Glancing at her watch for the millionth time that session, Autumn shifted uncomfortably in her seat and continued to nod her head solemnly. It wasn't that she wasn't devoted to her patients--when she was trying to help someone, she intended to help them, not make some half-assed attempt that would only result in a patients addiction to anti-depressants. But at the moment, she was more concerned about the half-dead man that now lay in her bed at home.

After re-assuring Ms Bummblesmith that she wasn't crazy and just needed to cut back on her caffeine consumption, Autumn let out a sigh of relief. Her shift was over--now came the hard part.

As non-chalantly as she could, Autumn walked down the nearly empty hallway, quickly picking the lock and slinking into the nearest supply closet. Since she wasn't technically a "medical" doctor, she wasn't authorized to be there, and had to hurry before a member of the medical staff walked in. She needed gauze, bandages, anti-septic, a real suture kit or two, and something for the pain. She managed to stuff enough of what she needed into her purposely oversized tote-bag--everything except for the bottles of morphine she so desperately needed, which were locked tightly in a glass closet.

"What are you doing in here?"

Spinning around, Autumn nearly dropped her bag of stolen goods as she came face to face with a male nurse, "What?"

"This door is supposed to be locked. Are you authorized to be here?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh!" She giggled idiotically, "I thought this was the bathroom. I'm here visiting my friend, see, she just had a baby and..."

He shook his head, pushing black bangs out of his brown eyes, "It clearly says 'Supply Storage' on the door."

"Yeah, well, it was an emergency. I didn't have time to read the door." She shrugged, "Where's the real bathroom?"

"Three doors down on your left." He smirked, moving aside to let her out. As she passed, she saw his nametag read 'Peter Petrelli' and she frowned. "Any relation to Nathan?" She asked.

"Yeah, he's my brother." He replied, annoyance clearly in his voice.

"Tell him congrats." She said quite sarcastically, before exiting the cramped storage room.

---

He may have been alive, but he sure as hell didn't know how it was possible. He vaguely remembered being "rescued" and the excruciating pain he had to endure in order to stitch up the bleeding wound. After all he'd done, after all that had happened...he couldn't help but ask Why?

Lifting his eyelids hurt like hell, but he had to open his eyes in order to take in his surroundings. A bedroom, that was obvious, with all the usual furnishings, though he couldn't determine by looking whether it belonged to a man or a woman.

But judging by the scent of the pillow beneath his head, it was more than likely a woman.

He let out a groan as he struggled to turn over and lie on his side. His head started to spin, he fought the urge to puke, and decided it was probably best to lie still.

He'd made it through this. He'd lived through dying. He would rise again.

He heard a door open and close, and he shut his eyes. Seconds later, someone entered the bedroom, closed(and locked) the door, and took a few hurried steps towards him.

"I wouldn't be awake yet, either." The woman said softly, as she lifted the cover away from his chest, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm going to clean your stitches so the injury doesn't get infected. It might burn."

He flinched as she applied a cool liquid to his wound, and it definitely burned.

"Sorry about these stitches, by the way." She said, "I'm a Ph.D., not an M.D."

She seemed trustworthy, he thought. She had, after all, obeyed his request of absolutely no hospitals.

Not that it mattered. If she rubbed him the wrong way, he could always kill her.

Brown eyes met brown eyes as he gazed up at her, bangs in her eyes and long black hair down her back. Looking at her, he wouldn't have guessed Ph.D., he would've guessed lonely party girl. But who said she couldn't be both?

When she realized he was awake, she offered a small smile, though it was slightly sad, "Hi." She said softly, like she was talking to a four year old, "What's your name?"

His lips parted and he managed one weak word. "Sylar."

Nodding, she took a seat in a chair next to the bed, "Sylar. I like that. It's different."

"What about you?" He asked quietly.

"Autumn." She replied with a meager shrug.

"Hm--like the season?"

"Plain and boring, just like the season."

"Or colorful and beautiful. Just like the season."

She shook her head, "So Mr. Sylar, how are you feeling?"

"Sore. Tired. Thirsty."

"Oh right, duh." She stood up, "How does water and a couple dozen Tylenol sound?"

"Good."

He watched her walk out of the room before drifting off into a light sleep.

---

Autumn took a deep breath as she retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge and searched the medicine cabinet for the Tylenol.

She should be afraid, she knew that. She should just pick up the phone and call the cops. But she couldn't. For some reason this man, this "Sylar," was running away from something, she'd known that when he told her no hospitals. He could be a serial killer. A rapist. A psychopath.

But he was also a human being, and he needed her help.

When she returned to the bedroom, Sylar had drifted back to sleep, and she took her seat next to him. He didn't look crazy, she thought, only half dead.

With two or three days worth of stubble on his face, and bloodstains dried on his body, he looked like he'd been through hell and she knew he had. She couldn't wait for him to get better. She'd found out his name, and now she realized there were so many other questions she wanted to ask. She saved his life, he atleast owed her an explanation.

Nearly falling out of her chair, Autumn stood up and ran out of the bedroom before her sister could walk in. She dodged into the kitchen where Melony was standing in front of the fridge holding a diet soda. "Hey Mel...you're home early."

"My, don't we look like we've been in the cookie jar." Mel grinned, "Headache?" She pointed, and Autumn realized she was still holding the water and Tylenol she'd got for Sylar. Shrugging, she set the items down on the counter, "Yeah, I had a rough day at work."

Melony nodded, "Speaking of, tomorrow Mr. Petrelli is going to Maryland for the weekend, before he's officially sworn in.

"Ok, good for him." Autumn stared at Melony a second longer before she realized why she had told her, "Oh, you're going with him?"

Melony shook her head, "It's one weekend, and I need to. This is a crucial time for him, and it's my job now to be there every step of the way."

"What about your time? I mean, this is an important job. Don't you need a break before..."

"Autumn!" Melony snapped loudly, "I'm serious, I'm not in the mood for Petrelli-bashing right now, ok?"

"Ok, I'm sorry." Autumn crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, "I'm glad you're doing what you want. And you know you have my vote when you run for president." She shrugged, "Don't let my dislike for Petrelli get in your way."

"Don't worry."

Smiling, Autumn picked up the things she'd gotten for Sylar. Lying to Melony wasn't something she wanted to do, but she couldn't let her know about him. She couldn't condemn a man without first knowing his crime. "I don't feel good, so I'm just gonna go lie down, ok?"

She didn't wait for Mel's mumbled response as she rushed back to her bedroom and shut the door. Sylar was still asleep, muscles twitching beneath his skin as he breathed slowly and she wished she could do something to ease his pain. Selling back down in her chair, the last thing she expected to do was fall asleep, but she did.

When Sylar awoke, he managed enough strength to take half a bottle of Tylenol, though he wasn't sure what good it would do him, and that's when he noticed the book lying on her bedside table.

---

As Peter folded the t-shirt and placed it in his suitcase, someone knocked on his apartment door. He glanced at his watch, wondering who the hell was at his door so late, before be made it the front and opened the door.

"Hello." Melony said with a smile, and Peter let out a small groan. If the coffee-laden redhead was at his apartment, it could only mean one thing: Nathan.

"Well, gee, don't look so disappointed, it's not my choice to be here."

Peter offered an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry. Please, Ms. Levine, come in."

She nodded, walking past him into the apartment. That's when he noticed the suit she was carrying, fresh from the drycleaners, "Do you always carry around a change of clothes?"

He asked.

"Hm? Oh, ha-ha. No, this is for you."

"For me?" He took it from her and motioned for her to sit down, "What for?"

"It's from Nathan. It's what he wants you to wear when we arrive at the house tomorrow."

Peter tossed the suit over the back of the couch before sitting down next to her, "Again, what for?"

Melony shrugged, "He, um, doesn't want you looking like..."

He stared intently at her, waiting for her to finish, "Don't worry, Ms. Levine, I won't shoot the messenger."

"I think his exact words were...'homeless drug dealer.' In case of paparazzi, and whatnot." She cleared her throat nervously, "If it helps, I think he's in the wrong."

He sighed, "I need a beer. You?"

"Please."

Peter retrieved two Corona bottles from the fridge and returned to his sear on the couch, "Can I ask you a question, Ms. Levine?"

"Only if you stop referring to me so properly and call me Melony." She took the beer he offered her and he nodded, "Ok, Melony, fair enough. I thought were Nathan's political advisor--why are you running errands for him so late at night? Doesn't he have an assistant?"

"At the moment, I'm kind of both." She shrugged, "We're still looking for my replacement, so I'm juggling both jobs."

Peter raised en eyebrow, "Your replacement?"

"It's a long story." She smirked, taking a long sip of her beer, and leaning back comfortably. Looking at her now, Peter never would've guessed she was a serious, important, political employee. She was too casual. Too easy to talk to.

And Peter couldn't help it--she was too damn good looking.

The silence that overcame them wasn't awkward, but strangely calm, and he couldn't help but wonder if she really belonged where she was.