclaimer: Don't Own Heroes, just own some episodes, pictures, music and dreams of Heroes!

3 Years Past: New York

Sylar figured this was his last chance to get rid of Matt without having to explain his presence to any of Angela's relatives that might happen to drop by the Petrelli mansion within the upcoming weeks. If Mohinder wasn't at home, he'd have to find somewhere else to take the boy. He planned to call one last time before deciding.

Late that evening, he arrived home, remembering where he'd left Matt. He walked quickly to the bathroom, assuring himself it wasn't out of concern for the kid's well being. Sylar opened the door, finding the little boy sleeping on the bath mat, his eyes red from crying. He almost felt bad. He knelt down and gently picked up Matt, carrying him into the kitchen. The boy rubbed his face with the back of his hand, waking up slowly and looking up at Sylar with his big, brown eyes, so like his father's, making the villain more annoyed at himself for the hint of guilt he was feeling.

Matt was placed on the couch near the kitchen, watching while Sylar heated up a frying pan. Sylar took off his suit, tie, and shirt, leaving just dress pants and a white undershirt to avoid spills on his expensive clothing. Matt heard the oil sizzle as his temporary caretaker busied himself over the stove. The smell of food made Matt's stomach growl. In recent weeks, he had missed his mom and dad. Gabe, as he was told to call Sylar, confused him, acting nice sometimes, but always talking like he was angry. Matt didn't seem too bothered by Sylar's changing appearance, or the powers he would use occasionally when no one else was around. He watched curiously as Sylar opened the fridge from across the room with a simple hand motion, the cheese levitating itself from the fridge to his hand before he turned back to the stove.

He looked up as Sylar placed a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on his lap.

"There, now you can't complain that I don't feed you." Sylar sat down next to Matt and ate his own sandwich.

Matt smiled at Sylar, holding his sandwich with a small bite taken out of it.

"What is it?"

"It's yummy, Gabe," Matt responded.

Sylar rolled his eyes. He stood up, leaving the boy still eating, and picked up the phone in the kitchen, dialing Mohinder's number.

"Hello, Suresh speaking."

Sylar hung up, confirming Mohinder's presence at his New York apartment.

"Hurry up, Matt. We're leaving soon."

"Where are we going?" he asked, putting his plate obediently in the sink, standing on tiptoes in order to reach.

"There's a nice man named Mohinder who is going to take care of you," Sylar answered. He knelt in front of Matt to speak to him, "But you can't tell him where you came from, ok? Don't tell him my name."

Matt nodded.

Sylar stood, putting on a denim jacket. He shapeshifted into a woman, choosing the young, blonde barista who handed him his coffee at starbucks this morning, brushing her hand against his own, in order to remain anonymous in case he was seen at Mohinder's place. He reached his open hand down to Matt who grabbed it, looking up at the murderer with an innocent smile.

Sylar crept down the hall of Mohinder's apartment, determined not to be seen and thus not asked any questions. He carried little Matt in his arms after giving the boy some instructions. Matt was to remain silent until it came time to knock on Mohinder's door. This would happen after the boy had counted to ten once Sylar was out of view. He had also told Matt to call Mohinder 'Dad', hoping the cute child would appeal to the doctor's sense of pity and caring.

He put Matt down on the doorstep, pulling out a piece of string. One end was doubleknotted around Matt's wrist and Sylar tied the other end to Mohinder's doorknob. There was enough slack that Matt was comfortable, but Sylar didn't want the 4-year-old to wander off.

"So remember: count to ten once I'm gone, then knock. Tell him your name and your dad's name, ok?"

Matt nodded, but his eyes started to water. Before Sylar could react, Matt threw his arms aroumd Sylar's neck, hugging him and sniffing sadly. Sylar was taken aback, but patted Matt on the back.

"Bye-bye, Gabe. I'll miss you."

There was no response, but Sylar hugged Matt tightly before leaving in a hurry, making the parting quick. Once he'd turned the corner, Matt started to count to ten, whispering the numbers to himself.

Mohinder sat in his kitchen with student papers spread across the entire table. After finally receiving credit for his Indian PhD, he was able to regain his status as a professor. This time, however, he stuck to general biology, avoiding the path that genetics had lead him down. He worked hard marking the midterms for his first-year class. Molly sat nearby, finishing up some last-minute homework, despite it being almost midnight.

A light rap at the door made both of them look up.

"What was that?" Molly asked, unsure why someone would be knocking so late.

"Get the door, will you?"

"But who knocks this late? What if it's some kind of weirdo?"

"I'm busy, Molly."

"Well I'm busy too. I don't wanna answer the door," she answered, annoyed.

He looked up at her, "I have to mark these exams by tomorrow. I don't have time for this."

"I see, and my classes aren't as important."

"That's not what I meant, Molly! Maybe you should've finished your project earlier this week instead of leaving it until the last night."

"Mohinder, you're the one who takes up the whole table every night! Plus you get mad if I try to move anything."

"I'm tired of your excuses! You're smart, Molly, you could be doing much better in school! You could be a straight A student if you put in a little effort once in a while," Mohinder replied, standing up.

"Straight As?" she shouted, "I only got one B last semester and it was in gym!"

"Why wasn't that an A as well?"

Molly slammed her book on the table, marching off to the front door as another faint knock came. She unlatched the lock and swung the door open.

"What is it?" she demanded angrily.

Molly looked down, confused at the sight of a little boy tied to the doorknob. Her expression softened as she kneeled down to untie his wrist gently.

"What's your name? What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Matt," he responded shyly.

"My name is Molly." She tried to make him feel more at ease as she led him inside, closing the door behind them, "What's your last name, Matt?"


"Is your dad named Matt?" she asked, confused. He nodded.

"Who was it, Molly?" Mohinder called from the next room.

She walked into the kitchen leading the boy.

"Mohinder, it's Matt's son."

11 Years Past:Near Tihajuana, Mexico

"What are you doing?" the voice brought him out of his memory and he looked up to see Maya in front of him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in sign of defense, lest they should start fighting.

"Nothing" he lied. he was always lying to her now, he felt.

"What are you doing Mohinder?" she prompted again. "Tell me the truth" she whispered, as if begging.

"No" he answered, scared of her reaction. Knowing that his obsession was unhealthy.

"Did you have the nightmare again?" she asked

"you should go back to sleep" he answered

"Mohinder, talk to me" she whispered, surrendering.

"You think it's unhealthy, but you don't understand. You didn't know Matt, he would never-"

Instantly her mood changed. She had been clearly hoping he was looking at genetics or new theories and things, but no.

"Not with this again. This is what you're doing? At 6 in the morning?"

"Why won't you believe me?" he asked, countering but trying to keep his voice low.

"It's impossible! You saw the police report!" she responded with reason.

"They're wrong! They don't know him!"

"Mohinder, you are not a cop. They did their job, he killed himself. I know this is hard for you to believe, but once you get over this, we can go back to what we were. Do you remember when we went to Mexico City with Matt and Molly? Do you remember when we were a real family?" she asked.

"Maybe I don't want to get over this, Maya. Maybe I need to know. Matt couldn't kill himself, he never would. Maya" he paused, "we've changed"

She stared at him, her eyes growing tearful.

"I've lost to this? This is what you want to do? Push me away for a theory! Ok Mohinder, Ill indulge you. Matt didn't kill himself. He was chased, he needed to get away. His wife was murdered, maybe. What does it change? It will not bring him back. All this obsession of yours is doing, is ripping our family apart! You think it's good we fight? Matt y and Molly hearing us all the time? We're here, we are real and yet you spend your time lost in this obsession! No good is to come of it. " she paused, close to tears but not letting them fall "I love you Mohinder, I do. But I will not sit by and be pushed away, I will not rip this family apart, for their sakes"

"It's not my fault! You don't believe me! You think I'm going mad!"

"You're taking pills Mohinder, you have a condition"

"I'm not insane! My brain is still good, I need to know the truth about Matt's death"

"Well maybe after you find out, however long it takes, there will be time for me. I can be gone by the time you get back from work" she threatened.

"You're not serious, you would never leave" he countered

"No? and why not? what is keeping me here with you?" she asked "I need a reason to stay with you Mohinder. I need you, I can't have you right now. You only care about these nightmares, your work, you want to be pitied and I can't deal with it any longer!"

"A reason? Can't you just stay with me? Can't you believe in me?"

"I did! I tried for months now! With this obsession, there's no room for me! Why stay when I'm not wanted?" Not surprisingly, he didn't counter this, didn't refute her statement and convince her that she was wanted. Perhaps the heat of the argument clouded his feelings for her, or he'd just grown away from her.

"And Matt and Molly?" he asked, still in disbelief that she would ever leave.

"It would be better If I left, for their sakes."

"So I can support them? I have work Maya! I cannot raise two children and work at the same time"

"Yes, you'd have less time for your obsession" she snapped back, her eyes starting to grow dark. "Is that what I am to you? Their mother? Your chef? Imagine how I feel! Im unemployed, I stay home all day, cooking, cleaning all for you and then what? I get nothing, not your love, not even your time"

"you don't have to do those things!" he countered

"oh and who will? you devote every moment to these theories on Matt!"

"Maya, you can't just leave!"

"No you're right. I think you should."

"What?" he asked

"I think you should leave. You don't the like the job, you can't raise Matt and Molly, and you clearly don't love me anymore. Nothing is keeping us together"

"I can't leave!" he snapped back, but he knew he could, all too easily.

"Yes you can and you should, for their sakes if not mine"

"Nothing is keeping you here" she whispered. He was lost for words, his mind reeling, spinning thoughts on this new plan. He could leave. Go back to America, get a better job, find the truth about Matt. If it was better for them all, why shouldn't he? But he said nothing, and moments later, she prompted him to speak again.

"Do you even love me anymore?" she asked, her expression hard, watching him. She walked over to him, as he sat in front of the computer. She stood over him. "Well?"

"I don't want to lie to you" he whispered back, looking up to meet her saddened gaze. She hid her eyes, tears dropping in her hands and suppressed a sob. When she looked back up, her eyes were filled with a dark, deathly fog, clouding over.

"Maya, Dont" he whispered, his eyes starting to cloud over too. Screams filled their ears, slowly as the children, the neighbors, the floor, everyone's eyes filled with a dark fog, a deathly poison.

"Maya!" Mohinder choked "Molly! Matt!" he whispered, to tell her, but her tears formed, black solution dripping from her eyes, traveling down her cheeks, similar to the tears she'd been crying in secret for months now. He stood, as hard as it was, suppressed his screams and pulled her to him.

"Ma-" he choked the words "Don't kill" he forced out, shutting his eyes for the pain. He croaked in agony, but bullied himself to stand close to her, as her black, hell filled eyes watched him. He shocked her and even himself, placing his lips on hers. His arms wound around her, using all the strength he could muster. He pulled her in, into his arms, into his kiss. He wanted nothing more than to scream and scratch at his eyes until the pain subsided, but he knew better. Suddenly, she kissed back and her arms embraced him, pulling him in. He could feel himself changing, feel the pain drifting away. His pain subsided, his eyes growing back to their color, though closed as he still held her in his kiss. The screams around them faltered, until all grew quiet, or they were just unaware of anything but themselves. Against his cheek, he could feel her tears, crystal and clear, not horrible and deadly. Desolate, but they didn't move away, wrapped in each other, their lips still holding on, for that last kiss, that last hope of what they could've been, had the world not been so hard.

She pulled away what seemed ages later, wiping her tears. The black streaks of her deadly tears had been washed away with the desolate tears, the blue, clear saddened tears. New tears replaced the ones just wiped, as she was crying for their goodbye. Though much time had not passed, her mood was soft and gentle now, a dramatic change from the deadly monster she'd been moments ago. She made no effort to smile, just grew quiet, watching him. She was recovering from her embrace with powers, their long needed embrace and the words that had just been said. Though it was a fight and the anger was still wound up inside of them, a clear decision had been made. Her voice was whispering, but could not hide the anger, the fear and the sadness she felt as saying goodbye.

"We have to do this" the obvious remark left her lips, cold. He said nothing, waiting for her to speak again.

"I can't do this anymore" she spoke careful, crisp and anger sounded in her voice. "I won't"

"Let them choose. One of us will leave" he responded, his expression weary but no trace of sadness touched him, as if he'd already accepted their goodbye.

"No, I'll leave" She countered "I've been trying to live with this for months. You are a family, I've always felt like a stranger"

"Maya-" he whispered, as if to console her that she was more to their family, but felt her presence was awkward for the kids at times.

"This is your fault. You ripped us apart. I'm sorry Mohinder" her eyes were soft, sad and yet every angry word was meant. She looked at him, as if memorizing this moment and then retreated to the bedroom without another word. He heard the shuffling of the suitcase from under the bed, and could also hear her choking sobs. His eyes had followed her, only to meet Molly's eyes, as she had been watching for a few moments now, from her room. Her cheeks were wet with tears, for the pain felt when Maya had used her power.

"Mohinder?" she asked, wearingly.

"Get ready for work" he responded, a tear falling from his eye. She nodded meekly and retreated to her room.

11 Years Past: New York

Claire watched him from across the hole in the ground. He'd made no notice of her, not a word or a look at all. She watched in disbelief. So this is what's it's come to. She thought, hating herself for pushing him away. She'd gotten a phone call from Hiro Nakamura of all people, telling her about the funeral. He said she needed to know, and nothing else. Peter didn't even have the courtesy to call her, and she felt as if she didn't deserve his attention. Still, from across the hollow pit in the earth where his brother lay deep below, she tried to catch the attention of the one person who needed her most now.

Claire had never felt so invisible in her whole life. She could see him cry, feel his pain and wanted to reach out to him, hold him in her arms until he forgave her, until it was alright for them to be themselves again. No amount of wishing would bring him back, nothing would make him look up from the ground and meet her eager gaze. Her eyes hungered for his, her arms around his strong, protective body, she longed for his words of wisdom. Most of all, she needed and didn't know how long she could go on, without his gentle smile. The way his eyes would light, at the idea of saving the world, the bright, brilliant, fun Peter she'd met, she'd loved, she needed. That Peter was probably gone now and Claire's tears fell, not for Nathan's death, but for the death she had caused in Peter. She didn't pay much attention, the whole thing went by in a flash, but soon she was standing in the reception hall, watching Peter. Everything else seemed unreal and she was fearful, knowing she shouldn't come to him, but hoped that even Nathan's death would make him forget. She swallowed her fear, telling herself not to feel, finished the last of her already cold tea and walked over to where he stood.

"Peter?" her voice was weak, and either he'd not heard her, or chosen not to. His head didn't rise, his brown eyes didn't meet hers, no change, as if she was still across the room. She gathered more strength and tried to say his name again, but it just hurt her to remember how he'd left with such fury, hurling himself out the window to get away from her and Sylar.

"Peter" she said now, less of a question and louder, but her timing was wrong, too wrong and in that moment, Peter's attention was caught by someone else. His head jerked to the side, and at the sight of Hiro, Peter rose out of his chair and walked straight past Claire.

Hiro nodded curtly, acknowledging him and within a moment, they were in the dark, deep in conversation and plotting.

Claire's downcast eyes barely mirrored her sad attempts and retreated, defeated. She felt a hand on her shoulder and though she could see Peter in front of her, she still wished it belonged to him. She turned to meet her father's eyes.

"He didn't see you Claire" Noah whispered and she nodded, letting him lead her back to the other side of the room. He wondered himself, if Peter hadn't seen her, or actually was ignoring her. Noah had not seen them speak for the whole time. Perhaps Peter was taking the news greatly, too greatly to talk to Claire, and yet something didn't feel right. He was deep in conversation with Hiro now, obviously eager to find a way to go back and stop the mess of Sylar becoming Nathan. Noah was conflicted, as much as he hated Peter's protection, anyone protecting Claire other than himself. He could also see his daughter's need to be with him, need to speak to him. He wondered why they were not on speaking terms, or if something had happened to them, but figured that they would work it out in time and it may even be a small disagreement. He sat beside Claire, now with dark coffee in his cup.

"He'll come around" he said, though he didn't understand the weight of the argument, and Claire clearly didn't want to share.

Peter nodded vaguely, though he hadn't heard what Hiro had said. He could see Claire's pain and wanted to speak to her. Every instant he looked at her, his mind rushed memories of Sylar, her embrace with Sylar. From there every single bad memory from Sylar would rush forward, fantastically horrifying visuals of his mother being murdered, Nathan being murdered. He could feel the tears form and the nausea start and forced himself to look back to Hiro, away from Claire. He couldn't talk to her, not just yet and it killed him, since he wanted to put her out of her pain.

14 Years Past: New York

"Can you get the door?" Mohinder asked, not looking up from his folder. "I'm working"

"Ya sure" Matt responded, his voice soft. He hopped out of his chair, putting down his book and striding to the door.

He opened the door to a man, clad all in black, but one he knew nonetheless.

"Hi Matt" Peter greeted

"Hey, come on in" he offered, leaving the door and calling out in front of him.

"Mohinder, Peter's here"

Mohinder's eyes shot up instantly and he gave Peter a greeting nod, closing his folder and standing. Peter looked around the small apartment, and sat at the living room table, beside Mohinder.

"It's serious" his stated, though his somber tone, dark colors and expression made that very clear.

"It'd be best if you sat, Mohinder" he continued "I can't stay long, I've got to tell others"

Mohinder nodded vaguely to Matt, as an introduction to leave. Matt smiled weakly at Peter, picked up his book and walked out of the living room. He leaned close against the door, curiosity fueling his actions.

"What is it Peter? Is someone hunting us? Is it about Nathan? Is Hiro ok?" a thousand questions came out and Peter shook his head.

"It's about Nathan"

Mohinder nodded, as if bracing himself.

"Well what is it?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to know. "How bad is it?"

"He's not Nathan" Peter said, trying to word the information correctly.

"What do you mean?"

"Sylar's not dead, Mohinder"

"Sylar? You can't be serious?" Peter said nothing in return, hoping the information would sink in.

"But that, how?"

"He's been Nathan for years. Shapeshifter"

"You saw him die! You killed him!"

"Matt brought him back"

"But Nathan is president" Mohinder countered, fearful of what he'd just learned.

Peter shook his head lightly.

"Sylar is president. He must have murdered Janice and left Matt at your door. He's president, we've got to stop him. I'm working with rebel"

"He murdered Janice? Then he murdered Matt too!"

"No, Matt killed himself"

Mohinder stood up at this, fists clenching instantly.

"Matt wouldn't kill himself!" he shouted "I know you all think I've gone mad, but I know Matt and he wouldn't kill himself! Ever!"

"Mohinder sit, calm down" Peter said, as if distant from the words he was saying. Mohinder obliged, but watched Peter skeptically, awaiting an explanation.

"Matt killed himself so that Sylar wouldn't have his ability. He believed that Matt and Janice were dead. I've gone back in time, I've seen it, I've read his thoughts at the exact moment when that trigger was pulled."

"and you didn't stop him? You didn't save him?" Mohinder asked, horrified

"This things need planning Mohinder! I need to change things when Sylar died, not at Matt's death."

"You could have stopped him!"

"I'll change things, but not yet. I wanted you to know. You were right, all those years. You believed in Matt, I should have too"

"Sylar's alive?" Mohinder choked out the truth that now stared him in the face.

"It's all I came to say" Peter answered, monotone "I'm sorry and you can contact me if you need to talk"

"You're not leaving, are you?" Mohinder asked, still coming to grips with the news.

"I have to. I'm meeting rebel forces, meeting Hiro to map out our history in time"

"And If I have to reach you?"

"Isaac Mendes' place" Peter replied

"Bye" Mohinder said absently, watching him disappear, breathless and horrified of the information he'd just received.

Matt felt like the floor was dropping from underneath him and the walls were closing in. He leaned his back against the door to the living room where his father spoke to a guest, closing his eyes to steady himself after what was bound to be a turning point in his life. Matt hurried quietly down the hall to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and flopping on his bed, lost in his own thoughts. Matt Parkman had just overheard a conversation between Mohinder, his adopted father, and Peter Petrelli, a friend of the family. The United States president, Nathan Petrelli, was actually a man named Sylar. Sylar had killed Matt's mother and father.

Mohinder had always told Matt that his father had killed his mother, then committed suicide. Although growing up with this information may have seemed harsh, Matt realized that Mohinder would rather tell the truth than sugar-coat the information. Mohinder sounded as suprised as he that Sylar was responsible, so Matt had no reason to blame Mohinder for the previous falsehood.

Suddenly, a realization hit Matt. Molly's parents had been murdered. He wasn't sure who the killer was, but he wondered if there was a connection. This could mean that everything would be connected. His mind sorted through all the possibilities and wondered how deep this story went.

Since it was around noon, Molly would be working at the travel agent's. Matt flipped open his cell phone and dialed the number for the office.

"Sunny Days Travel, Molly speaking. What can I do for you today?" came a polite greeting.

"It's Matt. I wanted to ask how your parents died," he responded, getting quickly to the point.

Molly sighed, "Can't we wait until I get home tonight? I don't want to talk about this over the phone."

"It's important. I really need to know what happened and who. In a bit of a crisis right now."

She could tell from his voice that he was a little panicked. "It was a few years before you were born. I was at home on a weekend, and the man broke in. I saw my mother get attacked, but I hid before it was over. Then your dad came in and found me in the closet after hearing my thoughts. Both my parents were killed."

"But who did it?!" Matt demanded.

"A man named Sylar, but he died 14 years ago. And he damn well deserved it."

Matt was silent on the other end as a shiver ran down his spine.

"Are you still there, Matt? We can talk more tonight."

Still no answer. Molly grew worried. She was confused though, because she'd already told him this story. Both of them had experienced tragedy, but she thought they were getting through it alright.

"I'll come home early today to talk about this, Matt, but right now I need to get back to work. So I'll talk to you later," Molly said, hanging up after waiting a little longer for a response.

Matt's mind was racing as he shut his phone. The killer of Molly's parents had also killed his own, and the man was still alive. In fact, this man was president of the country.

The current plan was to prepare tonight and head out before the sun to be in Albany by daybreak. If Matt borrowed Mohinder's car, he could return it before Mohinder set out for his evening classes. On Fridays, Mohinder would always stay home all morning and leave at 4:00 for the university. If things went according to plan, his adopted dad would never notice Matt's absence.

It was about six in the morning and Matt double checked his backpack. He'd packed whatever cash he had, some thin wire as a backup weapon, a map of Albany, NY, and a change of clothes so he could return discreetly if his current pair got dirty with the spilling of Sylar's blood. If he drove quickly, it would take about two hours to reach Albany, arriving just as shops started to open and the president would go about his business.

Matt crept out the door, using his keys to lock it behind him. He rushed down the stairwell of the apartment building and out to Mohinder's parked car. It started first try for once and he drove out of the underground parkade, turning left towards the Thruway.

Once at his destination, Matt parked at a strip mall, locking the car and walking up to an outdoor atm. Using his debit card, he withdrew as much as his limit would allow, totaling 800 dollars. He thanked his sense of responsiblity in saving his money rather than spending it. Cash in hand, Matt paced just outside a gun store that was just opening for the day. He waited almost half an hour before spotting a customer striding up the parking lot toward the shop. He hurried to the middle-aged man, faking a smile.

"Excuse me, sir. Can I ask you a favor?"

"Depends what it is," the man replied in a friendly tone.

"I'm supposed to go target shooting with my dad this afternoon, but the handgun he bought me recently is broken. He'd be mad if he found out, so I was wondering... if you might be able to go in and get me a new one. I have the money right here."

The man raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Where did the money come from?"

"It's mine, I promise. I just got the cash out of the atm." Matt showed the man a forged handgun course certificate he'd printed last night. "This proves that I'm certified, but I'm not old enough to buy a gun."

After looking closely at the piece of paper, the man felt a little reassured. "I guess I could get you one. What kind was it?"

"It was a Taurus Millenium series PT145," Matt responded. He'd done his research and chosen the handgun for it's power and concealibility. He was glad the man was so trusting.

"Ok, I'll be out in a few. Actually, I might be a while because I've got some browsing to do."

"Thanks so much, sir!" Matt replied innocently.

Matt waited outside, growing impatient as almost an hour passed. With revenge on his mind, the time went slowly. Eventually, the same man from earlier exited the store, carrying a shopping bag. He greeted Matt with a smile, handing him the bag.

"I hope you're not up to no good, son. You seem like a good boy."

"Thanks, much appreciated."

Back in Mohinder's car, Matt stored the gun in the glove box. In the trunk he had a box of bullets that he'd snuck out of Mohinder's drawer. He had known for a while that Mohinder kept a handgun for the sake of safety, living in the big city, but the small safe was locked. The bullets, on the other hand, were quite accessible. During his research, he'd checked that the gun he intended to buy was of the same caliber.

In his mind, he played out the scene of him standing before Sylar, aiming his gun. In his imaginings, everyone around would see the president transform into the killer before their eyes, gasping in horror before Matt shot him dead. Maybe he might even be some kind of hero. He thought about what kind of dramatic line he might say right before he put a bullet between the eyes of the murderer of his parents. Perhaps he could say something like, 'My father should have killed you when he had the chance,' or maybe, 'You should've stayed dead, Sylar.'

The capitol building came into view soon after. It was 10:00 and he was behind schedule. After parking the car at a meter, Matt spotted a crowd consisting partially of camera crews. His heart raced. Could it be the president, so soon? Matt didn't feel quite ready. Stuffing the gun into the waist of his pants, he put a jacket over top and rushed to the crowd, pushing his way to the centre. Stumbling over someone's foot, he almost bumped into someone. Matt Parkman looked up slowly and found himself face-to-face with Sylar.

16 Years Past: Santa Fe, New Mexico

She didn't know why and it was haunting her, but still she kept going. She wanted it to be a wrong number, but by the first ring, she was wrong. There was no turning back now. She tried to justify her actions, but still felt horrible inside. Was she using him? She asked herself, but knew she wasn't and hoped he wouldn't mind. She had just been through a horrible day, her father's death. Not a soul to talk to, so she was resorting to the one person she had thought didn't have a soul. Third ring. She could still hang up now but couldn't even recollect dialing moments ago. Then there was the click, it's sound vibrating in her ears, the bitter truth of what she was doing. It was midnight, and she was calling her enemy. She had no one else. He had kept his number, Nathan Petrelli, senate. She hoped it would go to voicemail, so she could chicken out. Maybe even hearing her dead father's voice would get her through the death of her other father's. But that was before it had clicked.

"Hello?" the sleepy voice asked, and though she couldn't feel her words, they came out in a squeak.

"Hi" she said back, hoping he wouldn't know it was her, but it was too late. She was in the corner of her bedroom, lights all out, scared, terrified. Her father had just died, the funeral had left her so alone and hopeless, She'd been having nightmares again, of Sylar, Peter, but had realized how human Gabriel was, emphasized by her dreams. Wasn't that why she had hugged him anyway? All that time ago?

"CLAIRE?" he asked, his voice unable to mask the shock. In his apartment, he turned the light on. It was Sylar's voice, no reason to mask it in the middle of the night

"Hi" she said again, scared of her own feelings or thoughts.

"What are you doing?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"I need someone to talk to" she whispered back, wondering how insane she sounded.

A smile crept onto his face, but he didn't dare show it.

"Why not Peter?" he asked, curious.

She was silent in response, unsure herself and she didn't risk a lie, for fear that he would be able to hear it.

"Claire?" his voice was gentle

"I'm here" she responded

"Is everything ok?" he asked, knowing this was a rare occasion.

"my dad died" she whispered and he was fully awake now, to console her if needed.

"I'm sorry" he answered. He heard her tears through the line and wondered what he could say, but nothing came to mind to break the silence. He wondered how Bennet had met his fate, but would not ask to satisfy his ego. Thankfully, she gave the explanation.

"He died on the job" she whispered "and I didn't find out in time to help hi-" her voice gave out, choking into sobs.

"There was nothing you could do" he whispered back.

"I know" she replied, but he could still hear her sobbing. She must be really upset, he thought. For her to call him of all people. He felt a bit happy, proud even, that she'd called him and not Peter. He had probably successfully ruined their semi-inappropriate relationship and this gave him slight joy, though also distress. He had not meant to cause her pain, but now she confided in him, consoled in him. Or was she using him? Would she ask him to pretend to be Peter? Or for Peter's contact information? Thoughts raced through his head, he was not used to such confusion and did not like it. He wondered if it was his turn to speak, or what he should say. He wondered also, where she was and all the details, or perhaps they should talk about something else? He pondered now, what was a possible topic that they could both enjoy? Nothing mentioning death, or him, nothing that could trigger painful memories. What on earth would be a neutral topic for a ex-victim of his? School? College? Boys? What on earth could be said? Elle and him only talked about their powers, probably a touchy topic for him to share with Claire, since he'd only met her because he needed her powers. He didn't dare share more of himself as he had with Elle. They had discussed themselves, their flaws, but he didn't feel like hashing out his deepest flaws to Claire.

"Can we talk about something else?" she asked as if reading his thoughts.

"Of course" he replied, wondering what she would pick and if she was trying to find something good to talk about, as well.

"Hows your brother?" he asked, wondering if he was even remembering correctly.

"We don't talk" she responded and he felt that the silence would ensue again. This is so awkward, he thought to himself and wondered what on earth she had called for. She also thought to herself, why had she called? Certainly something had changed that night, but it was a momentary thing, a lapse in judgement, a serious lapse. Now she was connected on the phone, at midnight to a man who'd been her worst enemy and now she was so unsure what he was. Certainly not a friend, or a confident, but some force that she now called to.

"I don't know why I called" she said, though she did not feel like hanging up.

"I needed someone to talk to" she kept going and he nodded, then realized she could not see him.

"You miss your family" it was an obvious statement, but better than saying nothing.

"It what happens when we can't age" he responded, trying to add humor. She smiled weakly, though he couldn't tell.

"Ya I guess" she responded. It was hard to bring humor into a time like this.

"I'm here, if you need to talk" he answered, wondering if his words were wrong, they sounded so unlike him. As is he was pretending to be Peter. With all his changing, was he even Gabriel anymore? Could he now somehow feel compassion? He didn't know any of these answers, only that he'd never been so scared to hurt her before, it wasn't like him and he didn't like the feeling one bit. He needed something to divert, something to say. He felt nice, and he didn't like it one bit, in fact he felt like Peter and he really didn't like that thought.

"Thanks" she whispered, though it was pretty obvious that was the reason she had called.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked, fragile and afraid now.

"Yes" he answered, his mind ticking, clicking, wondering what the question would be.

"No, I don't want to" she changed her mind, quickly.

"No, go on" he urged, now curious, too curious to let it go.

"I wondered if you could sound like- " she paused, wondering what she wanted. He felt his anger rise, feeling that she would say Peter's name. He doubted her now, and hated himself for falling into her petty trap.

"I need Nathan" she whispered, and his mood lightened, his surprise monumental.

"Is that why you're calling?" his question was direct, his mood growing angry. He didn't believe her. He knew she needed Nathan, there was no doubt and it wasn't a lie, but perhaps she need Peter more. He felt anger, slowly.

"No" she confessed "I didn't intend to ask that. When I called. I just need someone now. My father"

"I understand" he whispered, remembering his own mother's words out of his mouth, when he'd learned his shapeshifting ability.

"Fine" he said, though he'd already hatched a plan.

"Claire, I'm here for you" he whispered, but the voice he used was of the other Petrelli brother.

"Peter?" her mood changed, instantly, new tears gushing at the sound of his voice. "I missed you" she had said, before she'd even really registered what it meant to say that and who she was talking to.

"You lied to me" it was Sylar's voice that accused her now. "You don't need me, or Nathan. Just your precious Peter"

"I'm distraught" she defended "my father just died!"

"So you call me and use me? Why not call Peter?" he asked, sharp and bitter.

"I haven't spoken to him for 5 years. All because of you!" she shouted back, her mood suddenly hostile. She remembered everything now, as if a cloud was lifted.

"I thought you changed Sylar, but I was wrong" she said, as spitefully as she could manage. She hung up the phone and as soon as she had, fresh tears rushed from her eyes. He pushed her away, he knew, But he'd discovered her lies. He wondered if he should have just consoled her, been Nathan, but it was not in him to do so. He had felt happiness, a deep pleasure in the fact that he'd driven her and Peter apart for 5 years. Yet, though he felt that she cared for him, he felt melancholy in pushing her away from Peter and from himself.

14 Years Past: New York

Matt gasped as he looked up at the imposing, suit-clad figure, Nathan Petrelli's strong chin and serious expression appearing daunting. It was now or never. Matt straightened himself up but only reached Sylar's shoulder. Still, he tried to appear confident.

"You alright, kid?" Sylar asked after Matt had steadied himself from tripping.

"I know who you are, Sylar. You killed my mother and father!" he shouted. The crowd was hushed.

Sylar gave a bit of an awkward laugh, giving a discreet glance to one of his body guards, who nodded. "I think you must have the wrong person." A couple people in the crowd chuckled.

This wasn't going at all how Matt planned. His cheeks burned with rage and embarrassment. He almost reached for his gun before remembering with a shock that he'd left the bullets in the car. The next idea that crossed his mind was to simply jump at Sylar and hurt him as much as possible with his bare fists. Before he could act, however, a strong arm grabbed him roughly by the upper arm, dragging him away from Sylar and his revenge.

He was pulled a ways from the president by his bodyguard, having to stand on his toes due to the painful grip pulling his arm upwards.

"Stay away from the president or we'll have to call the police, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, just let me go," Matt responded, staring at the ground. He blinked back tears that were threatening to fall. He felt so useless.

The guard turned and left after being radioed that he was needed elsewhere.

Matt needed to rethink his plan after failing so easily. He felt so frustrated from his failure to avenge his family, but tried to focus on the details of his plan to escape the overwhelming emotion he was feeling. Obviously, Sylar had a lot of protection in public, being such an important figure. If he could find his enemy alone in his hotel room, it would just be the two of them, one-on-one. He'd heard stories about how powerful Sylar was, but didn't know his specific abilities. If Matt could catch him offguard, he would be able to strike first. No powers would save him.

Back in the car, Matt made sure his gun was loaded and put extra bullets in his pocket, along with the wire just in case. He carefully slid a crowbar down one pantleg, adjust it so he could walk without his weapon being noticed. He opened up his map, looking for the most expensive hotel, planning to find the presidential suite. Since Sylar was leaving the capitol building, he must be heading back to his hotel. Matt was thankful that the security didn't know what his car looked like.

After a short drive, Matt parked two blocks from the grand-looking hotel. He put money in the meter and walked around the building, looking for any staff-only entrances. After only finding a locked door, he opted for the main entrance, strolling nonchalantly behind the desk and into the back room. He tried to look at ease so as to avoid suspicion. Finding himself in a hallway, he browsed the rooms until he found the men's changing room. Hunting through the laundry bag, he found a lightly used outfit of the appropriate size. Matt changed quickly, heading further down the hall.

As Matt came across the kitchen, he had an idea. He grabbed a nearby cart, pushing it through the double swinging doors into the huge, bustling room.

18 Years Past: Tilmi, Morroco.

Hot heat, burning heat and Peter couldn't sleep again. He'd been here a week, searching for a remains of someone, anyone, but there was no one to be found. Most were all dead and gone, and the new ones didn't care about the past, reckless and inconsiderate. It was hot in his single motel room and he paced the place, thinking. When was the last time he had spoken to someone that knew him? Knew his secrets? Knew his family? And then it hit him, 7 years. 7 years, the night he'd seen Claire, the morning he'd come to save her. Sylar had been there, wrapped up in her hug. He loved her, he cared for her, one of the only thing he had left in his life and her arms had been wrapped around his greatest enemy, and what's more- it was willingly! It was driving him insane. He tried not to focus on it, Hiro said he would teleport to see him soon, but he doubted the Japanese man, no impending doom to stop now, no reason to follow through. Peter had thought about it, actually it had never left his mind. Sylar was Nathan. Nathan was dead, his mother lied to him. Sylar killed Nathan. Sylar killed Angela. Nothing mattered, and he kept thinking about it, going back. Stopping Angela, stopping Nathan, killing him. With his shapeshifting, there was no way to know where to strike him, no way to kill him and if Peter couldn't have that, he didn't want to try. When would he strike anyway? He didn't know when Nathan had died, he didn't know anything about it. He thought about going back even further, when Sylar didn't have powers, the eclipse, so many moments in time he could go to. He always decided against it and waited. Waited for the time when it would be ok to speak to Claire, waited for Hiro. He was no longer a man of action. What was he doing, he thought to himself. He was supposed to be a hero, he was supposed to be Peter Petrelli. He travelled, here and there, trying to find remains of heroes lost or forgotten. He'd found Mohinder, the poor sap. 7 years since they had seen each other last and Mohinder's mind was decaying. There was too much that Peter wanted to change, this was different, not like the times before when he could pick a specific moment, the bomb, virus, Nathan's revelation, Nathan to senate. Now it had all faded away in black shades, drifting into the darkness and the man, weary with age, though he'd live forever, was in a phase of acceptance. He knew it wouldn't last, that sooner or later, he would get the need back, the thrill of hunting the bad guy, the need to change the world, but now there was nothing. He had a scar, from so long ago, that it pained him to think of the events, he was cold and hard. He no longer worked as a nurse, he didn't need it from Angela's inheritance, he didn't need anything. He thought he was bad, that he was a decaying, horrifying version of himself, but he could have fallen much lower, so easily.