Chapter 21-Tomorrow Is Yesterday

A/N:I know I'm a terrible person. I became that deadbeat writer I promised myself I'd never be. But writers block, a new job and a baby later and I'm finally ready for a comeback. Last chapter left off with a pretty harsh cliffhanger. So I knew I couldn't end it there. Sorry if there are glaring errors but it's been a while. Thank you if you're still reading this story after two years.

Save Yourself-Sense Field

"There's been… a complication."

Claire rose to stand by Sylar her face arresting in a look of terrified anticipation. "Is Emma okay? The baby?" her fingers crept around Sylar's to anchor herself.

"The baby is okay, but unfortunately," he paused tears forming in his pale blue eyes, "Dr. Coolidge didn't make it…."

"Can we see her?" Sylar asked his stoic resolve regrouping.

He had to be the strong one here. He could break down later, but right now, in the absence of a leader he was IT by de facto. He had to be strong even though the little boy inside of him just curled up into a ball and mourned from yet another devastating blow.

He looked down at the shaking girl beside him and his mind hardened even more, she was shaking like a leaf with the strangest look on her face. Above all he had to be a rock for Claire.

Dr. Staring looked at the tall younger man with a hint of skepticism. "Hospital policy…"

"Are you really going to deny us right now?" Sylar interrupted with a hint of annoyance laced with his grief.

Dr. Staring swiped quickly at his eyes to remove the trace moisture before his posture deflated. "No."

The doctor turned to lead, and Sylar gripped Claire's hand, while looking over his shoulder for Micah to join. Emma was his adoptive mother after all; he deserved the right to pay his last respects.

Micah in composure way beyond his years rose to grasp Claire's hand like a lifeline and the trio followed the doctor into room 527.

All of the beeps had ceased and the room was stone silent, a sheet had been pulled over the body lying in the bed. The one they knew as Emma Coolidge was now reduced to a lifeless vessel with no subsistence, a corporeal remnant of a once remarkable person.

Claire looked on with a choked breath, fighting a fresh onslaught of tears, this wasn't real. It just couldn't be. All they'd been through was now reduced to this abrupt conclusion. It was all so pointless, why did they keep on fighting this inevitable ending.

Even after all the deaths she'd experienced, she always likened the experience to a video game; you die you come back, a little worn, but alive. For everyone else death was a permanent state.

It wasn't fair; Peter, Matty, Molly, Janice and now Emma. It was all just too much.

She released a strangled wail and Micah managed to hold her shaking form while Sylar rounded the bed to stand by Emma's side.

Dr. Staring excused himself from the small grieving clan to give them a moment of privacy. As soon as he closed the door, Sylar snatched back the covers, to the shock of both Claire and Micah.

"What are you doing?" Claire hissed in anger at the desecration.

"I can fix this." Sylar stated as a trancelike expression crossed his face. It was all too similar to the look of his hunger, but different. More of a yearning.

Sylar touched Emma's pale forehead with an open palm, his eyes closed as though he was trying to reach her mind.

"You can't fix death!" Micah said in a whispered scream.

"Why not? We do it every day." Sylar replied locking eyes with Claire.

"Sylar." Claire warned in a half sob, half-admonishment.

"Let me try!" He replied almost angrily. He had to fix this. He couldn't heal Peter but he could fix this. He had to. He promised Peter. He had to fix this.

Claire nodded her assent and he moved to hover over Emma's head. Concentrating on Emma's body, Sylar commanded the brain to operate, the heart to pump and other vital organs to resume functioning.

He felt the spark of life return to her mind, but it was faint, like a tiny blip on the radar and barely noticeable.

Was she too far gone? If only he'd been here sooner.

He focused harder; eyes closed willing her to respond.

Several tense seconds of tussling with the minute life sign, he realized maybe it was his wishful thinking that he even felt it in the first place. He gave Claire a look that brought fresh tears to her eyes.

She was gone.

Sylar's eyes began to sparkle with unshed tears.

Emma was really dead and their last hope was dashed. Death was indeed a heartless bitch.

00000

Storm clouds built in the darkening sky providing the perfect omen for the wretched day ahead. The crowd had all dissipated, leaving two shadows to hover over the gaping hole in the ground. As the first drops of moisture patted against the ground somber green eyes took a final look at the world as she knew it.

"So this is what it feels like." a soft voice uttered to no one in particular, scratchy from days of disuse.

"What?" came the question from a masculine yet equally rough tone.

"The nothing."

His fingers tightened around the small ones encased in his. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"Losing everything."

Claire's beautiful eyes shone with tears as she looked up sadly at her husband. Gabriel seemed transfixed on the hole in front of them. His anger from the days prior was now swallowed in grief and she hurt so badly, that for the fiftieth time today she willed her invincible heart to stop beating, just to spare her the heartbreak.

It was her fault they were here. He shouldn't forgive her.

Gabriel looked at her suppressing his own tears.

They knew this day would come, but knowing and living it weren't the same.

The dirt feel into the grave as workers feverishly filled the cavernous hole, every plod against the wooden box echoing in her mind.

Gabriel clutched Claire's small hand as they gazed sullenly at the earth that would entomb their sons for eternity.

As the workers abandoned the slow shovel work to give way to the backhoe on standby, her anger grew, multiplied until grief became secondary.

It was at that moment that she was no longer Claire Gray. That girl lay buried with the small boxes six feet deep.

She felt the slip, and her fingers disentangled themselves from her husbands.

Gabriel looked down just in time to see that something was happening. Something he hoped would never come. She gave him a look that spoke volumes above any words she could ever say.

Then she said it. The words he knew would come.

"Don't wait for me?"

Gabriel shook his head willing her to stay, to not give in .She backed away, looking like sunlight wrapped in death's shadow, her destiny. The prophecy had declared as much but they'd always thought it the ramblings of crazy precog.

"We can't give in Claire." he begged hoping the hopelessness of his voice would cause her to pity him and stay but knowing it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be.

She shook her head in disagreement. "You have your ways to cope and I have mine."

She gave him one more lingering stare as her heart fell to her feet. This was the last time she'd see Gabriel and her stomach flopped violently at the knowledge.

She couldn't leave it like this. Running back she looked at the hard lines on his handsome face, the fullness of his lips. She'd never touch them again. Never feel his heartbeat as she fell asleep next to him. This was it. Tears blurred her vision as she gave him a kiss that stated unequivocally that this was it; their last moment as husband and wife.

There was no going back for either of them and revenge was only the beginning.

xxxxxxxx

On the floor below, a very groggy patient suddenly woke from his three month nap. He palmed his head as the dizziness hit him full force. The beeping machines around him picked up their tempo and on instinct he began to insulate the room from the annoying clamor.

He looked around and the quick realization hit him, he was in the hospital. A deep grimace crossed his face. How long had he been here?

After answering natures call he stumbled on unsteady legs back to his bed. Quirking his lips to the breeze of cold air on his nether regions, he soon recognized he wasn't wearing much in the way of clothing. Eyes wide with the realization that he'd been in this state of undress for months, he blushed as to what the nursing staff, not to mention one very important woman may have seen.

Easing out of the bed he faltered to a stand. Grimacing down at the poor excuse for attire, he passed his hand over his chest and down his legs and the thin gown transformed into a pale button-up shirt and expensive looking slacks. He stood questioningly looking at his lack of footwear and glanced around the room for a suitable solution.

Finding a plastic tub he nodded to the peculiarity of necessity, before retrieving it. He stood in the pink container and with a quick flick of his wrist, the basin shifted into black Italian leather shoes. Wigging his feet in the footwear he looked over his handiwork. Not too shabby. He really loved this ability.

He walked over to stand in front of the small sink mirror and the sight that greeted him shocked him to the core. He had a full beard, his hair was a grease ball, and his deep hazel eyes had dark circles that ironically looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. He looked like a James Bond Hobo.

After passing his hand over his face, all of the hair and imperfections disappeared. He smiled with a crooked grin that was his trademark and strolled unimpeded from the room. He didn't know what today was, but he had mission and his first stop was finding they woman that held the key to their survival.

00000

Mohinder rounded the corner of the hotel building overlooking Zimmerman's long abandoned New York apartment. It had been their safe house for the better part of two days and the two of them were still no closer to figuring out what part he played in this whole scenario.

Dr. Zimmerman was a surprisingly spry elderly gentleman, who seemed to know the streets of New York like the genetic coding of an ameba. Moving from place to place gathering things, he always seemed to come back to this neighborhood and when he did he stayed for hours.

Apparently he was no longer stalking Claire, but instead he seemed to be in the plotting and collecting phase of whatever plan he had hatched.

The aging man had been so busy he hadn't bothered to call his daughter for an entire week. Which given his level of attention to her, was odd to say the least. Not to mention the fact that he thought a decomposing body was occupying his study.

Mohinder signaled for Barbara to stay put and he slithered to the empty alleyway adjacent to the building. Zimmerman had a box full of books and computer hardware that overloaded his frail looking arms. As he balanced the box he stopped and looked around suspiciously, beginning to sniff at the air.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, Mohinder tried not to panic and moved to the back of a trash bin trying to keep the apprehensive geneticist in sight.

"Come out!" the elderly man yelled. He put down the haphazardly packed box and backed away, seeming to search for an item in his waistband.

"I know you're following me?" Both Mohinder and Barbara took in a huge breath as their eyes meet across the twenty foot gap on opposite sides of the alley.

"I don't have it!" he announced to the alleyway, just as he brandished a small caliber pistol.

Mohinder took in a deep breath and Barbara suppressed a scream, as the aging doctor neared Mohinder's position.

"You're scared now aren't ya?" Zimmerman announced to his would be assailant as his voice echoed off the solid brick walls.

"I killed hundreds during the war with far less than this. Don't be fooled, into thinking you'd survive an encounter with me."

The elderly man cautiously approached Mohinder's location and then a resounding explosion filled the alley.

It took Mohinder three seconds to realize he was hit before he collapsed still holding his tongue hoping Zimmerman would run now that he thought he'd gotten his point across.

Instead he began to stalk the side street looking for whom or what he thought was following him.

The older man kicked at a pile of soggy boxes and watched in resignation as a terrified cat leaped for safety. His examined the quiet alley again, sufficed yet disappointed that his stalker was really a feral animal. Zimmerman pushed at a trash bin with his foot for good measure and the sound echoed off the cavernous walls. Barbara suppressed a scream as he came within inches of her hiding place behind a pile of full trash bags.

Satisfied with the silence, Zimmerman left the alley and retrieved the box of aging books and computer components before casually walking back down the street.

Barbara and Mohinder held their breath for another thirty seconds before, she rushed to his position. She eased a small hand to his neck that was now oozing bright red blood that pooled on his collar. "It doesn't look that deep. Just a knick, I think."

Mohinder gave her a small smile as she began to wrap a cloth around his gash on his neck. Her face was a mere three inches away, and Mohinder realized how good she smelled, even as the stench of fear and garbage that surrounded them only moments ago, lingered heavily.

During the course they had shifted into a position that awkwardly resembled a lover's embrace unconsciously moving closer as she examined his wounds and now their bodies were barely inches apart.

"Thank you, Barbara." He replied in that husky timbre that could generally reduce the opposite sex into a hopeless pile of hormones, but for some reason Barbara seemed oddly unaffected.

"No problem." She replied her voice barely above a whisper but still chipper, not betraying any of the worry she felt for the man on the other side of her.

She tore off another piece of his shirt to help stop the bleeding and noticed how his eyes followed her every movement.

Their eyes locked as she dabbed at wound making him wince. Realizing that this injury was probably going to require more than general first aid, Barbara gave him a sympathetic smirk. "We should probably get you to the hospital."

000000

The room was silent.

The sheet still hung heavily off the bed revealing the lifeless corpse of the one they knew as Emma Coolidge-Petrelli while the grief-stricken trio tried to look anywhere but.

Sylar took a deep swallow over the lump in his throat as he readied himself to again let go. It never got easier. And he briefly pondered the grief he had caused countless others. He took Emma's cold hand and gave it a squeeze in farewell, before pulling the thin white shroud back onto her body.

A second passed, and then a deep gasp filled the room. Sylar's eyes flew to Claire fearing she was about to dissolve into another fit of sobbing, when he noticed the sound was much closer.

All eyes darted to the bed as Emma took her first reborn breath. She let loose a deeper gasp, then a hoarse cough as her lungs resumed their functioning.

She was shaking and confused as her eyes fluttered and focused on the fuzzy figure hovering above her,

As her sight refocused she saw the face of her hero and gripped this hand harder. She had died, and gone from this world, but not far. Panic gripped her shaking body as she realized she could still be here in some weird ghost-like state.

Then his hand clenched hers like a vice. He was real and he saved her again.

She focused on him her eyes pleading, 'Was it you? Did you just save me?'

Sylar nodded unable to speak, not caring that she saw his tears. He was just happy she could see anything.

"Thank you." Emma whispered hoarsely.

Sylar stared at her at a loss for words. Twice now he'd saved her and the overwhelming feeling of elation never got old.

Emma's gaze swiveled from her two-time hero to Claire and Micah who were still trying to believe that the woman, who only seconds ago, lay cold and blue, was now talking and beckoning them to come closer.

Micah flew towards the bed and fell on her, sobbing into her shoulder. He'd already lost enough parental figures to last several lifetimes; this loss would've just undone him.

Emma kissed the top of his sleek dark curls in a mothering gesture while trying to reassure him that she was okay. Micah gave her a stare of love that only a child could convey and Sylar felt his eternal heart constrict again.

Claire had found her way to Emma's bedside and now lay with her head down weeping into the bloodstained white sheets. Her hand reached out behind her searching for something and caught Sylar's shirt hem. He came in closer as she pulled, letting her fingers clutch his clothing in a death grip. As he could feel her need to just have him near her.

Sylar shivered as the full onslaught of emotions from this room and the entire ward overwhelmed his consciousness. He'd forgotten to put the guard back up on his empathy, but it didn't matter, the emotions in this room were happy ones and served to drown out the morose feelings from before.

Emma laced her fingers into Claire's hair and Claire rose to let her eyes meet her best friend's. They shared an unspoken thought and both of them allowed their tearstained gazes to swivel up to Sylar.

His face was arrested in a look of distress yet still slight peaceful satisfaction. Drying tear tracks trailed from his crimson rimmed eyes, and in that moment he couldn't have been more beautiful to Claire.

He was every bit the hero Peter said he was and more. He was Emma's protector as well as hers and possibly the hero to countless others she'd refused to acknowledge because of his past.

Sylar was at the core a good guy, or maybe it was Gabriel's influence, but nevertheless a part of her stony resolve cracked. He was more than the monster of her nightmares, and much more than a good lay, he was essential, he was…

Claire's erratic thoughts whirled to one seemingly impossible concept. Love. She could love him. It was possible. In another time she knew it had already happened. She'd loved him. She had loved him so much it made her heart ache. She could…

Her heart beat faster as she realized the irony of her thoughts. Could it have already happened?

She was already there and her heart knew it before she could give life to the concept.

He was what she wanted…what she needed.

She was in love with Sylar. The father of her child, the man that promised to be her eternal partner. It was the most mind boggling concept.

Now all she had to do is make sure that the circumstances of her latest vision never came true.

000000

A stunning blonde covered in streaks of crimson approached the front desk of the ER with a look that could have shaken a hardened criminal. Her blue eyes focused on the nurse clearly trying to ignore her.

"I need to see a doctor! My— friend has been shot." Barbara stuttered as the oddness of her relationship with a man she'd only known for a week seemed to sink in.

The nurse handed her a clipboard without bothering to look up, much less acknowledging the urgency of her request.

"Fill out page 1 at the top, pages 2 through 5 completely, and then bring it back up to me. The doctors are behind so it may be up to an hour before we can get you back, so have a seat." She rattled off like it was a speech she'd given several times today.

The blonde huffed in exasperation, before snatching the clipboard and finding a chair close to her injured companion.

"It may be up to an hour, which is strange because they seem so responsive," Barbara said with a sarcastic loudness she was sure the nurse at the counter heard.

Mohinder smiled despite the throbbing of his neck wound. "Yes, I've had speedier treatment in India, and there's over a billion of us there, wonder what this hospital's excuse is."

Barbara grinned, her eyes locking on his, and then the air became thin as the look intensified. She swallowed hard looking towards the papers ignoring the flip of her stomach the intensity of his stare created.

Mohinder too broke the gaze and instead looked around the ER. It was then that he finally noticed the eclectic group of injured souls lounged haphazardly in the small waiting room.

One in particular locked eyes with him and smiled.

The boy couldn't have been more than twelve but his gaze seemed to denote years beyond that time.

The adolescent was with what Mohinder assumed was his father and was nursing a wound on his forehead with an icepack as his distracted three-piece suit wearing father grumbled loudly about dividends on his phone.

Mohinder felt a strangeness overtake him as he stared at the child. It was like he knew him.

The boy gave him a nod as if he knew his thoughts, before slumping back in his chair as though the connection they just shared had never occurred.

Mohinder gaze settled across the room following the boy's last sight and onto a face he'd know anywhere.

The tall individual strode into the room with the ease of a man with purpose and intent and stood imposingly in front of the pair, giving Barbra an accusatory look for her lack recognition.

"Fancy meeting you here." He stated with deadpanned smoothness as he adjusted his horn rimmed glasses.

Mohinder gave Noah a hard stare. "What do you want?"

"I need to find Claire."

Mohinder's eyebrow lifted and Barbara glanced at the towering man with renewed interest.

"Why?" Mohinder questioned still unsure the motives Noah held, even for his own child.

"Someone is after her. Someone really dangerous."

Both Mohinder and Barbara shared a knowing look.

0000000

After Sylar did a personal best in erasing the memory of the nursing staff and Dr. Staring of Emma's death, a small group gathered to look in the window of the nursery to gaze at the new addition to their special world.

There were three baby girls and four boys there but only one looked like a Petrelli.

The newborn lay quietly swaddled in his blankets while his six other tiny roommates wailed. His thick auburn locks stood up straight in the air as though he had been electrically charged, and his tiny little nose wrinkled as he released a big toothless yawn; to which all onlookers released a collective "Ahhh." 8lbs 2oz, 19in and the specimen of health.

Yes, Peter Christopher Petrelli Jr. was every bit his father's son.