- Prologue –
S.T.A.R.T.

Have you seen the news lately?

Nearly a year after the world discovered their existence, it still dominates every story. There are people with 'gifts' out there, with an advanced genetic code that allows them to break the very laws of nature humanity cherishes.

There are 6.6 billion people in the world, but the media only focuses on the .001% that have an ability. They hawk over movie stars who can make their own 'special effects' – having a 'gift' is the new big thing.

And this fad comes with a price.

Paranoia is at an all-time high. People fear those immoral souls who also have gifts, but are not afraid to use them on others. It's more deadly than a weapon, for there's no way to know who can turn around and blow the place up or snap your neck without laying a hand on your flesh.

The laws are changing, morphing to try and encompass every little crime some 'gifted' person can commit. Persuasion, telepathy, telekinesis and so many more can stealthy hurt others without the cops realizing the truth. With the assassination of the President, after little more than two years in office, everything seems in a state of near-war.

Then, things begin to finally calm down.

It starts with the vice president assuming office. President Petrelli forms a new government agency: S.H.A.N.T.I. – the Special Human Affairs and National Teratology Intelligence. This agency has few goals, but each one makes an important difference on the lives of every single person in the world.

S.H.A.N.T.I. protects people against those 'gifted' individuals who wish to harm them, while making sure everyone gets the rights they deserve. It gains the nation's trust for its objective viewpoint and ground-breaking studies on the genetics behind people's special abilities.

Of course, S.H.A.N.T.I. has its secrets.

To combat those who wish to use their abilities for their own gains, one cannot fight fair. People believe spies are the stuff of the CIA. They think that today's advanced technology makes it hard to keep anything secret.

Well, they're wrong.

- Part 01 -
M.E.E.T.I.N.G.

The Dockyard
Cork, Ireland; Midnight

The fog that surrounded the loading bay lay low against the ground, clouding the vision of any man unfortunate enough to be there. It felt creepy, unnatural even, to the few people lingering around the area. Of course, the atmoshpeere had its uses. Such despicable conditions kept away the more savory characters that might take a stroll nearby, making everyone's job easier.

This wasn't the place or the time for moral men and women to appear.

A crash resounded through the docks, followed by, "Watch it! You know what he'll do to us if this stuff gets smashed!"

He was shushed by his surrounding co-workers immediately after the outburst, but his anger refused to dissipate. "I don't give a damn about bein' heard. If this thing breaks then we'll all end up floatin' in that river."

"Yeah, well the same thing'll happen if we get caught," One of his companions hissed.

Every man there jumped as another voice, unfamiliar, echoed from the nearby shadows, "Silence. Load those boxes up, now. We're already late."

They all complied as fast as humanly possible, everyone wishing that this wws alread over. The money their employer paid them seemed small compared to what they needed to go through, but no one dared complain. Each person had seen what happened to the first man who dared to fail, and no one wished the same fate upon himself.

Later, once the job was complete and put behind them, all five of the dockhands would sit around a bar and drink – despite the early hour of the morning. They'd laugh off the fear to appear strong and try to guess what valuables those boxes contained.

No one would even come close.

S.H.A.N.T.I. Headquarters
Washington D.C.; Noon

Sometimes, Peter wished that he could just teleport into his work place and not bother with the unending security checks every time he came in for work. This was a secret base, no one who didn't belong there could even find the place. In fact, many of the new employees often got lost trying to discover the entrance to S.H.A.N.T.I.'s second headquarters.

His day, so far, had not been the best he could remember. Nothing specific happened to Peter, but it felt like a storm was brewing on the horizon. Any normal person would disregard the irrational feeling immediately and try to move on with their day. Peter, though, knew better.

Something was about to happen.

He smiled in reief as the last checkpoint cleared him without a hitch, already planning to talk to Mohinder. The scientist might understand this uncertain feeling plaguing his mind; Mohinder had a flair for discovering the hidden meanings behind such odd occurrences.

Then, before he could take another step, "Peter, H.R.G. would like to see you."

Peter turned around to find a young woman standing a few feet to his right. Monica offered him a sympathetic smile, which he gladly returned. In truth, Peter didn't know much about her. She was a newer agent, and for the life of him he couldn't remember if she even finished training yet.

Peter followed her deeper into the building, though he already knew the way to Noah Bennet's office. Well, in actuality it was H.R.G.'s office. The two men were the same person, but for some reason S.H.A.N.T.I. protocol stated that all agents needed to call Bennet by his code name, H.R.G., on duty. Peter never understood why he needed to go through the trouble.

The reason had been explained to him once, but he didn't pay attention and never cared to ask anyone about it. So, he just accepted it as another one of S.H.A.N.T.I.'s weird rules and went on with his life.

H.R.G.'s Office
Washington D.C.; 12:15

Bennet's office, like usual, didn't have a thing out of place. Even the papers scattered across the desk's surface seemed deliberately displayed in that fashion and piles of folders were perfectly aligned.

It unnerved Peter to no end.

Still, he sat down without a word, refusing to show even the slightest hint of discomfort. He may be friends with Bennet, but that wouldn't stop the man from teasing him for his eccentricities.

"I have a mission for you," Bennet announced the second Peter was comfortable. "Tonight there's a little party at the Hilton in New York. It's full of businessmen in the transportation business, and one of them is smuggling something into to the country tonight. I need to find out who it is and what they're smuggling."

Peter blinked, a little thrown by the sudden appearance of a mission, "Do you usually have notice for these kinds of thing? It's a little of sudden."

The wry quirk of Bennet's lips told Peter he got the friendly 'dig' at his famed efficiency, "Apparently, this was a sudden job for the smugglers. I only discovered it because some dock workers in Europe got a little loose-lipped after one too many drinks this morning."

A small frown crossed Peter's face. He knew that a ship couldn't cross the Atlantic in so short a time, so there was only one explanation. A plane, hidden deep in the ship's hold, would carry the merchandise. Only the Company would use such a tactic, and if they were on the move again things were going to get complicated very soon.

"You want me to go alone?" Peter asked.

Bennet nodded, "I always bend the 'partner' rule for you."

His slightly sarcastic answer barely masked the severity of the situation. Few people know of Peter's real ability, he tended not to use his gifts while at work, and Bennet liked to keep it that way. If Peter went alone, then there was a chance things might get messy.

"I don't like not knowing what the Company is up to. There may be more to this operation than we think," Bennet offered as an explanation for his answer.

Peter didn't say a word in response; he just took the thin folder his 'boss' handed him. No more words were needed, for the folder contained everything applicable to his mission. Peter absently ran his hands over the manila cover as he waiting for his dismissal.

A minute jerk of a hand gave Peter what he needed. He wanted to get out of there and start looking at the mission details, maybe the information might allieviate the dread he felt coling in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't until Peter had one foot out of the door when Bennet spoke again, "Be careful."

"Of course," Peter shot him a smile that meant nothing and disappeared down the hall.

Outside of the Hilton
New York City; 22:00

Out of all the people he assassinated over the years, he actually wanted to kill this one.

Three days - he spent three days following him across countries in an attempt to finally finish the job his 'boss' assigned him. By this time, he was beyond frustrated, which explained his reaction when someone refused to let him inside the hotel.

He knew that pinning the man against the wall and threatening to feed them their spleen wasn't the best way to remain unnoticed. That didn't matter much to him at the moment, for it was relaxing to finally let loose on someone.

Besides, he turned out to be a Company man, so that made the unassigned death worth the trouble it might cause. He pocketed the little slip of paper his victim had clung to, wondering what the man needed to pick up that night. If it was Company merchandise, then Bennet might want to know…

…his target walked by, and he slipped the paper into his pocket.

It wasn't that important.

The Hilton Ballroom, 10th Floor
New York City; 22:45

Sometimes, Peter hated being a 'secret agent'. This was one of those times.

He was stuck in the middle of a posh hotel ballroom with a migraine blooming in his head. For the past two hours he had made small talk with the other party guests, listening in on their thoughts for any sign of the smuggler.

It was useless.

All of their thoughts were filled with superficial nonsense and fantasies that made him quite uncomfortable to stand so close to them. He found nothing on the illegal merchandise or any shady deals outside of his mission. These businessmen were just plain weird.

"So, how do you know Mr. Wilkes?"

Peter smiled, "Oh, I don't know him personally. One of my cousins, Jerome Wells, works with him."

The women smiled right back, eyes devouring his body. "I've never heard of him, but how about we better acquaint ourselves?"

He backed away as she advanced on him, "Well, I…" Peter began, eyes darting back and forth as he looked for a way out of the situation.

If he just left her, the subsequent scene would draw too much unwanted attention. Peter wanted to avoid that situation at all costs. People weren't supposed to remember you.

An arm suddenly wrapped around his waist in a tight grip. "Sorry, but he's taken." A deep voice droned, leading Peter away before he could react to the new situation.

Before Peter's brain even registered the warmth of another's arm at his hip, he was already nearing the center of the room. Peter twisted in the man's arms in a last-ditch attempt to escape the iron grip. He failed, but ended up face-to-face with the other man. It helped if he could see who 'abducted' him.

The women he just escaped from would describe the man as tall, dark and handsome. Peter did not think of anything like that. Instead, he found himself staring back into those deep brown eyes, marveling at their soft intensity.

Within moments they were in the middle of the dance floor, too much of a public place for Peter to be able to use a power so he could slip away. The stranger leaned down, so his mouth nearly brushing against Peter's ear. "Who are you and who do you work for?"

"Wh...what?" Peter asked, stuttering and widening his eyes in an attempt to look innocent.

How did he find out? The question bounced around his head, but he was unable to find an answer. Peter cast his mind back to the beginning of the evening, quickly going through every action he took. As far as he could tell, he made no mistakes.

A sudden pressure wrapped around his throat, constricting a portion of his air flow in a not-so-subtle warning. Great, Peter grumbled in his head, I just had to annoy a telekinetic tonight.

The man brought Peter obscenely close while leading him around the dance floor like the other couples. "I can tell you're lying." He murmured in Peter's ear, "You've been subtlety quizzing the guests for information all night."

A dangerous tone was in the man's voice, and Peter began to wonder if he could get out of here without making a scene. He hadn't failed a mission yet, and he couldn't start now.

He listened to the man's thoughts, trying to discover his identity. I shouldn't have taken this assignment…

The displeased rant continued, and Peter's eyes widened when he realized who stood in front of him. "You're Sylar."

Sylar, S.H.A.N.T.I.'s own 'special' assassin, was a powerful force to be reckoned with. No one, other than Bennet and Mohinder, knew of his true appearance. Some of the newest members thought he was a boogeyman, a figment of the organization's imagination to scare off their enemies. Peter never thought he'd see him accidentally like this.

All of a sudden, his airflow was completely cut off as Sylar tightened his telekinetic grip on his neck. His voice came out like a hiss, "How did you know that?"

Peter struggled to breathe properly, unable to answer the simple question. It took a moment for Sylar to understand, and he immediately relaxed the firm grip so Peter could talk, "I read your mind. I'm with S.H.A.N.T.I. too; the name's Peter."

Sylar slowly began to lead him to a secluded section of the dance floor, but didn't release him quite yet. Instead, he pulled Peter into a half-hidden corner of the room and looked straight into the shorter man's eyes. "You're not lying. If you did, then your heartbeat would change tempo and that didn't happen. However, I did not realize we had another telepath like Parkman."

We don't, but… Peter wasn't willing to reveal his little secret to a total stranger. He preferred to be underestimated, if only to avoid serious conflict. Besides, there were more important things to worry about at that moment.

"How could you not know I was with S.H.A.N.T.I.?" Peter quietly asked as the harsh grip around his neck disappeared. He'd been in and around the headquarters for nearly two years now. Even the newest members recognized him, though some still didn't know his name.

Sylar scoffed, "Do you think I pay attention to what occurs at S.H.A.N.T.I.? There's no point for me to involve myself with a bunch on inferior people."

Then, Sylar's lips quirked up in a dangerous-looking grin. It made Peter quite nervous to see such an expression, though he knew that the assassin probably wouldn't try to harm him. He returned the expression with a small smile of his own as Sylar continued to speak, "Since you're here though, I do have some use for you."

Peter blinked and stepped out of the loose circle that Sylar's arms formed around his waist. "I'm a little busy with my own mission."

"Yes, and doing quite badly by yourself. Tell me, why don't you have a partner?"

Any words Peter might have said in response died in his throat. His words stumbled over one and another for a moment before an excuse came to the forefront of his mind. "It was a last minute mission; there was no one available to go with me so I had to come alone."

It appeared that Sylar didn't buy the story, but the assassin let it slide. He remained silent as Peter stopped their slow dance, but placed a restraining hand on Peter's shoulder as he tried to step away. Instead of saying a word, Sylar reached into his front pocket and retrieved a small slip of paper. "This must be information you were looking for – there's a location and time for some illegal pick-up. You can have it if you help me."

Peter gaped at him, "What are you doing? You can't just keep information from S.H.A.N.T.I.!"

"Do you think I care? I only joined S.H.A.N.T.I. because I found the idea advantageous, not because I wanted to be a part of the 'greater good'. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

With a hesitant nod, Peter gave his assent to the proposal. "What do you want me to do?"

The Hilton Hallway, 9th Floor
New York City; 23:30

If he could kill Sylar right now, he would.

The plan had been quite simple and easy to accomplish. There were no weird maneuvers to undergo, no great task to complete under trying circumstances. Compared to everything else he went through on mission, this was nothing.

Still, Peter hated every moment of it.

This was why he always preferred to complete missions invisible. However, the mission proved to be the worst in a long while. The security cameras traced heat sources as well, not just images, so he couldn't just disappear from sight and leave.

At least he could quietly slip away after this; Sylar took the time to shut off the security system.

He needed to lure Sylar's target away from the festivities, and closer to the hotel room Sylar previously acquired. There the assassin would easily dispose of him. Now, Peter never advocated Sylar's job. He preferred everything to be settled in a more peaceable manner. At that moment, however, Peter didn't mind if the man died.

In fact, he was wishing for it.

Apparently this disgusting man, who had too much to do with the black market, liked 'pretty' men to play with. One was always near him, despite the constant presence of his wife at social gatherings. She didn't even mind, too focused on the money he earned than his cheating ways. Peter wasn't willing to believe such a story when Sylar told him, but the assassin found too much amusement in the matter. He couldn't be lying.

Of course, Sylar's little story proved true.

The man's grabby hands slid over his waist, moving in rough little circles. Peter just took a deep breath and reminded himself exactly who controlled this little meeting, even as he contemplated smacking those hands away from him.

He couldn't believe that this…this creep would be so touchy in plain sight. They stood in the hallway for any passerby to see, and Peter comforted himself with one simple fact: no one would recognize him with such a large man on top of him.

If those lips came even an inch closer to his own, Peter would have seriously contemplated blowing his cover and punching the man out.

Just when Peter finally reached his snapping point, the door across from him opened. Sylar stepped out from around the corner with this smirk a mile wide on his face. With a flack of his wrist, he flung the man inside the room. Another slight hand movement slit the man's throat from ear to ear as he lay in a heap on the floor.

The door closed with a ominous 'thump', and Peter immediately turned to glare at his cohort. He pointed an accusing finger at the assassin, shaking it only a few inches under the other man's nose. "You waited that long on purpose!"

Sylar chuckled, "It seemed like you were enjoying yourself. I didn't want to interrupt."

Peter opened his mouth to yell, do anything to make his feelings on the matter known. He shouldn't have had to degrade himself in such a matter to get help from a member of the same organization.

Then he heard it, a stray thought floating towards him from around the corner. Peter stopped his his tracks and listened. Damn it! We're supposed to use this time to make an impression on our competitors! I'm going to kill my husband if I find him with another one of those men at this time. That slut was heading over here, and if I don't know my husband they'll be making out in the hall…

"What?" Sylar asked, any trace of amusement gone in an instant because of the look on Peter's face.

"That man's wife is heading this way; she's looking for him." Peter hissed as he gestured down the hall in a panic.

There was a pause as Sylar thought about their options. "We can't go back in the room. If we leave any sign of our presence there will be trouble."

Other possibilities were closed off as well. They couldn't run and hide in another room, the only other room in the hall was occupied. Peter cursed the hotel and its posh luxuries, proving big rooms that took up entire floors instead of a dozen small ones.

She'd certainly hear them if they made a dash for it and the resulting commotion (because Peter knew she was one of those people who would chase after) would draw too much of a commotion. With a dead body in the nearest room, they'd be inspected in the resulting investigation.

Peter seriously contemplated blowing his ruse and teleporting the both of them away. Before he made a move though, Peter was slammed up against the wall and kissed with a startling ferocity. He froze as Sylar's thigh slid between his legs, tongue slipping into his slightly parted mouth. It took a moment for Peter to realize what Sylar planned, and still longer to react.

Finally, Peter wrapped his arms around the taller man just before the woman walked around the corner. He focused on making this ruse as realistic as possible while she passed by. The discomfort he felt was no excuse, the mission had more significance than his personal feelings this time around.

They continued kissing a little while after she was gone just in case, only stopping when her angry thoughts faded in Peter's head.

When they finally broke apart, Sylar smirked. "Well, now I know why he had a thing for men like you."

While Peter gaped at him, shocked by the audacity he had to make such a statement, Sylar slid the information Peter wanted into the back pocket of the empath's pants. The feel of a hand pinching his ass snapped Peter out of his daze.

"What did you…?" He trailed off as Sylar placed a finger to his lips.

"I hope we meet again soon, Peter. It's been an absolute pleasure working with you."

Before Peter could think of a reply he was gone. Peter absently touched his lips as he contemplating following the man, but thought better of the idea. He needed to accomplish his own mission first.

The slip of paper in his pocket did have a time and location written on it, and Peter let out a relieved sigh when he saw it. There was still time to get the smuggled merchandise before the Company even realized the stuff was missing.

Peter closed his eyes and performed a disappearing trick of his own.

A Deserted Field
Upstate New York; 23:40

It was the perfect area to conceal a landing plane. The trees were large and densely packed around the clearing, the flat terrain provided a perfect runway, but Peter still felt like something was wrong. He contemplated flying up and searching for the incoming plane while in the sky, so he could slip inside and take the merchandise without confrontation.

It wasn't such a hard task to complete – he did it before.

Then, Peter's gaze fell on a small group lump of shadows in the corner of the field. He jogged over there, and immediately let out a shout of frustration.

A bunch of boxes stood in a neat pile – empty. Peter felt like they were mocking him, and the little note he found only proved the validity of that feeling.

'Next time, kill an operative we trust with the right time.'

Peter resisted the urge to shout out his frustrations. Instead, he carefully pocketed the note and kicked at a box. The failure did not bother Peter. No, it was all that trouble he went through to get there.

He vanished from the site, while wondering why the handwriting on the note seemed so familiar.

A Deserted Field
Upstate New York; 23:00

When the plane landed, he could not stop a grin from spreading across his face.

It was here.

The second his precious cargo lay scattered across the ground, he opened one of the boxes. It was filled with foam and other insulating material, carefully laid out to protect the delicate contents. He carefully removed the vials and gazed at their contents with fascination.

"Patience is quite rewarding," he murmured to himself.

"Sir," a young Japanese woman said from behind him to get his attention.

He turned to her with a triumphant smile on his face, and handed over the precious vials. They were carefully placed in a specially made container, far more protection than some cardboard boxes. She closed the lid with an ominous click, locking the metal case in the process.

After, she stood and smiled back at him, "Our Company operative never contacted us, sir. Something might have happened."

"Good," he replied. "I'm tired of the Company trying to watch over every move I make. So he'll never figure out that I gave him the wrong time, everything still works out for us."

Without looking to see if his companion followed, the man walked towards the pile of empty crates his workers made. A single hand motion stopped each and every one of them as he approached, "Take the garbage but leave the boxes. I want to leave a little present for S.H.A.N.T.I."

They all obey without question, packing the excess insulation around the containers in the trunk. The man ignored them, and drew out a pen from his pocket. The woman beside him wordlessly handed him a pad from her purse, watching him write out a note.

He dropped it in a box and turned away, "Come on, we have work to do."

- Interlude 01 –
l.i.n.g.e.r.

S.H.A.N.T.I. Headquarters
Washington D.C.; 01:40

"Peter!" The shout echoed down the corridor, stopping Peter in his tracks.

He stifled a sigh, turning around to greet Matt with a smile. After spending nearly an hour with Bennet he was exhausted and no where nearer to discovering what lay in those boxes, "Yeah?"

Matt jogged up to him, "We have a problem."

Concern rose in Peter, inadvertently causing Peter's eyes to furrow, "What is it?"

"Remember the Stevenson case?" Matt asked him, though he already knew the answer. That case haunted the both of them for weeks after the conclusion, and neither were likely to forget it anytime soon.

A man by the name of Joseph Stevenson went around killing people with special abilities, but that wasn't the worst part of this specific case. He'd do things to them - rip them apart, skin them, dismember each and every limb – while keeping his victims alive.

Stevenson stumped the FBI for days before S.H.A.N.T.I. became involved in the case. Peter and Matt worked together to track him down, and clashed quite badly with the other agency in the process. It wasn't particularly their fault, but tensions still rose high when 'special' people were involved. The nation, especially its criminal justice system, had yet to completely adapt to the dramatic change.

Despite Peter's conviction that a 'normal' person committed those crimes, the FBI would not listen. When Matt proved them wrong after his confrontation with Stevenson, it only strained their relationship further. Of course, it didn't help that the FBI knew going over their heads would only result in trouble for them. Peter had some pretty high connections.

"What about it?" Peter wondered, trying not to wince as he thought about it.

Matt just grabbed his arm and began to drag Peter further into the underground building, "I need you to see this."

He stopped in front of the one place Peter didn't expect – Peter's office, causing him to feel some measure of apprehension as Matt opened the door. Peter never went there, which explained the dust that sometimes layered every surface inside.

Papers were piled on top of his desk; so many that they spilled onto the floor. The entire room lay in a huge mess that Peter knew he never caused, "What is all of this?"

The slump in Matt's shoulders immediately told Peter that this wasn't going to be good, "Paperwork. Apparently, Stevenson's trial is tomorrow and the prosecution needs all of this completed by then in order to help ensure a guilty verdict."

"But why didn't they give it to us ear…" Peter stopped in mid-sentence as he realized the answer. Petty revenge - that was the only possible reason something like this could occur. Anger ran though him at the thought of it, "How dare they. This is a serial killer; they can't just play around with his trial for revenge!"

Matt shrugged, the calm action barely masking his own frustration, "I guess they think our data doesn't matter to the outcome of the trial. However…"

"It will make us look bad, because we didn't bother to file this before an important case," Peter finished for him. That was something they didn't need at this time. The presidential election was drawing closer, the conventions began in a week, and S.H.A.N.T.I. didn't need the bad publicity at such a politically motivated time.

Peter entered his office and grabbed a nearby chair, barely containing a sigh as he thought of the workload in front of him. "When do we need to finish this by?"

All Matt could offer was an encouraging smile, "Noon. Hey, at least if things get close you could always stop time and finish it at your leisure."

"True, but I'll still have to do it."

Peter's Office, S.H.A.N.T.I.'s Headquarters
Washington D.C.; 06:00

After over four hours of work, Matt finally succumbed to the inevitable boredom that threatens to overtake anyone sitting at a desk and filling out paperwork. He dropped his pen and glanced over the remaining workload. It wasn't too bad, they finished about half, but that didn't alleviate his lack of enthusiasm.

Peter sat right across from him, pen in hand as he lazily went over the morgue report of Stevenson's fifth victim. To tell the truth, Matt doubted that Peter understood a single word he read on the page. A tried look was in his eyes, emphasized by the dark circles that Matt rarely saw on his friends face.

He felt a stab of sympathy hit and contemplated telling Peter to get in a quick nap. Then, the empath did something a little strange. His free hand absentmindedly traveled to his face, slim fingers running over his lips in a contemplative gesture.

Matt found himself unable to resist the temptation to sneak a peek at Peter's thoughts. There was obviously something bothering his friend, and Matt didn't like mysteries. He never did, which was a reason why he first decided to join the force. Even after a year, he still felt a need to thoroughly investigate any mysteries.

A small peep into Peter's thoughts told Matt all he needed to know, "You kissed Sylar?"

Peter, who begun to tilt his chair back, nearly fell off of it. "Matt…" He growled out in mock anger, the tone sounding more like a whine than anything else.

"Sorry," Matt threw up both hands in apology, "but you've been acting a little odd and I wanted to know why. Seriously, though, did that really happen?"

It was a moment before Peter confirmed it with a hesitant nod. "We had to avoid a confrontation with an angry wife, and that was the easiest way."

Matt simply raised a single eyebrow in response, "And?"

"Nothing! He was infuriating. I still can't believe that he made me go through all that work when we're on the same team!" Peter huffed, obviously still a little miffed about Sylar's successful blackmail attempt.

"That kiss must have been something if you're still thinking about it." Matt responded, a teasing note in his voice. He didn't need to say anything more, the smile on his face revealed everything.

Annoyance flashed across Peter's face, "It was nothing."

All Matt did was laugh, a low sound that echoed throughout the small room. "Then why are you blushing?"

If anything, the slight flush on Peter's face darkened, "Oh, shut up."