A/N: Sorry for the incredibly late update, especially with that cliff hanger I left you on. I'm going to try and update this more frequently now; this and all of my other stories.

Sylar stumbled backwards, his eyes wide in horror. "No."

The other man ignored him, standing and turning to face Glitch. He smiled brightly at her, and she stared, as though unsure quite what she was seeing.

"Glitch, could you get the mirror for me?" He asked politely. She nodded and dashed off. The smile vanished.

"I suppose you're wondering what this is about." He continued, not looking to Sylar, who was falling to the ground, shaking his head and whispering 'no' multiple times. "It's a rather… complicated story. And also very long."

Sylar looked up at him through his clawed fingers, disbelief shining in his dark eyes. The other man sat down across from him, never looking him in the eye, keeping his gaze on anything and everything but Sylar.

"I suppose I should start with the change." The other man started, but Glitch had already returned, cutting him off. She handed the mirror to him, and he took it from her with a courteous 'thank you' and looked into it. He ran his hand over his face, gently feeling the shape of his features, coming to terms with them. His eyes were large and wide-spread, his hair thick and wavy. He had a small nose and tan skin, along with a very 'trustworthy' face. Whilst still looking at his reflection, the other man spoke to Sylar.

"You remember, of course, the things you saw in the TARDIS." The man said. Sylar just stared. "The Daleks, the Reality Bomb, the DoctorDonna. What you don't remember is what's happening now; and what will happen in your future."

"My future…" he muttered, then, louder, "But your past, I take it?"

"Correct." The other Sylar nodded in approval. "And that is a tale worth telling, I can assure you." He gave his younger self a cold, long look. "And worth changing."

Glitch had ducked out of the room as the two Sylars began speaking. She now sat in another room, feeling very cold and very unnerved. A small boy entered the room, his feet whispering across the floor. He sat next to her on the loveseat, taking her hand. She looked to him, startled, as though she had not noticed his appearance.

He was just a young little thing, so small and tiny. But there was a wise glint in his eyes as he asked, "Was it him?"

Glitch swallowed painfully. "Yeah. It was him."

The boy looked away, staring at a rather curious work of artwork above a fireplace. The painting depicted two men, one who was glowing brilliantly, light shooting in all directions around his body. The second man was choking the first, standing very close, the light dancing around him as well.

The curious thing about this picture, however, was not the show of violence. It was the way that both men looked exactly the same. Both were thin, tall men, with a large amount of brown hair that stuck up in crazy directions. Both were wearing tweed jackets with elbow patches, suspenders, and bow ties.

The boy blinked, then asked, "Do you think he will succeed?"

Glitch sighed heavily. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I hope so."

The boy looked down to his hand, then flicked his wrist carelessly. Immediately, flames burst into life on his hands. "If he does," he said, very slowly, "What will it mean for us?"

"I'll tell you what it means," a new voice joined the conversation. A teenage girl, younger than Glitch but older than the boy, perhaps fifteen, stood leaning in the doorway. She had her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. Unlike the others, who shared a common look to their face- pale brown hair, electric blue eyes, small nose- she looked completely different. Her hair was pitch-black, and her eyes the most cutting, cruel violet you'd ever see. In all honesty-as all three of those gathered knew very well- she looked like no one. She didn't share her parent's looks, though she did have her father's foul temperament. She didn't have her mother's blue eyes like the rest of the family did. She didn't have any similar characteristics whatsoever. Her last regeneration had wiped them out entirely.

"It means we'll never have existed," she said firmly. Her long silver earrings jingled quietly as she nodded. "Because he'll have never existed," she jerked a thumb in the direction of the door Glitch had just left. "And never married mom, and never had us." Glitch looked away; the boy, however, kept his eye on the other girl. "There's a reason for our stupid names, there's a reason we've been told since the day we were born that we're anomalies. Because we are. We were never meant to exist. We're the whack jobs of the universe, the laughing stock of the time stream. And when this is over, we won't exist. End of story."

The boy considered her words carefully, but Glitch just rolled her eyes. "Just shut it, Vitora. You know they called us that just so we'd know we were different; not because they didn't want us to exist."

"Speak for yourself," Vitora said harshly. "Who names their kid after a mistake?"

"Nicknames," Glitch said coldly. "You know we can't use real names, we may mess things up. Names are dangerous."

"Oh, so they name their kid Take?" She asked, gesturing broadly to the little boy. "After a…"

"Mistake, yes," the boy said carefully. "I'm full aware of the meaning of my own name. And, to be honest, I'm not upset." He looked at his shoes. "Our parents had a sense of humor. If they had truly named us these things, instead of had them as the names we use to interact with the rest of the world, perhaps I would be unhappy. But they didn't and I'm not. I know that they aren't referring to the fact that we're alive; they're referring to the fact that we shouldn't be. They revel in the mistake; they don't despise it."

Vitora snorted.

"At least your name isn't so obvious," Glitch pointed out. "No one on Earth knows the real meaning. Except the odd alien and, of course, us."

Vitora glared at the painting above the mantelpiece. "Yeah. But we do, don't we?" She sighed heavily. "It's selfish, really. If you're going to change your past like that, don't have kids in the first place!"

"You know he didn't know he was going to have to change it," Take admonished quietly. "It's not his fault."

"Yes it is," She snarled in response, "Because he's still changing time just for his own benefit. If you can't do the time, don't do the crime; she's still screaming for a reason, still in his head because of what he did."

"That's enough, Vitora," Glitch snapped, sounding every bit the older sister she was. "He has to change this. He has to save the Doctor. You've known this every day of your life, now suck it up and deal with it, understood? We weren't meant to be here and now we're fixing it. That's it; it's done."

"It's not our fault!" Vitora bit out, "We didn't ask to be here, we didn't ask to have to help him, we didn't ask for any of this crap!" Her violet eyes crackled as she strode towards the exit. "Why he's doing it now doesn't matter. I'd bet my life that he's not convincing his younger self by saying that the world will be saved- but then, my life's not worth much anyway, is it?" She rolled her eyes, clenching her fists at her sides and looking surprisingly violent. "He's just telling him of his own punishment, something that's his own damn fault, just telling him the consequences that pertain to him! Not to the rest of the world; the world sucks! Sylar could care less about the world!"

The other two flinched visibly at the name, but Vitora looked too angry to care. Without warning, she stalked off, leaving them behind. Glitch and Take fell silent for a very long time.

"Well, one good thing about this; we won't have to hear that anymore." Glitch joked hollowly. Take gave her a look to show what poor taste it was in, but she didn't even glance in his direction; she knew already. He looked back to the painting.

"She's so quick to use his name," Take said slowly. "Do you suppose her own… 'Problem' is returning?"

Glitch shivered. "I hope not. Having Sylar around is bad enough. Sylar and Vaila… That's a match made in hell if ever I saw one."

Despite the almost-fear in his sister's eyes, Take seemed only moderately concerned about the subject, if anything. And, after a moment, he changed the subject entirely. "Do you think he has told Sylar of his… change of heart?"

"He will."

"You sound confident."

"He told me he would," Glitch shrugged. "He wants," she swallowed, "Sylar to know all of the options available to him. He knows it's the best way to convince him." She sighed heavily. "I just hope he listens."

"Perhaps," Take said slowly, musingly, his eyes narrowed on the door, "We should give him something to listen to."

Sylar fidgeted in the seat across from the other man, who had insisted he call him 'Gabriel'- a thought which made Sylar shiver- and continued to smile, talk openly. Sylar felt a little strange; he knew this man was himself, but seeing him like this, so gentle, so… off… it felt wrong. He wasn't the same man as Sylar himself, and he had to wonder what had happened to change him back to Gabriel. And he had more than a nagging suspicion that it had something to do with the fact that the other man had regenerated.

Gabriel smiled sheepishly at him. "I suppose you're wondering what this is all about."

"No shit," Sylar answered bluntly. Gabriel just gave him a patient look, like the look a parent gives a child when they're having a tantrum.

"Let me begin by asking you this; the day you discovered the DoctorDonna. What did you do?"

Sylar gave him a bitter stare. "Nothing. I was imprisoned."

Gabriel went perfectly still for a moment, a telltale sign that he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Then, carefully, he asked, "But what were you thinking when you saw it?"

Sylar pretended to consider these words, but they both knew the exact thoughts that had gone through his mind at that point in time. Finally, tired of waiting, Gabriel said it for him.

"'There is another way.'"

Sylar scowled at him. "I've thought it through. There's no way to have that whole Time-Lord-Human-Metacrisis thing without regeneration energy."

Gabriel shrugged, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Which you can't get without killing the Doctor. Or, at least, making an attempt."

"Exactly. It's nigh impossible."

"Unless," Gabriel's eyes narrowed on Sylar. "You have another way in."

Sylar looked away. "It's just a theory."

"It's not theory. It's fact. I am living proof."

Sylar's eyes whipped up to the other man. "You… You're half… that explains…I mean, the regeneration, the… it explains…"

"Everything," Gabriel put in, nodding his approval. "It explains everything." He leaned forwards, pressing the tips of his fingers together and looking Sylar in the eye sternly. "Now, allow me."

Instead of blowing the older man off, Sylar leaned forwards as well, instantly enraptured. Gabriel smiled wanly at him, then began.

"Like you know, it started with the DoctorDonna. Upon this point, I was convinced that this was the key to the power the Time Lord had; this was the only way I could gain the same abilities he had. He could fly the TARDIS, he had the insane intelligence of the most brilliant madman, and he could regenerate. All these things I wanted, all of these things I needed."

Sylar waited impatiently; he'd lived that part already. Gabriel continued, "So I had reached the point you have; I had escaped the TARDIS, gleaned telepathy from Tia, and realized what you have." At this, he winced, but forced himself onwards. "That I, unlike anyone else in the universe save the Doctor himself, have a strange, indefinable connection to the TARDIS. That is why I was so lonely, why I felt like I needed to return, why I was protected from Tia's telepathy. That TARDIS was protecting me, while at the same time calling me back to her.

"I decided to use this advantage. The Doctor had called Peter, who had in turn called upon the others of our kind. They were gathering an army against me, an army of those who despised me. But that didn't matter. While the Doctor was gone, I entered the TARDIS; she opened her doors without key or question, welcoming me back like an old friend, whispering in my mind, practically singing…" There was a light smile on his lips as he closed his eyes, as though hearing that song again, happy for that moment. But then he opened his eyes again, and they turned hollow and cold.

"I changed my shape, taking on the form of the Doctor himself. When he and his companions returned to the TARDIS, this had two advantages; first, I immediately threw out accusations that he was not the Doctor, I was. This confused them enough to keep them off me just long enough. And, when I slit his throat, the second advantage came into play." He hesitated. "When the DoctorDonna was created, it was because he used his hand as… a genetic copy, if you will, so that he wouldn't need to change his form. My DNA matching the Doctor's did the same. He didn't need to change, and thus there was quite a bit of extra regeneration energy."

"But the Doctor… I… we…" He frowned, glaring at the carpet as though it were responsible for his problem with pronouns of time-travelers. "We couldn't copy them-him or his companions- exactly in the old days. They had… background radiation or something."

Gabriel nodded. "Yes. But that was before we traveled in time."

Sylar scowled, feeling like an idiot. He should have known that. But Gabriel just smiled.

"If I may continue…?" At Sylar's curt nod, he went on, "So now I had it all. The power of a Time Lord, enough, perhaps, to destroy him. To save my own life. But then the TARDIS… reacted. Rather violently.

"I remember, at first, a blinding scream. Like a woman, shrieking, a horrible sound in the back of my skull. I lashed out, trying to stop it, trying to get rid of it. I ended up only destroying the others in the TARDIS; and that made her all the more furious."

Sylar frowned. "I… didn't know she was capable of that."

"She isn't. Except with those she loves." Gabriel shrugged, throwing the word out there almost casually. "She was so deep-rooted in my head that, when I went so far as to make an attempt on the Doctor's-her Doctor's- life… she tried to rip herself out. Tear herself out of my brain permanently, leave me in the cold, echoing silence, and leave me all alone… forever."

Sylar swallowed. He had only been in that place once in his life. And he never wanted to be there again.

"She threw me back in time, desperate to fix what was wrong, desperate to right the wrong. Especially when, as she pulled herself away… I completely lost my mind. And I killed everyone in there. Her floors were soaked in blood, and she screamed and screamed and screamed…"

Gabriel looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing very heavily. Sylar swallowed, trying to think of something to say, but he could think of nothing. But then Gabriel spoke again, not looking up but murmuring into his palm. Still, his voice rang clear. "She sent me back a long time; too long, to be honest. By the time you were about to arrive, I was nearly dead from old age; hence the need to regenerate. However, by this time, I'd also found other things. I fell in love, got married…" his eyes locked on Sylar's and darkened. "Had three children."

Sylar ran a hand over his face, but he didn't look surprised. "Glitch."

"Yeah," A snide, sarcastic voice came from the other end of the room. Sylar looked to the spot, jumping. He was never surprised; he could hear heartbeats, footsteps, whatever; no one could sneak up on him. But he hadn't heard her come in.

It was a young girl with black hair and violet eyes. Her features were cruel, her eyebrows high and her cheeks hollow and thin. "Glitch. An error in the system."

"Vitora!" Gabriel snapped, the kind of parental tone reserved for when guests were around, the tone that let you know you were doing something wrong, and your guest know that you were ever-so-sorry and this was being punished and wouldn't happen again. But Sylar was more focused on the word than the tone.

"Vitora." He said slowly, quietly, testing the word. He'd heard it before, he was certain.

"At any rate," Gabriel said, giving a harsh glare to Vitora, who scowled viciously in reply. "These things are unable to be helped. What must be done now is that you must not try and kill the Doctor. The universe needs him too much to allow that to ever happen." Sylar looked blank, his eyes on the ground. "And I know that this can be changed. It's a temporal tipping point; things will go one way or another. And they can go in either direction; another one of the problems being a Time Lord gives you." Gabriel frowned; he was losing his audience. Sylar's eyes flicked to Vitora and remained locked solely on her, narrowed and curious.

Still, Gabriel tried to speak above the roaring, thick silence that was shared between the three of them; from Sylar's brooding, curious quiet to Vitora's hostile silent wall. "You see everything; all that could be. All that must be. All that must not. Fixed points and times still in flux; and it drives you mad."

"That's it," Sylar said, his Eureka moment come and gone in one quick, silent phrase. He stood suddenly and was in front of Vitora in a heartbeat, so close as to make her bristle, looming down in front of her. Yet she held her head high, so much smaller than him but somehow standing as tall as he was.

"Vitora. It's a word from the southern continental language of Aura 5. The Doctor took Amy there once, back before Rory joined the TARDIS."

Vitora locked eyes with him. "And what," she asked through her teeth, the words hissing out, "Does it mean?"

He looked at her, his own eyes serious, dead. "I know that, too. The TARDIS translated it in my head." His eyes narrowed. "It means immoral. Indecent. Better yet, wrong. If something is Vitora, then everything in the known universe, all that is good and just in the world, rebels against it. So why," her breath hitched in her throat as she heard the beginning of his inevitable question, "Is that the name of some teenage girl?"

"More importantly," he inquired, taking another step forwards-she refused to take one back- "Why is it the name of my would-be daughter?"

There was another long, thick silence. Then, Gabriel, rapidly losing control over the situation, tried to regain it. "Vitora, step away. Now. Sylar, our discussion wasn't finished."

He was ignored. Vitora and Sylar didn't even blink as they stared directly at each other. They looked as though they would be more comfortable circling each other, trying to find a weakness, a place to attack. A leisurely smirk crawled onto Vitora's features.

"VAILA!" Gabriel snapped harshly. Vitora just grinned all the wider, all the more vicious. Sylar, however, was startled.

"Vaila. The same language." He said the words slowly.

"And what," she said slowly, playfully. Like the way a cat toyed with a mouse. "Does it mean?"

They gave in and began circling each other slowly. It was as though Gabriel didn't exist; the two of them could only look at each other, could only make sure that the other didn't stab them in the back. Finally, Sylar answered her question.

"Darker half. The worst part of oneself. The side you keep hidden, locked up from the rest of the world."

She laughed, a girlish little giggle that made sure he was completely unsurprised when twin blades whipped out from underneath her long sleeves. "Very good, daddy dear."

They switched direction; the movement wasn't planned, but it was executed flawlessly. The two of them decided to move in the opposite direction at exactly the same time and did so at exactly the same time. Action and reaction; they were the same.

"All right, I'll bite," he said, feeling his old, killer's instincts kicking in again. It felt good to be back in the business, back to the slaughter. Forget Tia; Tia was a minor nuisance on the way to a bigger challenge. "Obviously, you have another name." He drew it out, long and quiet. "Vaila…"

"Oh, not just another name. Another personality. Another me." She giggled again. "Think about it this way. Who were you, watchmaker? What was your name?"

Sylar glanced towards his older self. "Gabriel." He answered.

Vitora-Vaila?- laughed. "Precisely. And I was Vitora." The blades whipped out at her sides, carving intricate patterns in the air, slowly arcing back and forth as she twirled them through her fingers. "And now who are you?"

His eyes narrowed as it all clicked together. "Sylar."

"And I am Vaila," she answered, giving a low, sweeping bow without ever taking her eyes off of him. "Vitora is Gabriel's daughter. Vaila is yours."

"You have intuitive aptitude." It wasn't a question.

"Of course," she shrugged carelessly. "Oh, you've no idea how much fun it was! Starting out as this stupid little girl who should never have existed, and learning that I could take out a few others on the way. And, of course, you let me rip your head off, get some abilities that way." She grinned viciously. "Because you knew what it was like, Sylar. That need. That hunger. You want power so badly and you can't stop yourself…"

"That is enough!" Gabriel cut in, successful at last as he burst in between the two of them. Had he been human, Sylar would have thought he knew nothing about what he was dealing with. Had he just been another hero, Sylar would have said he was an idiot. But as he was… Sylar thought both.

Vaila giggled a final time, then began to back away, her feet dancing across the ground as she waved. "Nice to see you've always been a selfish bastard. At least we know I haven't lost everything from the family."

And with that, she was gone.

Gabriel shook his head slowly, sighing. "I don't know about that child," he said, like the cliché dad of every TV sitcom ever made ever. "Don't worry about her. She's lashing out at me-and therefore at you- because… this decision will lead to the possibility that she will never have existed. She's just scared."

Sylar, without even thinking about it, corrected him. "She's too hurt to be scared."

Gabriel looked to him and lifted an eyebrow. Sylar felt the older man's gaze pierce him and squirmed uncomfortably, unnerved. He could handle Vaila. She was just another killer. Gabriel, however, was him. And he didn't really like himself at the best of times; it was much harder when you were an old man. An old man who had regenerated and now looked nothing like you. Sylar shivered.

"And how would you know that?" Gabriel asked, a little stiffly. His tone implied the words: you think you could do better with her than I have?

But that would have been a very stupid question.

Sylar shrugged. "She's just like me. The killer me, not the mushy-gushy, lovey-dovey, need-to-save-the-world me. Namely you. You gave her a name that literally means the worst thing in the universe, you've told her all her life that she shouldn't exist, that you're doing everything you can to make sure that she doesn't exist, and you're surprised she starts ripping off people's heads." He snorted. "It wasn't that hard for you."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "It doesn't matter any more. The deed is done. You will not kill the Doctor." His tone brooked no argument. "Correct?"

Sylar rolled his eyes, but he knew. He believed his older self, completely and absolutely. As Gabriel turned to exit the room, telling Sylar that he should make himself comfortable, as he was staying here for the night, he managed to get in one final, parting shot.

"The other two were just fine with it," He hissed as he left. "They know their responsibility to time. They know what they must do."

And then he was gone.