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brighteyedjillThis chapter may have slapped me around a little, but I wrestled it into submission in time for my self-imposed Sunday deadline. Enjoy!
Title: In the Forests of the Night – Chapter Two (of Ten)
Author name:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brighteyed_jill
Characters: Ensemble, Peter/Nathan in later chapters. Other slashiness if you squint.
Rating: NC-17 overall (PG this chapter)
Word Count: 4,200
Warnings: Violence, angst, adult situations, slash.
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 1. This future fic’s past only follows canon through that point, so anything happening in the current season never happened for these characters.
Summary: The line of Presidential succession goes into effect, Matt picks up some new clues about Hiro’s team, and Peter receives a gift.
Author’s note: Beta’d by the fabulousredandglenda. Remaining mistakes are mine. Oh, and as caelent pointed out last week, there was a criminal lack of Petrellis in the previous chapter. There are Petrellis this time.
The Vice President died at 8:13 in the morning, and by 8:19, the Chief of Staff was ushering Nathan into the Oval Office. He’d been in the office before, but now that it was his, it looked different. Now that this was his office, it meant that Nathan Petrelli was really the President of the United States. This was the last stop on his whirlwind tour of the essentials of the White House offices, but he didn’t get much time to savor the moment. Nathan wasn’t feeling lonely, exactly, because Nathan Petrelli, now President Petrelli, would never feel anything as weak as loneliness, but he did momentarily wish there was someone here to share this moment. Heidi was en route from Hyde Park with the boys, but she wouldn’t quite understand what this meant to him. Ma would have understood. Peter would understand. Briefly, he wondered how he was going to sneak Peter into the White House.
The Chief of Staff, Jim Ginsberg, looked and acted as if he hadn’t slept since the President was attacked, which, Nathan reflected, was probably the case. Ginsberg was harried, almost terse with Nathan as he waved a hand vaguely around the room.
“Your office. Schedule for the rest of the day’s on the desk. And…” Ginsberg trailed off, again gesturing distractedly in the direction of the desk. “The rest we’ll figure out.” Ginsberg stood still a moment, as if waiting for something else to occur to him, and scrubbed a hand over his balding head. “That’s it,” he said at last.
“Fine,” Nathan replied easily. No matter what, he reminded himself, he had to remain calm and strong. Let his staff fall apart in the face of this crisis; Nathan had been born and bred for this opportunity, and he would not be weak now, would not show fear.
Suddenly, Ginsberg straightened, as if remembering something, and held up a single finger as he strode to the door. “Almost forgot,” he muttered, and then he was shepherding a cluster of young people through the door. “You’ll be working with these ladies quite a bit,” he explained, pointing out each of the young women as he introduced them. Their names blurred together: Ashley, Amanda, two Jens. Nathan wasn’t really listening; he was sure it was one of their jobs to tell him everyone’s name when he needed to know.
“And this is Claire, who’s in charge of your schedule.” That brought Nathan’s attention snapping back from its wandering, and he looked at the girl Ginsberg was pointing to, at the back of the group. Claire looked much as she did the last time Nathan had seen her, that night on Kirby Plaza. Her hair was longer now, pinned in some professional-looking up-do. Nathan counted up the years in his head; he knew she must have graduated high school, but she still seemed young, too young to be here.
“Welcome, Mister President,” she said politely, with only a twinkle in her eye to give away her connection to him. “I believe you know my dad.”
“Sure,” Nathan said easily, betraying none of the reeling confusion he felt. “We’re old friends.” His mind raced as he tried to work out if she was here at her adopted father’s request, or if she was here to spite Bennet.
“That’s nice,” Ginsberg said absently. “Let’s leave the President alone for a minute, ladies. He’s got lots of work to do.”
The Chief of Staff started to shoo the girls out, but Nathan couldn’t tear his eyes away from his daughter. Claire mouthed the word “later” as she followed Ginsberg out the door, and then Nathan was alone in the Oval Office. His office.
Nathan realized with a start that he was standing in front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, exactly the way he had been in Isaac’s painting. Irritably he dropped his hands to his sides and flung himself into the nearest chair. This was starting to get complicated.
********
Matt was having headaches again. He hadn’t missed this aspect of his abilities, but now that he could hear thoughts again, at least intermittently, he couldn’t find it in his heart to be angry about the headaches. He could, however, be angry about being stuck in a studio apartment with enough emotional tension to boil water. Even though he wasn’t hearing thoughts this morning, the unspoken messages he was receiving were enough to make his head hurt.
So far today, half a dozen people had tried to feel him out on his opinion toward the assassination. He’d just gone to pour himself a cup of coffee that morning when Shelly and Ed, two of his fellow rescued slaves with whom he hadn’t had much contact, had crowded in, whispering conspiratorially.
“Matt, I wanted to ask you something about Hiro,” Shelly had whispered, keeping one eye on the doorway to the kitchen. “Did you see him during the mission? I was thinking… He could have slipped away in all the confusion, no problem.”
“Uh… Yeah. I saw him,” Matt had said carefully. “He came out of the building right after we got Micah and Molly out.”
Ed gave a muffled hurumph and addressed Shelly. “I told you he could have been in two places at once. He said himself his powers were working again.”
Matt had excused himself quickly and fled with his coffee to the living room, where Ando was just finishing a text message. Ando looked up to see Ed and Shelly following Matt, and muttered, “I’m going for a walk.” So much for using Ando as a buffer. Matt had to sit and endure another twenty minute of insufferable conspiracy theories.
“Who was he texting, anyway?” Shelly whispered. “Everyone we know lives here.”
The rest of the morning had been equally painful: full of strained conversations that stopped whenever one of the veterans walked past. Matt was profoundly grateful when Dean finally stormed into the main room from the kitchen and shouted, “That is it! Everyone who isn’t doing something productive right now is coming with me. We’re going to the movies.”
Luckily, Matt had been helping Alai disassemble and clean the guns they’d taken with them on their mission. The cleaning hadn’t really needed to be done, but it kept their hands busy and provided a convenient excuse not to talk to anyone. Since Matt was making himself useful, Dean excused him from the outing. Lara and Molly stayed, too. Lara had taken Molly under her wing, and today the two were packaging Cure pills for delivery to other resistance cells. Micah had been about to go with the others, but when he saw that Matt and Molly were staying he muttered something about walkie talkies, got his tool kit, and sat down to stay.
The group worked in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the relief of having so many of the others out of the apartment. Eventually, Micah looked up from his tools to ask, “Where’s Hiro, anyway?”
“Locked in the den,” Molly said. When everyone looked at her a moment too long, she explained quickly, “I saw him go in there earlier. And Ando’s out somewhere. He said he had errands to run. I can’t blame him.”
“Where is he now?” Alai asked.
Molly blinked at him. “How should I know?” Oh. Matt heard the word distinctly in his mind as he saw the realization on Molly’s face. “I can’t find him like that. That’s an invasion of privacy,” she said. “It’s not an emergency, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” Lara said firmly. She glared at Alai, who shrugged.
“Just think it’s useful, is all. I used to use my power all the time,” Alai said. He snapped an empty magazine into a rifle with more force than was strictly necessary. “No need to be afraid of it.” Unless there is.
Matt looked sharply at Alai, but he’d gone back to screwing in the barrel of the rifle. He hadn’t spoken out loud. It looked like Matt’s powers had chosen now to start working again.
“There are some powers that are dangerous, though,” Micah said. Like when Peter Petrelli almost “Aren’t there?” blew up New York?
“Sure,” said Lara. “I think that’s why so many people let the government get away with what they’re doing. ‘Curing’ everyone. They’re…” Ignorant and cowardly and… “Afraid.”
“But without the Cure, what would we do about the dangerous ones?” Molly asked. The Boogeyman. Matt told me he was helping them. How could he be helping anyone? “Some people have powers that are really dangerous.”
Matt closed his eyes for a minute. He’d forgotten how disorienting it could be to hear thoughts under a conversation, especially with more than a few people involved.
Every tool is “Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right,” said Lara with an ironic grin.
“So who decides?” Micah broke in. He looked thoughtful, but Matt couldn’t pick up anything. “Am I dangerous? I could probably launch nuclear missiles from my laptop if I wanted. Should they take away my powers?”
“Of course not,” said Alai. Could the kid really do that? “It just means you have to be careful about how you use your abilities.”
“If Dean were here, he’d treat you to his super-hero/super-villain theory,” Lara said. She spared a smile for Matt. You’re being awfully quiet. “Didn’t I hear him expounding on it to you the other day, Matt? In detail?”
“What? Oh, right.” Matt nodded sourly. It hadn’t been as bad as listening to Shelly’s conspiracy theories, but it hadn’t been fun. And you’re so cute when you’re pretending to care, he heard from Lara, who was still grinning.
“What’s the theory?” Molly asked, thankfully distracting the others before Matt could blush.
“Do we honestly need to go into this?” Alai looked around as if he expected Dean to jump out from behind the sofa. “Do not get Dean started on comic book theories unless you have a few hours to spare. Honestly.”
“I think his point, if you take away references to Iron Man” and Spider Man and Captain America “is that people with abilities need to use them correctly for the situation they’re in,” Lara explained. “If there were dangerous people with abilities, you’d use your abilities to stop them. If, oh, say for instance everyone with special abilities was enslaved, you might use your powers to free them.”
“Dean’s theory is that situations that require heroes create heroes,” Alai put it. Although he would never say it that way. Too few words involved.
“I can see that,” Molly said. Fighting the Boogeyman brought them all together… Mohinder, Matt, Micah’s family. “If there was no slavery, there’d be no need for a resistance movement.”
“I’d rather do without the slavery in the first place,” Alai grumbled.
Matt thought he was getting the hang of this again. The thoughts he was hearing seemed to be more distinct, less fuzzy. But even reading thoughts couldn’t make this conversation entirely comprehensible. “I don’t know if I buy that slavery creates heroes,” he ventured. “In my experience, a lot of people are too scared to resist.”
“How long were you a slave, Matt? If you don’t mind my asking,” Lara said.
Matt hesitated for a moment, but couldn’t see how lying about it would make him seem any better or worse. “Just over two years,” he said.
“Is there much resistance from the inside?” Molly said. She looked at Micah. “We weren’t actually slaves, so I know it’s different, but not many kids tried to escape or anything. Is it the same with slaves?”
“Resistance from the inside is different. You have less to lose if you’re caught,” Alai said. Speaking of things we don’t need to be talking about. “Those of us on the outside have to know that there might be different consequences if we’re caught.”
“But if all you’re trying to do is escape, or to break out other slaves, how is that so bad?” Molly asked. “They won’t execute you for that, will they?”
“Probably not. Breaking out other slaves, providing support to escaped slaves, that’s the sort of stuff we do, the sort of stuff Hiro asks of us,” Alai explained. Not that some of us haven’t gotten killed over even that. “But Hiro’s not the only one who’s unhappy with the state of things. Some people take a little different approach.”
“Fight the disease, not the symptoms,” Lara said tightly. Niki’s little mantra. “There are those who think direct action against the establishment is the only way to change things.”
Matt caught a concerned glance from Lara, and frowned. Clearly there was something going on here that the veterans weren’t keen on discussing. And who was Niki? Had to be a former ally of some kind.
“Direct action?” Molly asked.
“And they call us terrorists,” Alai snorted. “We don’t bomb Senators’ homes, or kidnap governors’ children, or…” He reigned himself in, and finished, “Or anything else.”
“Those are the type of people that assassinated the President and the Vice President, right? The ones that…” Molly glanced surreptitiously at Micah, but went on. Maybe Micah was right about Candice. “The ones that impersonated Hiro somehow?”
“Exactly,” said Lara.
“Maybe they have the right idea,” Micah said. Everyone stared at him. “Not about impersonating Hiro, obviously. But fighting the disease, not the symptoms. You can’t save the world one person at a time. It doesn’t work like that.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms sullenly.
There was silence for a moment, and even Matt heard nothing. Then Lara said, “Your dad would be surprised to hear you talk that way, Micah.”
“Why?”
“He thought that hurting people would only cause more conflict and give normal people more reason to fear us,” she explained.
“Would you really use your powers to kill someone?” Alai asked Micah.
“You killed people,” Micah pointed out. “You shot some of the guards that night you came for Molly and me.”
“Yes I did,” said Alai frankly. “They would have killed Hiro if I hadn’t. But I wouldn’t kill a man in his sleep.” Unless I absolutely had to.
“D.L. didn’t like killing at all,” Lara said. “He wouldn’t even” stupid, prideful, careless jerk “carry a gun.”
“That’s what drove him and your mother apart, in the end,” Alai said. When Micah turned a gaze like a laser beam on him, Alai seemed to flinch mentally. Oh well done. Poke the hornet’s nest again, why don’t you?.
“What do you mean by that?” Micah asked, his voice soft and controlled.
Alai looked at Lara, who shrugged. From her, Matt heard, The kid has a right to know. “About a year ago,” she began. “There was kind of a” civil war “schism.”
Matt hadn’t heard this before, and apparently Micah hadn’t either. “I thought my parents were both working with Hiro,” Micah said.
“Your mom wanted to take a more hands on approach to changing the world,” said Lara. Hands on? Guns on, more like.“She said she’d be able to find others who felt the same way.”
“D.L. stayed with us,” Alai said.
“But Niki went off on her own,” Lara finished.
So close. If they know… “So where is she now?” Micah asked casually, in a tone diametrically opposed to the one Matt heard in his head.
“We’re not really sure,” Lara said. “It’s not like we keep in touch.” And if I never see that bitch again it will be too soon.
Micah looked between Alai and Lara searchingly for a moment. She’s with Candace. That’s the only thing that makes sense. “I need some fresh air,” he said.
Micah grabbed his coat from a hook next to the door and fled the apartment, leaving the others sitting in silence. After a moment, Molly heaved a tremendous sigh. If I don’t go after him, he might not come back. She took her coat and followed him. Lara gave Matt a knowing smile, but went back to her pill-sorting without comment.
Matt considered what he’d heard. There was something, some clue to what was happening with Hiro, which hovered just outside his memory. “Do either of you know who Candace is?” he asked.
*********
New York City looked different than Peter remembered, but at least it wasn’t a burned-out ruin devastated by a nuclear blast. At first, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to go; he simply wandered the streets, collar of his long coat turned up against the rain. Peter thought as he walked, and the more he thought, the more the city reminded him of something he was missing. He didn’t have money for a taxi, so he hopped a turnstile and rode the subway to the Bronx.
He hadn’t been to Woodlawn since his father’s funeral. He’d never felt the need to visit the old man; they hadn’t been particularly close. And he couldn’t imagine that Nathan had been here often, to lay flowers or say a prayer. Nevertheless, Peter’s feet found the way. He had been certain this is where he would find her; in the family plot, next to his dad.
Angela Petrelli
Beloved wife, devoted mother
1944 – 2008
“Hi mom,” he whispered.
Since Nathan had brought him home, he hadn’t known, hadn’t thought about it, nor taken the time to wonder where his mother was. Nathan could have kept Peter’s rescue a secret from Heidi, but never from Ma Petrelli. She was an expert at dragging information out of her sons. So when Peter had begun to consider the matter, he’d realized what must have happened. He had a good idea of what he was going to find here, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it.
Staring at the gravestone, Peter wondered why Nathan hadn’t told him, and he added that slight as fuel for the fire of anger he’d built up against his brother. Mom might have given more of her attention to Nathan, but that didn’t make Peter love her any less. He couldn’t help but go to her for approval, where there was none from his father. I always wanted a nurse in the family. She was the one who, in her own way, made him feel loved. You were always my favorite. I can not lose you. Not that she was perfect. She’d kept so many secrets. I knew long before either of you did. Still, Angela, his mother, shouldn’t be gone without a chance for him to say goodbye.
He tried to imagine the funeral: Monty crying, Heidi comforting him, Simon standing stoically by while Nathan eulogized. Peter wondered how it had happened before dismissing the question as unimportant. It didn’t matter why she was dead, only that she was gone.
Turning his attention again to the gravestone, Peter saw that something small was written beneath the name and date, and he came closer to see what it was.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Peter realized with a frown. Who had chosen that, and why? Mom wasn’t big on poetry. He took a step back and belatedly felt his heel catch on a clod of earth. Reaching forward to grab the stone, he overbalanced, and felt himself falling, heard the angry crack of his head connecting with something hard.
“I’m not having this conversation.”
That was Nathan’s voice, and Peter realized with a start that this was Nathan’s old room in their parents’ house in Manhattan. Nathan stood at the bed shoving things angrily into a suitcase, and there was Mom, standing serenely by the door. Mom. She looked a little older than Peter remembered her: probably from the stress of handling Nathan with no brother as an intermediary, but she was still regal as always. Peter hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed her. Peter himself was standing against the wall. They didn’t seem to notice him.
“Be sensible,” Ma began, but Nathan cut her off.
“I am going after him,” he snapped as he zipped up his suitcase with more force than necessary.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Ma said, and Peter recognized the dismissive tone which meant that she felt her argument was already won. “You have a future to think about, and I will not let you throw it away for something you can’t fix.”
“I can fix it,” Nathan said. He pulled his suitcase off the bed and stood with it, his jaw set determinedly, as if he could make her get out of the way by force of will alone.
“You can’t, Nathan.” She put her hand on his arm. Peter saw the quick narrowing of Nathan’s eyes that meant he was gearing up for an argument. Ma went on before he could get started. “How were you planning to get him, even if you could find him? Do you think no one would notice if you brought home a new slave that looked a lot like your brother?”
“I’ll find a way” Nathan said, but Peter knew that near-desperate tone of voice, the tensing shoulders. The seed of doubt had been planted.
“Would you?” Ma asked archly. “Were you able to find a way to keep him safe before?”
Peter saw the tightening of Nathan’s jaw that meant Mom had scored a hit. “I tried.”
“But you failed. You couldn’t fix it, so you have to live with it. Think, Nathan. What would Peter say if you did find him?”
Nathan stiffened, and even Peter flinched a little. Trust Ma to know where to stick the knife. She’d been right, though, hadn’t she? Peter hadn’t been happy to see his brother when the time came.
“Would he say ‘Thank you, big brother, for the hell you’ve put me through? Thank you for throwing me to the wolves again?’” Nathan dropped the bag he’d been holding. Ma paused a second before asking, more softly, “Do you think he’d welcome you with open arms?”
After taking in that last question, Nathan turned away, putting his hands on the edge of the doorframe. Then Peter noticed that Nathan was shaking; he heard a little exhalation, jagged and breathy. Nathan was crying.
Peter could count on one hand the times he’d seen Nathan cry. Not when their father died, not after Heidi’s accident. Now Ma just gave him space, knowing her battle was won. After a few moments, she went and pressed a kiss to Nathan’s cheek. “I know it’s hard, Nathan, but you’re the strong one. Let me handle Peter, and you concentrate on what’s important, okay Congressman?”
Nathan nodded mutely, and Ma straightened his tie. “I’ll get these things unpacked. Go,” Ma said. Nathan nodded once more, and wandered out.
Peter watched Ma as she stood looking after Nathan, a satisfied half-smile on her lips. Then she said, “This is the way it had to be, Peter.” She looked right at him.
He blinked. “You can see me?”
“Of course I can see you. Come here.”
Peter took a few stumbling steps toward her, and she waited patiently until he was close enough to take in her arms, to hold him, one hand pressed protectively to the back of his head, the other around his shoulder. “What is this?” Peter whispered.
“It’s a gift, Peter.”
“A dream?” he asked.
“A gift. I hoped you’d come here. I need to tell you, to show you…” She took a long, shuddering breath, and Peter thought she might be close to crying, too. He was scared to look; he’d never seen her cry, and the thought that there might be something now to cry about that was worse than all that came before… Well, it wasn’t a comforting thought.
“It’s okay. What is it, Mom?”
“I was wrong,” she said, so softly that Peter almost missed it. “It wasn’t about one of you. It was never about choosing one of you. It’s about you both.”
“What are you talking about?” Peter pulled out of her embrace so that he could look her in the face, but her eyes were clear and inscrutable as always.
“He needs you, Peter. I didn’t think he did, but he can’t do it without you,” she said, shaking her head. “Neither of you alone can be the one we need.”
Peter considered that a moment, wondering what had made his mother change her mind after believing so fiercely that Nathan alone was the worthy one. “Why didn’t you let him come after me?” he asked at last.
“Would you have been grateful, if he did?”
“No,” Peter whispered.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, and wrapped him in another hug. “Can you understand?”
Peter shook his head no. He couldn’t understand the thinking, the damn Petrelli stubbornness that would prevent Nathan from explaining what he meant to do, prevent Ma from letting Nathan find him, prevent him from being grateful even when Nathan did come. It was far beyond understanding, far beyond acceptance.
“I know,” she said soothingly, and she stroked his hair—long again, in this dream—and kissed him on the forehead. “Can you forgive?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said truthfully.
“Try, Peter,” she whispered. “I only ask that you try.”
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Title: In the Forests of the Night – Chapter Two (of Ten)
Author name:
brighteyed_jillCharacters: Ensemble, Peter/Nathan in later chapters. Other slashiness if you squint.
Rating: NC-17 overall (PG this chapter)
Word Count: 4,200
Warnings: Violence, angst, adult situations, slash.
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 1. This future fic’s past only follows canon through that point, so anything happening in the current season never happened for these characters.
Summary: The line of Presidential succession goes into effect, Matt picks up some new clues about Hiro’s team, and Peter receives a gift.
Author’s note: Beta’d by the fabulous
redandglenda. Remaining mistakes are mine. Oh, and as caelent pointed out last week, there was a criminal lack of Petrellis in the previous chapter. There are Petrellis this time.The Vice President died at 8:13 in the morning, and by 8:19, the Chief of Staff was ushering Nathan into the Oval Office. He’d been in the office before, but now that it was his, it looked different. Now that this was his office, it meant that Nathan Petrelli was really the President of the United States. This was the last stop on his whirlwind tour of the essentials of the White House offices, but he didn’t get much time to savor the moment. Nathan wasn’t feeling lonely, exactly, because Nathan Petrelli, now President Petrelli, would never feel anything as weak as loneliness, but he did momentarily wish there was someone here to share this moment. Heidi was en route from Hyde Park with the boys, but she wouldn’t quite understand what this meant to him. Ma would have understood. Peter would understand. Briefly, he wondered how he was going to sneak Peter into the White House.
The Chief of Staff, Jim Ginsberg, looked and acted as if he hadn’t slept since the President was attacked, which, Nathan reflected, was probably the case. Ginsberg was harried, almost terse with Nathan as he waved a hand vaguely around the room.
“Your office. Schedule for the rest of the day’s on the desk. And…” Ginsberg trailed off, again gesturing distractedly in the direction of the desk. “The rest we’ll figure out.” Ginsberg stood still a moment, as if waiting for something else to occur to him, and scrubbed a hand over his balding head. “That’s it,” he said at last.
“Fine,” Nathan replied easily. No matter what, he reminded himself, he had to remain calm and strong. Let his staff fall apart in the face of this crisis; Nathan had been born and bred for this opportunity, and he would not be weak now, would not show fear.
Suddenly, Ginsberg straightened, as if remembering something, and held up a single finger as he strode to the door. “Almost forgot,” he muttered, and then he was shepherding a cluster of young people through the door. “You’ll be working with these ladies quite a bit,” he explained, pointing out each of the young women as he introduced them. Their names blurred together: Ashley, Amanda, two Jens. Nathan wasn’t really listening; he was sure it was one of their jobs to tell him everyone’s name when he needed to know.
“And this is Claire, who’s in charge of your schedule.” That brought Nathan’s attention snapping back from its wandering, and he looked at the girl Ginsberg was pointing to, at the back of the group. Claire looked much as she did the last time Nathan had seen her, that night on Kirby Plaza. Her hair was longer now, pinned in some professional-looking up-do. Nathan counted up the years in his head; he knew she must have graduated high school, but she still seemed young, too young to be here.
“Welcome, Mister President,” she said politely, with only a twinkle in her eye to give away her connection to him. “I believe you know my dad.”
“Sure,” Nathan said easily, betraying none of the reeling confusion he felt. “We’re old friends.” His mind raced as he tried to work out if she was here at her adopted father’s request, or if she was here to spite Bennet.
“That’s nice,” Ginsberg said absently. “Let’s leave the President alone for a minute, ladies. He’s got lots of work to do.”
The Chief of Staff started to shoo the girls out, but Nathan couldn’t tear his eyes away from his daughter. Claire mouthed the word “later” as she followed Ginsberg out the door, and then Nathan was alone in the Oval Office. His office.
Nathan realized with a start that he was standing in front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, exactly the way he had been in Isaac’s painting. Irritably he dropped his hands to his sides and flung himself into the nearest chair. This was starting to get complicated.
********
Matt was having headaches again. He hadn’t missed this aspect of his abilities, but now that he could hear thoughts again, at least intermittently, he couldn’t find it in his heart to be angry about the headaches. He could, however, be angry about being stuck in a studio apartment with enough emotional tension to boil water. Even though he wasn’t hearing thoughts this morning, the unspoken messages he was receiving were enough to make his head hurt.
So far today, half a dozen people had tried to feel him out on his opinion toward the assassination. He’d just gone to pour himself a cup of coffee that morning when Shelly and Ed, two of his fellow rescued slaves with whom he hadn’t had much contact, had crowded in, whispering conspiratorially.
“Matt, I wanted to ask you something about Hiro,” Shelly had whispered, keeping one eye on the doorway to the kitchen. “Did you see him during the mission? I was thinking… He could have slipped away in all the confusion, no problem.”
“Uh… Yeah. I saw him,” Matt had said carefully. “He came out of the building right after we got Micah and Molly out.”
Ed gave a muffled hurumph and addressed Shelly. “I told you he could have been in two places at once. He said himself his powers were working again.”
Matt had excused himself quickly and fled with his coffee to the living room, where Ando was just finishing a text message. Ando looked up to see Ed and Shelly following Matt, and muttered, “I’m going for a walk.” So much for using Ando as a buffer. Matt had to sit and endure another twenty minute of insufferable conspiracy theories.
“Who was he texting, anyway?” Shelly whispered. “Everyone we know lives here.”
The rest of the morning had been equally painful: full of strained conversations that stopped whenever one of the veterans walked past. Matt was profoundly grateful when Dean finally stormed into the main room from the kitchen and shouted, “That is it! Everyone who isn’t doing something productive right now is coming with me. We’re going to the movies.”
Luckily, Matt had been helping Alai disassemble and clean the guns they’d taken with them on their mission. The cleaning hadn’t really needed to be done, but it kept their hands busy and provided a convenient excuse not to talk to anyone. Since Matt was making himself useful, Dean excused him from the outing. Lara and Molly stayed, too. Lara had taken Molly under her wing, and today the two were packaging Cure pills for delivery to other resistance cells. Micah had been about to go with the others, but when he saw that Matt and Molly were staying he muttered something about walkie talkies, got his tool kit, and sat down to stay.
The group worked in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the relief of having so many of the others out of the apartment. Eventually, Micah looked up from his tools to ask, “Where’s Hiro, anyway?”
“Locked in the den,” Molly said. When everyone looked at her a moment too long, she explained quickly, “I saw him go in there earlier. And Ando’s out somewhere. He said he had errands to run. I can’t blame him.”
“Where is he now?” Alai asked.
Molly blinked at him. “How should I know?” Oh. Matt heard the word distinctly in his mind as he saw the realization on Molly’s face. “I can’t find him like that. That’s an invasion of privacy,” she said. “It’s not an emergency, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” Lara said firmly. She glared at Alai, who shrugged.
“Just think it’s useful, is all. I used to use my power all the time,” Alai said. He snapped an empty magazine into a rifle with more force than was strictly necessary. “No need to be afraid of it.” Unless there is.
Matt looked sharply at Alai, but he’d gone back to screwing in the barrel of the rifle. He hadn’t spoken out loud. It looked like Matt’s powers had chosen now to start working again.
“There are some powers that are dangerous, though,” Micah said. Like when Peter Petrelli almost “Aren’t there?” blew up New York?
“Sure,” said Lara. “I think that’s why so many people let the government get away with what they’re doing. ‘Curing’ everyone. They’re…” Ignorant and cowardly and… “Afraid.”
“But without the Cure, what would we do about the dangerous ones?” Molly asked. The Boogeyman. Matt told me he was helping them. How could he be helping anyone? “Some people have powers that are really dangerous.”
Matt closed his eyes for a minute. He’d forgotten how disorienting it could be to hear thoughts under a conversation, especially with more than a few people involved.
Every tool is “Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right,” said Lara with an ironic grin.
“So who decides?” Micah broke in. He looked thoughtful, but Matt couldn’t pick up anything. “Am I dangerous? I could probably launch nuclear missiles from my laptop if I wanted. Should they take away my powers?”
“Of course not,” said Alai. Could the kid really do that? “It just means you have to be careful about how you use your abilities.”
“If Dean were here, he’d treat you to his super-hero/super-villain theory,” Lara said. She spared a smile for Matt. You’re being awfully quiet. “Didn’t I hear him expounding on it to you the other day, Matt? In detail?”
“What? Oh, right.” Matt nodded sourly. It hadn’t been as bad as listening to Shelly’s conspiracy theories, but it hadn’t been fun. And you’re so cute when you’re pretending to care, he heard from Lara, who was still grinning.
“What’s the theory?” Molly asked, thankfully distracting the others before Matt could blush.
“Do we honestly need to go into this?” Alai looked around as if he expected Dean to jump out from behind the sofa. “Do not get Dean started on comic book theories unless you have a few hours to spare. Honestly.”
“I think his point, if you take away references to Iron Man” and Spider Man and Captain America “is that people with abilities need to use them correctly for the situation they’re in,” Lara explained. “If there were dangerous people with abilities, you’d use your abilities to stop them. If, oh, say for instance everyone with special abilities was enslaved, you might use your powers to free them.”
“Dean’s theory is that situations that require heroes create heroes,” Alai put it. Although he would never say it that way. Too few words involved.
“I can see that,” Molly said. Fighting the Boogeyman brought them all together… Mohinder, Matt, Micah’s family. “If there was no slavery, there’d be no need for a resistance movement.”
“I’d rather do without the slavery in the first place,” Alai grumbled.
Matt thought he was getting the hang of this again. The thoughts he was hearing seemed to be more distinct, less fuzzy. But even reading thoughts couldn’t make this conversation entirely comprehensible. “I don’t know if I buy that slavery creates heroes,” he ventured. “In my experience, a lot of people are too scared to resist.”
“How long were you a slave, Matt? If you don’t mind my asking,” Lara said.
Matt hesitated for a moment, but couldn’t see how lying about it would make him seem any better or worse. “Just over two years,” he said.
“Is there much resistance from the inside?” Molly said. She looked at Micah. “We weren’t actually slaves, so I know it’s different, but not many kids tried to escape or anything. Is it the same with slaves?”
“Resistance from the inside is different. You have less to lose if you’re caught,” Alai said. Speaking of things we don’t need to be talking about. “Those of us on the outside have to know that there might be different consequences if we’re caught.”
“But if all you’re trying to do is escape, or to break out other slaves, how is that so bad?” Molly asked. “They won’t execute you for that, will they?”
“Probably not. Breaking out other slaves, providing support to escaped slaves, that’s the sort of stuff we do, the sort of stuff Hiro asks of us,” Alai explained. Not that some of us haven’t gotten killed over even that. “But Hiro’s not the only one who’s unhappy with the state of things. Some people take a little different approach.”
“Fight the disease, not the symptoms,” Lara said tightly. Niki’s little mantra. “There are those who think direct action against the establishment is the only way to change things.”
Matt caught a concerned glance from Lara, and frowned. Clearly there was something going on here that the veterans weren’t keen on discussing. And who was Niki? Had to be a former ally of some kind.
“Direct action?” Molly asked.
“And they call us terrorists,” Alai snorted. “We don’t bomb Senators’ homes, or kidnap governors’ children, or…” He reigned himself in, and finished, “Or anything else.”
“Those are the type of people that assassinated the President and the Vice President, right? The ones that…” Molly glanced surreptitiously at Micah, but went on. Maybe Micah was right about Candice. “The ones that impersonated Hiro somehow?”
“Exactly,” said Lara.
“Maybe they have the right idea,” Micah said. Everyone stared at him. “Not about impersonating Hiro, obviously. But fighting the disease, not the symptoms. You can’t save the world one person at a time. It doesn’t work like that.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms sullenly.
There was silence for a moment, and even Matt heard nothing. Then Lara said, “Your dad would be surprised to hear you talk that way, Micah.”
“Why?”
“He thought that hurting people would only cause more conflict and give normal people more reason to fear us,” she explained.
“Would you really use your powers to kill someone?” Alai asked Micah.
“You killed people,” Micah pointed out. “You shot some of the guards that night you came for Molly and me.”
“Yes I did,” said Alai frankly. “They would have killed Hiro if I hadn’t. But I wouldn’t kill a man in his sleep.” Unless I absolutely had to.
“D.L. didn’t like killing at all,” Lara said. “He wouldn’t even” stupid, prideful, careless jerk “carry a gun.”
“That’s what drove him and your mother apart, in the end,” Alai said. When Micah turned a gaze like a laser beam on him, Alai seemed to flinch mentally. Oh well done. Poke the hornet’s nest again, why don’t you?.
“What do you mean by that?” Micah asked, his voice soft and controlled.
Alai looked at Lara, who shrugged. From her, Matt heard, The kid has a right to know. “About a year ago,” she began. “There was kind of a” civil war “schism.”
Matt hadn’t heard this before, and apparently Micah hadn’t either. “I thought my parents were both working with Hiro,” Micah said.
“Your mom wanted to take a more hands on approach to changing the world,” said Lara. Hands on? Guns on, more like.“She said she’d be able to find others who felt the same way.”
“D.L. stayed with us,” Alai said.
“But Niki went off on her own,” Lara finished.
So close. If they know… “So where is she now?” Micah asked casually, in a tone diametrically opposed to the one Matt heard in his head.
“We’re not really sure,” Lara said. “It’s not like we keep in touch.” And if I never see that bitch again it will be too soon.
Micah looked between Alai and Lara searchingly for a moment. She’s with Candace. That’s the only thing that makes sense. “I need some fresh air,” he said.
Micah grabbed his coat from a hook next to the door and fled the apartment, leaving the others sitting in silence. After a moment, Molly heaved a tremendous sigh. If I don’t go after him, he might not come back. She took her coat and followed him. Lara gave Matt a knowing smile, but went back to her pill-sorting without comment.
Matt considered what he’d heard. There was something, some clue to what was happening with Hiro, which hovered just outside his memory. “Do either of you know who Candace is?” he asked.
*********
New York City looked different than Peter remembered, but at least it wasn’t a burned-out ruin devastated by a nuclear blast. At first, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to go; he simply wandered the streets, collar of his long coat turned up against the rain. Peter thought as he walked, and the more he thought, the more the city reminded him of something he was missing. He didn’t have money for a taxi, so he hopped a turnstile and rode the subway to the Bronx.
He hadn’t been to Woodlawn since his father’s funeral. He’d never felt the need to visit the old man; they hadn’t been particularly close. And he couldn’t imagine that Nathan had been here often, to lay flowers or say a prayer. Nevertheless, Peter’s feet found the way. He had been certain this is where he would find her; in the family plot, next to his dad.
Angela Petrelli
Beloved wife, devoted mother
1944 – 2008
“Hi mom,” he whispered.
Since Nathan had brought him home, he hadn’t known, hadn’t thought about it, nor taken the time to wonder where his mother was. Nathan could have kept Peter’s rescue a secret from Heidi, but never from Ma Petrelli. She was an expert at dragging information out of her sons. So when Peter had begun to consider the matter, he’d realized what must have happened. He had a good idea of what he was going to find here, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it.
Staring at the gravestone, Peter wondered why Nathan hadn’t told him, and he added that slight as fuel for the fire of anger he’d built up against his brother. Mom might have given more of her attention to Nathan, but that didn’t make Peter love her any less. He couldn’t help but go to her for approval, where there was none from his father. I always wanted a nurse in the family. She was the one who, in her own way, made him feel loved. You were always my favorite. I can not lose you. Not that she was perfect. She’d kept so many secrets. I knew long before either of you did. Still, Angela, his mother, shouldn’t be gone without a chance for him to say goodbye.
He tried to imagine the funeral: Monty crying, Heidi comforting him, Simon standing stoically by while Nathan eulogized. Peter wondered how it had happened before dismissing the question as unimportant. It didn’t matter why she was dead, only that she was gone.
Turning his attention again to the gravestone, Peter saw that something small was written beneath the name and date, and he came closer to see what it was.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Peter realized with a frown. Who had chosen that, and why? Mom wasn’t big on poetry. He took a step back and belatedly felt his heel catch on a clod of earth. Reaching forward to grab the stone, he overbalanced, and felt himself falling, heard the angry crack of his head connecting with something hard.
“I’m not having this conversation.”
That was Nathan’s voice, and Peter realized with a start that this was Nathan’s old room in their parents’ house in Manhattan. Nathan stood at the bed shoving things angrily into a suitcase, and there was Mom, standing serenely by the door. Mom. She looked a little older than Peter remembered her: probably from the stress of handling Nathan with no brother as an intermediary, but she was still regal as always. Peter hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed her. Peter himself was standing against the wall. They didn’t seem to notice him.
“Be sensible,” Ma began, but Nathan cut her off.
“I am going after him,” he snapped as he zipped up his suitcase with more force than necessary.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Ma said, and Peter recognized the dismissive tone which meant that she felt her argument was already won. “You have a future to think about, and I will not let you throw it away for something you can’t fix.”
“I can fix it,” Nathan said. He pulled his suitcase off the bed and stood with it, his jaw set determinedly, as if he could make her get out of the way by force of will alone.
“You can’t, Nathan.” She put her hand on his arm. Peter saw the quick narrowing of Nathan’s eyes that meant he was gearing up for an argument. Ma went on before he could get started. “How were you planning to get him, even if you could find him? Do you think no one would notice if you brought home a new slave that looked a lot like your brother?”
“I’ll find a way” Nathan said, but Peter knew that near-desperate tone of voice, the tensing shoulders. The seed of doubt had been planted.
“Would you?” Ma asked archly. “Were you able to find a way to keep him safe before?”
Peter saw the tightening of Nathan’s jaw that meant Mom had scored a hit. “I tried.”
“But you failed. You couldn’t fix it, so you have to live with it. Think, Nathan. What would Peter say if you did find him?”
Nathan stiffened, and even Peter flinched a little. Trust Ma to know where to stick the knife. She’d been right, though, hadn’t she? Peter hadn’t been happy to see his brother when the time came.
“Would he say ‘Thank you, big brother, for the hell you’ve put me through? Thank you for throwing me to the wolves again?’” Nathan dropped the bag he’d been holding. Ma paused a second before asking, more softly, “Do you think he’d welcome you with open arms?”
After taking in that last question, Nathan turned away, putting his hands on the edge of the doorframe. Then Peter noticed that Nathan was shaking; he heard a little exhalation, jagged and breathy. Nathan was crying.
Peter could count on one hand the times he’d seen Nathan cry. Not when their father died, not after Heidi’s accident. Now Ma just gave him space, knowing her battle was won. After a few moments, she went and pressed a kiss to Nathan’s cheek. “I know it’s hard, Nathan, but you’re the strong one. Let me handle Peter, and you concentrate on what’s important, okay Congressman?”
Nathan nodded mutely, and Ma straightened his tie. “I’ll get these things unpacked. Go,” Ma said. Nathan nodded once more, and wandered out.
Peter watched Ma as she stood looking after Nathan, a satisfied half-smile on her lips. Then she said, “This is the way it had to be, Peter.” She looked right at him.
He blinked. “You can see me?”
“Of course I can see you. Come here.”
Peter took a few stumbling steps toward her, and she waited patiently until he was close enough to take in her arms, to hold him, one hand pressed protectively to the back of his head, the other around his shoulder. “What is this?” Peter whispered.
“It’s a gift, Peter.”
“A dream?” he asked.
“A gift. I hoped you’d come here. I need to tell you, to show you…” She took a long, shuddering breath, and Peter thought she might be close to crying, too. He was scared to look; he’d never seen her cry, and the thought that there might be something now to cry about that was worse than all that came before… Well, it wasn’t a comforting thought.
“It’s okay. What is it, Mom?”
“I was wrong,” she said, so softly that Peter almost missed it. “It wasn’t about one of you. It was never about choosing one of you. It’s about you both.”
“What are you talking about?” Peter pulled out of her embrace so that he could look her in the face, but her eyes were clear and inscrutable as always.
“He needs you, Peter. I didn’t think he did, but he can’t do it without you,” she said, shaking her head. “Neither of you alone can be the one we need.”
Peter considered that a moment, wondering what had made his mother change her mind after believing so fiercely that Nathan alone was the worthy one. “Why didn’t you let him come after me?” he asked at last.
“Would you have been grateful, if he did?”
“No,” Peter whispered.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, and wrapped him in another hug. “Can you understand?”
Peter shook his head no. He couldn’t understand the thinking, the damn Petrelli stubbornness that would prevent Nathan from explaining what he meant to do, prevent Ma from letting Nathan find him, prevent him from being grateful even when Nathan did come. It was far beyond understanding, far beyond acceptance.
“I know,” she said soothingly, and she stroked his hair—long again, in this dream—and kissed him on the forehead. “Can you forgive?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said truthfully.
“Try, Peter,” she whispered. “I only ask that you try.”
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