Fic: Into the Living Sea, Part III
Sep. 15th, 2008 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brighteyedjillFinal title: Into the Living Sea, Part III
Pairings: Nathan/Peter, brief Peter/OMC, featuring Angela Petrelli, with special guest appearances by other members of the Heroes ensemble
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, emotional abuse, angst
Notes: Rockin’ groovy thanks go to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blithesea for the trailer. Further thanks to redandglenda for the beta, and thanks to jaune_chat for late-night phone calls, pithy comments, and putting up with beef stew.
Summary: After the events of Don’t Look Back, Nathan Petrelli has his brother committed to a mental institution. Peter suspects that Nathan’s reasons for locking him up have more to do with Nathan’s nervousness about his campaign and his guilt over his sexual relationship with Peter than with any noble concern for Peter’s well-being. In his attempts to get Nathan to relent, Peter unwittingly makes things worse, and then much worse.
******
I long for scenes where man has never trod—
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,—
The grass below; above, the vaulted sky.
- From Written in Northampton County Asylum by John Clare
**
The Waldorf-Astoria ballroom was beautifully done up for the victory party, but at this moment Angela Petrelli was having trouble appreciating it. She was watching Nathan make his way across the room. Instead of moving with the flow of the party, greeting supporters and chatting up the key players, he was making a beeline for the door, brushing guests aside in his haste. She threw back the rest of her wine and deposited the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter as she moved to intercept her son.
“Nathan.” She caught him by the elbow and steered him into a shadowed alcove.
“Let go of me, Ma.” His voice had a dangerous edge to it: the kind Arthur used to have. “I’ve got to go.”
“What’s more important than your own victory party?”
“Peter.”
Angela froze. “What about him?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said evenly.
“What did you do?” He grabbed her arm and pressed her back against the wall.
Angela felt a swell of pride. Sometimes Nathan had trouble being fierce, being ruthless; this was a step in the right direction. “Will you tell me what on earth you’re talking about?”
“I hired a private investigator to find Peter.”
“Oh, Nathan,” Angela said in disgust. In retrospect, she should have realized he’d resort to something like that. He’d been upset at Peter’s “disappearance” from Stonybrook, of course. In fact, he’d given the matter far more attention that he should have, given the impending election. Angela had promised to look into it, and had carefully maintained the appearance of activity without passing Nathan any accurate information. She should have known her sons wouldn’t be kept apart so easily.
“He was at a place called Meadow Hills, in Scarsdale.”
“Was?” Angela forced herself to remain calm. If Nathan had gotten Peter out, if he’d disrupted the plan so close to its fulfillment…
“A man named Bishop checked out him this afternoon.” Nathan tightened his grip on her arm, squeezing painfully. “He had a release form with your signature, Ma.”
“Bishop,” she whispered.
“What did you do?” he snarled.
Recovering her composure, she met his flint-hard anger with steel in her voice. “Bite your tongue, Nathan. I didn’t do this. I spent all day with your wife. We were at campaign headquarters. All day.” As soon as she was done here, she was going to have words with Bob Bishop. Today was too important to have him complicating things.
“You could have had someone—.”
Angela slapped him. He didn’t see it coming, not from her, and she meant to capitalize on the shock value. “How dare you. This is Peter we’re talking about. This is my baby. I’ve been there for him more than you ever have.” A lie, but she knew Nathan’s vulnerable spots, the guilt he harbored when it came to Peter, and she intended to exploit it. “Where is he?”
“The PI couldn’t find him,” Nathan said reluctantly. “This Bishop guy took him and vanished.”
Hartsdale, then. He’d left his name, so he must want Angela to follow. If Bishop had done anything to put the plan in jeopardy—to put Peter in jeopardy—before tomorrow, Angela would shoot him herself. “No one just vanishes.”
“Peter has,” Nathan said bitterly. “Twice now.”
“We’ll find him, Nathan. But I need you to be calm.” She waited for Nathan to stand still and listen. “You can’t walk out of your own victory party. Tonight is too important. Think of all the sacrifices you’ve made to get here. You cannot jeopardize your future over this.”
“By this do you mean Peter?” Nathan asked acidly. “He’s family.”
“Yes, family. I have taken care of this family, Nathan. I have gotten you this far. You must trust me to deal with this.” She touched him on the shoulder. “Peter trusts me. I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”
“I know.” He relaxed under her hand, and she could see his resolve wavering.
“Nathan.” Heidi appeared beside him, deftly maneuvering her wheelchair between the columns. “I’ve been looking for you.” She noticed the tension between them immediately, clever girl that she was. Nathan’s face was impassive, so she gave Angela an inquisitive look. Angela returned a weary smile, a coded Petrelli family SOS that Heidi was more than bright enough to interpret. “Nathan, Senator Hayes wanted a word.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said without looking at her.
“Don’t keep us waiting too long.” She pulled him down for a quick kiss, and then she was off again, expertly threading her way through the crowd.
Nathan was quiet now, thoughtful, and Angela decided to press her advantage. “You are in no position to help Peter right now, but I am. If there’s anything that might help us find him, I’ll do it.” Angela allowed her throat to close up, her eyes to grow a little moist. “I’ve tried so hard to hold this family together,” she whispered.
And that was enough to awaken the protective instinct in Nathan. He pulled her into a hug. “I know, Ma. It’ll be okay. Just… go check it out. If there’s anything to find—.”
“I’ll find it.” She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “You look to your future, Mister Congressman. I’ll take care of the family.” She released him and left the alcove. Nimbly threading her way through the ballroom, she offered smiles and quick excuses to well-wishers. At the bottom of the grand staircase, the Haitian was waiting with her fur coat in hand.
“You know about this?” she asked in French.
He nodded.
“Did you know before tonight?”
He shook his head.
Angela’s mouth narrowed into a tight line. “We had better head up to Hartsdale.”
“What about Nathan?” the Haitian asked.
“Don’t worry. He believes in me, and in Peter. He’ll do as he’s told.” Angela turned as she shrugged into her fur, and saw Nathan standing at the top of the stairs, in shadow. From this distance, she couldn’t read his expression, but it was enough to know that he was watching. “Have them bring the car around,” she told the Haitian.
She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth and blew Nathan a kiss. He pressed one hand to his heart in acknowledgement. She headed for the door, but paused behind a column to make certain she’d read her son right. Sure enough, Nathan turned and walked back into the twinkling lights of the ballroom.
Outside, the car was waiting, and barely had the Haitian closed the door behind her then Angela was dialing a number from memory—one she hadn’t expected to be calling quite so soon. It rang several times, and the Haitian was giving the driver directions to Hartsdale on the way down Park Avenue when someone picked up.
“Hello?”
“Bob,” Angela said. “Where is my son?”
“Angela. I was wondering when you’d call.” He sounded smug.
“Where is he?”
“He’s safe. He’s with us at the facility.”
“Have you forgotten about tomorrow?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Not at all,” he said brightly. “There’s just a little matter we wanted to take care of. Insurance.”
“Daniel and I—.”
“Adam Monroe,” Bob broke in.
“What about him?”
“A few of us were thinking that Peter is too valuable to risk.”
“So help me, Robert, if you’re about to imply that I don’t care about my son—.”
“Not at all. Since Sprague is immune to his own powers, there’s no reason Peter wouldn’t be as well. Spending some time with Adam will just give Peter a little more flexibility,” Bob said breezily. “In case anything happens when we introduce Peter to Sprague tomorrow. Aside from the obvious, I mean.”
Angela discovered that she was digging her nails into the car’s upholstery, and she forced herself to relax and not raise her voice. “Are you a complete imbecile? Even someone with Adam’s ability wouldn’t survive a nuclear explosion. Bringing Peter to Hartsdale will just confuse him.”
“He seemed plenty confused already.” Bob’s smug tone was back, and Angela didn’t care for it at all.
“That’s to be expected,” she snapped.
Bob continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “In fact, if your goal was to make him ready to explode, I’d say you’ve done an excellent job.”
“I know my son. He’ll play his part tomorrow.”
“You would have had to move him anyway. The professor’s son has been poking around.”
Angela felt herself tensing again. “Suresh?”
“Apparently caused quite a scene.” Bob seemed pleased to have caught her off-guard, but Angela refused to let herself be needled.
“How did he find Peter?”
“Probably the same way that your son’s investigator did. You must be getting sloppy in your old age, Angela.”
An idea was germinating in Angela’s mind: a silver lining to this unanticipated complication. “We can discuss it when I arrive. We’ll be there in half an hour.” She flipped the phone closed and deposited it in her purse. She slipped back into French to ask the Haitian, “Have you seen him?”
He nodded.
“And?”
“He seemed…agitated,” the Haitian said reluctantly. “He was asking about his brother. About the election.”
“Hm.” Angela turned to the window to watch the lights of the city go by. Peter would always look to Nathan. That was just his way, ever since childhood. What worried Angela more was Nathan’s dependence on Peter. He needed to be stronger than that, for what was to come. As long as Nathan saw the merest possibility of keeping Peter in his life, he could never become what he needed to be. She turned back to the Haitian.
“The transfer papers Bob left at Meadow Hills. What did they say?”
“They name a private hospital in Manhattan.”
“Which will presumably be destroyed tomorrow during the blast.”
The Haitian inclined his head in agreement.
“Bob may have actually done something useful.” Angela nodded her satisfaction. “I’m going to need your help with Peter after tomorrow.”
--
Nathan counted to fifty before coming down the stairs from the ballroom and approaching the doorman.
“The woman who just left, in the fur,” he said, gesturing to the street. “Did you hear her say where she was going?”
The young man gaped at him. “Uh…What?” he asked intelligently.
Nathan slipped a hundred-dollar bill into the kid’s hand. “It’s important,” he said.
The kid looked at the bill and swallowed hard. “I think she said Hartsdale.”
“You think?” He put just enough menace in his tone to make the kid pale.
“She said Hartsdale.”
“Thanks,” Nathan said, and turned away. Hartsdale. Dad used to go there on business, and Nathan had gone along once or twice. Bob—that was the name of the man in charge at that nondescript building. Nathan set off down the block, forgoing his checked coat and earning him strange looks from the doorman. In the alley around the corner, he did a hurried check for cameras and onlookers before launching himself into the sky.
It was more difficult than he’d anticipated to navigate in the dark. Nothing looked the same from the air. But the big, dark expanse beyond the city was the ocean, and as long as he kept that on his right, he would be okay. The wind whipped at his hair, and the cold cut right through his clothes, but he ignored the discomfort. He had to keep slowing down, dipping below the clouds to pick out landmarks. Once he identified I-87, it was smooth sailing all the way to Hartsdale.
He made several wrong turns before circling over what he was fairly sure was the building he’d visited with his father. At ten stories, it was one of the tallest structures in the town: all brick and cinderblock. Nathan touched down in the parking lot, and spent a moment smoothing his hair and his rumpled suit. Beyond getting here ahead of Angela, he didn’t have much of a plan. He was going to have to trust his silver tongue to carry the day; it didn’t usually let him down.
Nathan walked right in the front door of the building, up to a startled-looking security guard at the front desk, and said, “I’m here for Peter Petrelli.”
--
Peter was starting to doubt his decision. He’d only been here half a day, and already the white-washed walls of this new room were starting to close in on him. The place didn’t look like a hospital; the blonde girl, Elle, who was sure as hell no nurse, hadn’t showed him an activity room, a dining room, or even a gym. The room had a strangely industrial feel that reminded Peter of a prison, complete with an annoying cell-mate who kept trying to talk to him through the wall. At least the man had desisted when the lights had gone off a few hours ago.
Still, Peter had no hope of sleeping tonight, or maybe ever. The dreams came more frequently now, sometimes even when he was awake. They hadn’t given him any pills since they’d brought him here, and Peter was starting to feel light-headed as his morning dose wore off. He was fervently hoping that the morning would bring some sort of heavy-duty tranquilizer. Now that his cell—for that was the only term for the room that seemed to fit—was dark, fear had settled as a cold lump in his stomach, and he couldn’t make it go away. With no drugs to dull their sharp edges, the nightmares were sure to be worse than ever tonight.
Peter was trying to busy himself with recalling the smallest details of the last time he’d seen Nathan when the door to his cell creaked open, and Elle appeared. Her face was marred with a sullen frown.
“Come on, Peter,” she snapped. “There’s someone here to see you.”
“I get visitors?” he asked in surprise. “In the middle of the night?”
She shrugged. “Guess so.”
For a moment, Peter considered refusing to go with her, but then he reminded himself that he’d come here of his own free will. He’d better be ready to deal with the consequences. If he wanted to get well enough to go back to his family, he had to conquer his paranoia. With a nervous sigh, he followed Elle out of his cell. She led him upstairs into an office lined with shelves, where Bob was deep in conversation with… Nathan. Nathan was here.
“Peter?” Nathan caught sight of him immediately. Before Peter had time to decide whether he was dreaming or not, Nathan strode across the room and threw his arms around him.
Dreams didn’t usually feel like that. “Hey,” Peter said softly.
“Now you’ve seen him,” Bob said blandly. “I think that’s enough excitement for tonight.”
“We wouldn’t want to upset dear Peter before tomorrow.” Elle ran a hand down Peter’s arm, and he shrugged it off angrily. He didn’t want her touching him in front of Nathan.
“Here’s the thing,” said Nathan, as he turned to face Bob. “Angela told me to bring him back to the city. We can handle things from there.”
“Is that so?” Bob raised his eyebrows and gave Nathan a speculative look that Peter didn’t like.
“Is that a problem, Bob?” Nathan asked. Peter admired the way he was able to pack those innocuous words with scorn and derision.
“I’m not sure that’s in everyone’s best interest,” Bob said slowly.
Nathan grinned: a shark’s grin, predatory. “She said you might say that. She also said not to take no for an answer. Would you rather wait and tell her yourself?”
It may have been Peter’s imagination, but he thought Bob’s face was getting a little red. “This isn’t the way things are done in this Company,” Bob said tightly.
“I’m taking my brother.” Nathan grabbed Peter by the hand and pulled him to the door.
“Nathan!”
Nathan paused in the doorway, but he didn’t let go of Peter’s hand.
“Tell Angela that this isn’t over.”
Nathan looked briefly at Peter, and then back to Bob. “Tell her yourself.” He dragged Peter into the hallway, and Peter stumbled along in his wake until they reached the elevators.
“You came,” Peter said. It was all he could come up with.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Nathan frowned at the elevator and pulled Peter further down the hallway. “We’re taking the stairs.”
They clamored down the poorly-lit stairwell, with Peter stumbling every third step or so because Nathan would not relinquish his hold on Peter’s hand. “Can we slow down a second?” Peter huffed.
“No.” But Nathan stopped and grabbed Peter by the shoulder so he could look him full in the face. “They wanted to hurt you. Ma was going to let them hurt you, and we have to get out of here.”
Nathan headed down the steps again, but Peter held him back. “You know I’m sick, right? It’s not just in my head. There’s something really wrong with me.”
Nathan shifted Peter’s grip on his hand, linking their fingers together. “Then we fix it together. I’ll help you. Like I should have done in the first place.”
Peter smiled weakly.
A shrill wail began blaring through the stairwell. Red lights set into the wall began to flash. “Guess our cover’s blown,” Nathan said. From below them in the stairwell came the sound of shouting and many pairs of pounding feet. “Come on.” Nathan pulled Peter back up the stairs the way they’d come. “To the roof.”
Peter’s heart was pounding with fear and exertion by the time they burst through the fire exit onto the wide-open rooftop. The alarm became a muffled pulse as the door swung shut behind them. With no hesitation, Nathan dragged him across the roof to the far edge. “We’ve got to get out of here fast. Come on.”
Peter dug his heels in and pulled his hand out of Nathan’s grasp. “I can’t,” he said, backing away from the ledge where the abyss beckoned.
“Yes you can,” Nathan said. “I’ve seen you fly. Come on.” He made a grab for Peter’s hand, but Peter jumped back out of reach.
“I can’t. That’s crazy talk. And destructive. And counter-productive, and it impedes the healing process.” He knew he was babbling, but he had to hold onto something. This could be another dream, a trick of a diseased brain. If he hurt himself following some delusion of grandeur, Nathan would never forgive him.
“Cut it out, Peter.” Nathan made another grab, and this time he caught Peter in his arms. “Listen. I. Can. Fly. And you can do what I can do. I’m not lying. You can do this.”
Peter buried his head in Nathan’s chest. He wanted to believe. He wanted to believe that Nathan was some sort of hero, and that he could be one, too. But it couldn’t be real. They’d been telling him it wasn’t real, that it couldn’t be, that he was sick. And that made sense. “I can’t,” he said sadly.
From the stairwell door burst three guards wielding Tazer-guns. “Freeze!” one of them shouted. “Step away from the edge!”
“Peter, please,” Nathan whispered.
Peter felt as if he might hyperventilate. He just wanted to wake up from all this, to get well so he could get back to his family. He had to know what was real. All anyone had told him for weeks was that he was wrong and sick. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t anything. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t!”
“Shhh. It’s okay.” Nathan held him tighter.
“Put your hands up and step away from the edge!” the guard shouted.
“Until you’re ready,” Nathan whispered, “I can fly for both of us.” He hugged Peter even closer, and then took them into the sky.
As the roof, the shouting guards, and the ground fell away below them, Peter felt a swell of wonder. He tore his eyes away from the vanishing town below and looked at Nathan: fierce, protective, owning the sky. He began, again, to believe.
END.
Master Post with authors notes and thank-yous
Previous Chapter
Pairings: Nathan/Peter, brief Peter/OMC, featuring Angela Petrelli, with special guest appearances by other members of the Heroes ensemble
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, emotional abuse, angst
Notes: Rockin’ groovy thanks go to
blithesea for the trailer. Further thanks to redandglenda for the beta, and thanks to jaune_chat for late-night phone calls, pithy comments, and putting up with beef stew. Summary: After the events of Don’t Look Back, Nathan Petrelli has his brother committed to a mental institution. Peter suspects that Nathan’s reasons for locking him up have more to do with Nathan’s nervousness about his campaign and his guilt over his sexual relationship with Peter than with any noble concern for Peter’s well-being. In his attempts to get Nathan to relent, Peter unwittingly makes things worse, and then much worse.
******
I long for scenes where man has never trod—
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,—
The grass below; above, the vaulted sky.
- From Written in Northampton County Asylum by John Clare
**
The Waldorf-Astoria ballroom was beautifully done up for the victory party, but at this moment Angela Petrelli was having trouble appreciating it. She was watching Nathan make his way across the room. Instead of moving with the flow of the party, greeting supporters and chatting up the key players, he was making a beeline for the door, brushing guests aside in his haste. She threw back the rest of her wine and deposited the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter as she moved to intercept her son.
“Nathan.” She caught him by the elbow and steered him into a shadowed alcove.
“Let go of me, Ma.” His voice had a dangerous edge to it: the kind Arthur used to have. “I’ve got to go.”
“What’s more important than your own victory party?”
“Peter.”
Angela froze. “What about him?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said evenly.
“What did you do?” He grabbed her arm and pressed her back against the wall.
Angela felt a swell of pride. Sometimes Nathan had trouble being fierce, being ruthless; this was a step in the right direction. “Will you tell me what on earth you’re talking about?”
“I hired a private investigator to find Peter.”
“Oh, Nathan,” Angela said in disgust. In retrospect, she should have realized he’d resort to something like that. He’d been upset at Peter’s “disappearance” from Stonybrook, of course. In fact, he’d given the matter far more attention that he should have, given the impending election. Angela had promised to look into it, and had carefully maintained the appearance of activity without passing Nathan any accurate information. She should have known her sons wouldn’t be kept apart so easily.
“He was at a place called Meadow Hills, in Scarsdale.”
“Was?” Angela forced herself to remain calm. If Nathan had gotten Peter out, if he’d disrupted the plan so close to its fulfillment…
“A man named Bishop checked out him this afternoon.” Nathan tightened his grip on her arm, squeezing painfully. “He had a release form with your signature, Ma.”
“Bishop,” she whispered.
“What did you do?” he snarled.
Recovering her composure, she met his flint-hard anger with steel in her voice. “Bite your tongue, Nathan. I didn’t do this. I spent all day with your wife. We were at campaign headquarters. All day.” As soon as she was done here, she was going to have words with Bob Bishop. Today was too important to have him complicating things.
“You could have had someone—.”
Angela slapped him. He didn’t see it coming, not from her, and she meant to capitalize on the shock value. “How dare you. This is Peter we’re talking about. This is my baby. I’ve been there for him more than you ever have.” A lie, but she knew Nathan’s vulnerable spots, the guilt he harbored when it came to Peter, and she intended to exploit it. “Where is he?”
“The PI couldn’t find him,” Nathan said reluctantly. “This Bishop guy took him and vanished.”
Hartsdale, then. He’d left his name, so he must want Angela to follow. If Bishop had done anything to put the plan in jeopardy—to put Peter in jeopardy—before tomorrow, Angela would shoot him herself. “No one just vanishes.”
“Peter has,” Nathan said bitterly. “Twice now.”
“We’ll find him, Nathan. But I need you to be calm.” She waited for Nathan to stand still and listen. “You can’t walk out of your own victory party. Tonight is too important. Think of all the sacrifices you’ve made to get here. You cannot jeopardize your future over this.”
“By this do you mean Peter?” Nathan asked acidly. “He’s family.”
“Yes, family. I have taken care of this family, Nathan. I have gotten you this far. You must trust me to deal with this.” She touched him on the shoulder. “Peter trusts me. I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”
“I know.” He relaxed under her hand, and she could see his resolve wavering.
“Nathan.” Heidi appeared beside him, deftly maneuvering her wheelchair between the columns. “I’ve been looking for you.” She noticed the tension between them immediately, clever girl that she was. Nathan’s face was impassive, so she gave Angela an inquisitive look. Angela returned a weary smile, a coded Petrelli family SOS that Heidi was more than bright enough to interpret. “Nathan, Senator Hayes wanted a word.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said without looking at her.
“Don’t keep us waiting too long.” She pulled him down for a quick kiss, and then she was off again, expertly threading her way through the crowd.
Nathan was quiet now, thoughtful, and Angela decided to press her advantage. “You are in no position to help Peter right now, but I am. If there’s anything that might help us find him, I’ll do it.” Angela allowed her throat to close up, her eyes to grow a little moist. “I’ve tried so hard to hold this family together,” she whispered.
And that was enough to awaken the protective instinct in Nathan. He pulled her into a hug. “I know, Ma. It’ll be okay. Just… go check it out. If there’s anything to find—.”
“I’ll find it.” She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “You look to your future, Mister Congressman. I’ll take care of the family.” She released him and left the alcove. Nimbly threading her way through the ballroom, she offered smiles and quick excuses to well-wishers. At the bottom of the grand staircase, the Haitian was waiting with her fur coat in hand.
“You know about this?” she asked in French.
He nodded.
“Did you know before tonight?”
He shook his head.
Angela’s mouth narrowed into a tight line. “We had better head up to Hartsdale.”
“What about Nathan?” the Haitian asked.
“Don’t worry. He believes in me, and in Peter. He’ll do as he’s told.” Angela turned as she shrugged into her fur, and saw Nathan standing at the top of the stairs, in shadow. From this distance, she couldn’t read his expression, but it was enough to know that he was watching. “Have them bring the car around,” she told the Haitian.
She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth and blew Nathan a kiss. He pressed one hand to his heart in acknowledgement. She headed for the door, but paused behind a column to make certain she’d read her son right. Sure enough, Nathan turned and walked back into the twinkling lights of the ballroom.
Outside, the car was waiting, and barely had the Haitian closed the door behind her then Angela was dialing a number from memory—one she hadn’t expected to be calling quite so soon. It rang several times, and the Haitian was giving the driver directions to Hartsdale on the way down Park Avenue when someone picked up.
“Hello?”
“Bob,” Angela said. “Where is my son?”
“Angela. I was wondering when you’d call.” He sounded smug.
“Where is he?”
“He’s safe. He’s with us at the facility.”
“Have you forgotten about tomorrow?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Not at all,” he said brightly. “There’s just a little matter we wanted to take care of. Insurance.”
“Daniel and I—.”
“Adam Monroe,” Bob broke in.
“What about him?”
“A few of us were thinking that Peter is too valuable to risk.”
“So help me, Robert, if you’re about to imply that I don’t care about my son—.”
“Not at all. Since Sprague is immune to his own powers, there’s no reason Peter wouldn’t be as well. Spending some time with Adam will just give Peter a little more flexibility,” Bob said breezily. “In case anything happens when we introduce Peter to Sprague tomorrow. Aside from the obvious, I mean.”
Angela discovered that she was digging her nails into the car’s upholstery, and she forced herself to relax and not raise her voice. “Are you a complete imbecile? Even someone with Adam’s ability wouldn’t survive a nuclear explosion. Bringing Peter to Hartsdale will just confuse him.”
“He seemed plenty confused already.” Bob’s smug tone was back, and Angela didn’t care for it at all.
“That’s to be expected,” she snapped.
Bob continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “In fact, if your goal was to make him ready to explode, I’d say you’ve done an excellent job.”
“I know my son. He’ll play his part tomorrow.”
“You would have had to move him anyway. The professor’s son has been poking around.”
Angela felt herself tensing again. “Suresh?”
“Apparently caused quite a scene.” Bob seemed pleased to have caught her off-guard, but Angela refused to let herself be needled.
“How did he find Peter?”
“Probably the same way that your son’s investigator did. You must be getting sloppy in your old age, Angela.”
An idea was germinating in Angela’s mind: a silver lining to this unanticipated complication. “We can discuss it when I arrive. We’ll be there in half an hour.” She flipped the phone closed and deposited it in her purse. She slipped back into French to ask the Haitian, “Have you seen him?”
He nodded.
“And?”
“He seemed…agitated,” the Haitian said reluctantly. “He was asking about his brother. About the election.”
“Hm.” Angela turned to the window to watch the lights of the city go by. Peter would always look to Nathan. That was just his way, ever since childhood. What worried Angela more was Nathan’s dependence on Peter. He needed to be stronger than that, for what was to come. As long as Nathan saw the merest possibility of keeping Peter in his life, he could never become what he needed to be. She turned back to the Haitian.
“The transfer papers Bob left at Meadow Hills. What did they say?”
“They name a private hospital in Manhattan.”
“Which will presumably be destroyed tomorrow during the blast.”
The Haitian inclined his head in agreement.
“Bob may have actually done something useful.” Angela nodded her satisfaction. “I’m going to need your help with Peter after tomorrow.”
--
Nathan counted to fifty before coming down the stairs from the ballroom and approaching the doorman.
“The woman who just left, in the fur,” he said, gesturing to the street. “Did you hear her say where she was going?”
The young man gaped at him. “Uh…What?” he asked intelligently.
Nathan slipped a hundred-dollar bill into the kid’s hand. “It’s important,” he said.
The kid looked at the bill and swallowed hard. “I think she said Hartsdale.”
“You think?” He put just enough menace in his tone to make the kid pale.
“She said Hartsdale.”
“Thanks,” Nathan said, and turned away. Hartsdale. Dad used to go there on business, and Nathan had gone along once or twice. Bob—that was the name of the man in charge at that nondescript building. Nathan set off down the block, forgoing his checked coat and earning him strange looks from the doorman. In the alley around the corner, he did a hurried check for cameras and onlookers before launching himself into the sky.
It was more difficult than he’d anticipated to navigate in the dark. Nothing looked the same from the air. But the big, dark expanse beyond the city was the ocean, and as long as he kept that on his right, he would be okay. The wind whipped at his hair, and the cold cut right through his clothes, but he ignored the discomfort. He had to keep slowing down, dipping below the clouds to pick out landmarks. Once he identified I-87, it was smooth sailing all the way to Hartsdale.
He made several wrong turns before circling over what he was fairly sure was the building he’d visited with his father. At ten stories, it was one of the tallest structures in the town: all brick and cinderblock. Nathan touched down in the parking lot, and spent a moment smoothing his hair and his rumpled suit. Beyond getting here ahead of Angela, he didn’t have much of a plan. He was going to have to trust his silver tongue to carry the day; it didn’t usually let him down.
Nathan walked right in the front door of the building, up to a startled-looking security guard at the front desk, and said, “I’m here for Peter Petrelli.”
--
Peter was starting to doubt his decision. He’d only been here half a day, and already the white-washed walls of this new room were starting to close in on him. The place didn’t look like a hospital; the blonde girl, Elle, who was sure as hell no nurse, hadn’t showed him an activity room, a dining room, or even a gym. The room had a strangely industrial feel that reminded Peter of a prison, complete with an annoying cell-mate who kept trying to talk to him through the wall. At least the man had desisted when the lights had gone off a few hours ago.
Still, Peter had no hope of sleeping tonight, or maybe ever. The dreams came more frequently now, sometimes even when he was awake. They hadn’t given him any pills since they’d brought him here, and Peter was starting to feel light-headed as his morning dose wore off. He was fervently hoping that the morning would bring some sort of heavy-duty tranquilizer. Now that his cell—for that was the only term for the room that seemed to fit—was dark, fear had settled as a cold lump in his stomach, and he couldn’t make it go away. With no drugs to dull their sharp edges, the nightmares were sure to be worse than ever tonight.
Peter was trying to busy himself with recalling the smallest details of the last time he’d seen Nathan when the door to his cell creaked open, and Elle appeared. Her face was marred with a sullen frown.
“Come on, Peter,” she snapped. “There’s someone here to see you.”
“I get visitors?” he asked in surprise. “In the middle of the night?”
She shrugged. “Guess so.”
For a moment, Peter considered refusing to go with her, but then he reminded himself that he’d come here of his own free will. He’d better be ready to deal with the consequences. If he wanted to get well enough to go back to his family, he had to conquer his paranoia. With a nervous sigh, he followed Elle out of his cell. She led him upstairs into an office lined with shelves, where Bob was deep in conversation with… Nathan. Nathan was here.
“Peter?” Nathan caught sight of him immediately. Before Peter had time to decide whether he was dreaming or not, Nathan strode across the room and threw his arms around him.
Dreams didn’t usually feel like that. “Hey,” Peter said softly.
“Now you’ve seen him,” Bob said blandly. “I think that’s enough excitement for tonight.”
“We wouldn’t want to upset dear Peter before tomorrow.” Elle ran a hand down Peter’s arm, and he shrugged it off angrily. He didn’t want her touching him in front of Nathan.
“Here’s the thing,” said Nathan, as he turned to face Bob. “Angela told me to bring him back to the city. We can handle things from there.”
“Is that so?” Bob raised his eyebrows and gave Nathan a speculative look that Peter didn’t like.
“Is that a problem, Bob?” Nathan asked. Peter admired the way he was able to pack those innocuous words with scorn and derision.
“I’m not sure that’s in everyone’s best interest,” Bob said slowly.
Nathan grinned: a shark’s grin, predatory. “She said you might say that. She also said not to take no for an answer. Would you rather wait and tell her yourself?”
It may have been Peter’s imagination, but he thought Bob’s face was getting a little red. “This isn’t the way things are done in this Company,” Bob said tightly.
“I’m taking my brother.” Nathan grabbed Peter by the hand and pulled him to the door.
“Nathan!”
Nathan paused in the doorway, but he didn’t let go of Peter’s hand.
“Tell Angela that this isn’t over.”
Nathan looked briefly at Peter, and then back to Bob. “Tell her yourself.” He dragged Peter into the hallway, and Peter stumbled along in his wake until they reached the elevators.
“You came,” Peter said. It was all he could come up with.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Nathan frowned at the elevator and pulled Peter further down the hallway. “We’re taking the stairs.”
They clamored down the poorly-lit stairwell, with Peter stumbling every third step or so because Nathan would not relinquish his hold on Peter’s hand. “Can we slow down a second?” Peter huffed.
“No.” But Nathan stopped and grabbed Peter by the shoulder so he could look him full in the face. “They wanted to hurt you. Ma was going to let them hurt you, and we have to get out of here.”
Nathan headed down the steps again, but Peter held him back. “You know I’m sick, right? It’s not just in my head. There’s something really wrong with me.”
Nathan shifted Peter’s grip on his hand, linking their fingers together. “Then we fix it together. I’ll help you. Like I should have done in the first place.”
Peter smiled weakly.
A shrill wail began blaring through the stairwell. Red lights set into the wall began to flash. “Guess our cover’s blown,” Nathan said. From below them in the stairwell came the sound of shouting and many pairs of pounding feet. “Come on.” Nathan pulled Peter back up the stairs the way they’d come. “To the roof.”
Peter’s heart was pounding with fear and exertion by the time they burst through the fire exit onto the wide-open rooftop. The alarm became a muffled pulse as the door swung shut behind them. With no hesitation, Nathan dragged him across the roof to the far edge. “We’ve got to get out of here fast. Come on.”
Peter dug his heels in and pulled his hand out of Nathan’s grasp. “I can’t,” he said, backing away from the ledge where the abyss beckoned.
“Yes you can,” Nathan said. “I’ve seen you fly. Come on.” He made a grab for Peter’s hand, but Peter jumped back out of reach.
“I can’t. That’s crazy talk. And destructive. And counter-productive, and it impedes the healing process.” He knew he was babbling, but he had to hold onto something. This could be another dream, a trick of a diseased brain. If he hurt himself following some delusion of grandeur, Nathan would never forgive him.
“Cut it out, Peter.” Nathan made another grab, and this time he caught Peter in his arms. “Listen. I. Can. Fly. And you can do what I can do. I’m not lying. You can do this.”
Peter buried his head in Nathan’s chest. He wanted to believe. He wanted to believe that Nathan was some sort of hero, and that he could be one, too. But it couldn’t be real. They’d been telling him it wasn’t real, that it couldn’t be, that he was sick. And that made sense. “I can’t,” he said sadly.
From the stairwell door burst three guards wielding Tazer-guns. “Freeze!” one of them shouted. “Step away from the edge!”
“Peter, please,” Nathan whispered.
Peter felt as if he might hyperventilate. He just wanted to wake up from all this, to get well so he could get back to his family. He had to know what was real. All anyone had told him for weeks was that he was wrong and sick. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t anything. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t!”
“Shhh. It’s okay.” Nathan held him tighter.
“Put your hands up and step away from the edge!” the guard shouted.
“Until you’re ready,” Nathan whispered, “I can fly for both of us.” He hugged Peter even closer, and then took them into the sky.
As the roof, the shouting guards, and the ground fell away below them, Peter felt a swell of wonder. He tore his eyes away from the vanishing town below and looked at Nathan: fierce, protective, owning the sky. He began, again, to believe.
END.
Master Post with authors notes and thank-yous
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no subject
Date: 2008-09-16 08:16 am (UTC)a really large of me wants to grab Nathan by the shoulders and shake him like the idiot he is for slowly killing Peter. but! I'm very pleased he saved his brother (and the world!)
this is definitely an interesting twist of "what if" and the horrible drawbacks of being an empath in a mental institution. *mems*
no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-16 01:39 pm (UTC)I think I might be in love with your style. It's so clear and clean, without a word out of place, and no time for the reader to catch their breath before another blow comes right in their face.
I loved how you inserted and manipulated the canon quotes to make them fit the new setting. Especially the one with the Nurse/Mohinder, deprived of the reassuring little genetics lesson that in the canon had wiped off the banality of that "We're all special" line. You made us expect a reassuring line and it didn't come. Heartbreaking.
Strangely enough (for me), I liked the OCs very much too. I don't like OCs as a rule, but these had a personality, and that was greatly appreciated. Especially Rebekah. Her lack of interest for her own tragedy was very, very poignant.
I think that saying the voices were perfect would actually be like decrying your work. The voices were beyond perfection, so much that I really don't know what else to say (I'm much better at negative feedback, really XD).
The only little flaw I could find, I think it's the finale. It comes a bit rushed, although emotionally very intense, and I've been left eager for some more. But I don't think it ruins the mood or anything.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 03:29 am (UTC)I'm glad the fic hit you. It's sort of different from my usual stuff, but very close to my heart as well. And *blushes* I'm glad you like my style. I really feel like I write screenplays and then just fill in the bare minimum to make it make sense in prose.
Oh so glad the quotes worked! Part of the problem of early drafts of this fic were that it didn't feel connected enough to the Heroes 'verse. I'm used to having the entire ensemble to play with here, so the references to season one events and the borrowed lines were elements I incorporated in later drafts. I'm glad they did their job!
I'm always nervous about using OCs, because they're usually nowhere near as interesting as using a canon character in a new way, but I just couldn't justify using anyone from the Heroes ensemble as Rebekah or anyone else at the asylum, so OCs it was. But I'm relieved that these worked for you, and that the canon voices worked as well.
Regarding the ending, I'll tell you a secret: I may agree with you. The ending changed several times (see author's notes post for more on that), and I was so damn relieved to get to this ending that I couldn't mess with it any more for fear that I'd break it. I just knew I couldn't do a sequel, so I had to end it definitively. But it has always bothered me that it shifts from such a slow-moving, introspective mode to action-adventure town. Ah well. Nobody's perfect.
Thank you so much for the comments, and the concrit, too. It helps make me write more gooder and stuff.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-16 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 12:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 12:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-18 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-17 12:59 pm (UTC)Fiore's also right about this being heartbreaking but that's because it all also felt so tragically believable to me. I could easily imagine Nathan doing this for all the reasons of both logic and emotion you beautifully and subtly illustrate here. I thought you captured both Nathan AND Peter's voices superbly well throughout, by the way. Especially with Peter's emotions of disbelief, denial, anger, bargaining and finallly miserable acceptance at being abandoned.
Very well done!
no subject
Date: 2008-09-18 02:29 am (UTC)Sorry to have broken your heart, but Nathan definitely has the potential for bastard-ness (which is why it's so wonderful to me when he does something heroic). And you caught that little stages of grief progression! Cookie for you! I did a lot of season one re-watching to remind myself what their voices were like back then. But it wasn't a hardship at all to review all that season 1 Petrelli lovin'. :D
Thanks so much for your comments, and for reading!
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 07:39 pm (UTC)This was incredibly moving, and heart-breaking, and for all that I want to shove Nathan's nose in what he did to Peter like a dog who made a mess on the floor, I can see that he meant it for the best. Angela is a Magnificent Bitch, and perfectly in character, as always, and, also as always, all the peripheral characters are incredibly real.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 08:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-20 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 03:56 am (UTC)This is easily one of the best Heroes fics I've ever read - it hits all the marks. Respects canon, while breaking it and adding to it? Check. Unexpected character cameos that fit perfectly (yay, Mohinder)? Check. Totally nails the character voices and motivations? Check. Shows a knowledge of geography and an understanding of a slightly different environment (in this case, the world inside an institution, and inside the mind of an abandoned Peter) that's reflected in a way that perfectly evokes the source material? Check. Hot schmexing? Check. Dollop of angst? Oh, you betcha.
I'm just amazed and blown away. I bow to you, master. This is what I aspire to.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 10:46 pm (UTC)Regarding a sequel... I told myself I needed to be done with this story after re-writing the ending several times (because Nathan was not so magnificent in previous drafts, and in fact was in danger of crossing the moral event horizon), but... It would be interesting to drop these two characters as they are after the events of this story into the Heroes world considering what's probably been going on in the Season 1 timeline. Although I've sort of created some interesting questions regarding what happened without Peter's involvement. Season Two can't really be business as usual if Peter doesn't break out Mr. Monroe, now can it?
no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-21 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-22 03:09 am (UTC)It's so easy to believe that something like this could have happened to Peter. Believing that he could fly would definitely be cause for commitment. Not to mention all of the other abilities Peter acquired so easily.
I loved that you worked in the "I don't know who I am" scene in the previous part. I adore that scene.
Nice touch having Bob come take Peter at the end. Even better is that Nathan finally got him out and told him the truth.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-30 02:47 am (UTC)As the roof, the shouting guards, and the ground fell away below them, Peter felt a swell of wonder. He tore his eyes away from the vanishing town below and looked at Nathan: fierce, protective, owning the sky. He began, again, to believe.
I can't express how beautiful and affecting this is. I'm kind of speechless over the whole piece. I'm sorry I can't given you more detailed feedback, but it's just so emotional and striking, my words are inadequate. Thank you so much.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-30 05:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-02 10:45 pm (UTC)I'm memming this and it will be read over and over.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-04 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-18 06:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-19 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-26 12:11 am (UTC)This story was amazing. I have read it twice and it has made my list of stories that I will enjoy reading again and again.
I could leave an extensive review, but that would take up a lot of room. So, I will just say the only problem I have is that it leaves me wondering what happens next! Besides that I love it!
Great job! Can I add you to my friends?
no subject
Date: 2009-04-29 09:58 pm (UTC)And yes of course, feel free to friend away!
no subject
Date: 2009-07-15 06:43 pm (UTC)Wow. First of all, the entirely terrifying but absolutely realistic use of how easy it is to commit someone. When Nathan threatened Peter with that on the show it made me ill, that's how scary. But you used it so well, as a way to highlight Peter's vulnerability - and indeed, all the more optimistic characters are vulnerable to accusations of derangement on Heroes. Mohinder honestly comes across as a lunatic on several occasions in S1, and you can tell watching him meet with Peter for the first time, when Peter's explaining what he can do, but only *sometimes*, that Mohinder in turn thinks Peter's not playing with a full deck. The idea of Nathan committing Peter also, of course was a good way to show how prone Nathan is to making bad decisions, for reasons that he may think are good. He can be a selfish bastard. I love the character, don;t get me wrong, but there are so many times watching him that I just wince. Like when he basically told a room full of people that Peter was suffering from depression. I winced and said, "Oh, no, Nathan. You didn't. You bastard." This fic is Nathan giving into that Fix It So It Can't Hurt Me impulse he has on a very specific, very painful scale.
Peter suffers. His empathy makes the setting that much more brutal a punishment, actually, all those people with their mental instability seeping in past his thin defenses.... And I love that Nathan saves him in the end. I love that Peter is so messed up that he has basically developed a phobia about flying, and that Nathan has to be the one to expose himself in order to even begin to set things right.
I loved this story. Thank you so much for writing it.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-27 05:10 pm (UTC)You make excellent points about how batshit crazy everyone seemed to the outside view, especially in Season 1. And Nathan and Peter did have a few conversation about going crazy. But yeah, I loved it when they used that angst in the show: Like when he basically told a room full of people that Peter was suffering from depression. What a great scene. Heck yeah. Nathan is definitely not comfortable with that stuff, so he definitely has that impulse to make the problem go away.
And poor Peter the empath surrounded by all that emotional bleeding... Aw man. His empathy makes the setting that much more brutal a punishment, actually, all those people with their mental instability seeping in past his thin defenses. Exactly. Now you're making me feel bad for doing such a thing to the poor boy.
But I'm glad you enjoyed it. After so many labor pains bringing this story together, I'm still pretty pleased with it. Yay big boom!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-12 08:49 pm (UTC)A lot has been said above, so I'll just add that it's one of the best fics I've read (well, heard, in this case). The emotions and tension were pitch-perfect. Peter's sense of betrayal and anger, and his descent into confusion, need, desperation - all of it was so perfectly *true* that I found myself feeling a bit surreal about it along with him, and not sure what to believe.
Oh, Angela. The OCs and minor characters were fantastic. And I loved the ending :D
no subject
Date: 2009-11-26 03:38 am (UTC)I'm really happy this worked for you. Perception of reality can be such a slippery slope when dealing with mental illness (or in this case, suspected mental illness) that it's no wonder Peter gets so turned around. I found myself feeling a bit surreal about it along with him, and not sure what to believe. That's great to hear! I mean, not that I want you to feel quite the way Peter does, cuz that'd be mean, but I don't mind dragging you into his world for a while ;)
Thanks for reading (or listening, I suppose) and coming to leave feedback!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-27 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 08:53 pm (UTC)