1. The Phone Call
Disclaimer: Heroes and all that it entails is a registered trademark of NBC. No copyright infringement is intended
Summary: Fill in and continuation of 1.11, Fallout. Nathan always saves Peter. If Peter is beyond saving, will Nathan be able to save himself?
Nathan Petrelli could not remember the last time he had had dinner with his family.
They understood, of course, why he did not.—this was what it meant to be a congressional candidate: lonely nights, big houses, absent dinners, and above all, sacrifice.
At least, that was the way Nathan's wife put it. Sacrifice—just hearing her use the word made Nathan cringe. He couldn't even remember the last time he had sacrificed for her—really, truly sacrificed. Yes, he had given her things, but they seemed trivial compared to what she had given up for him—because of him. Now there was the real reason Nathan never ate dinner at home. It wasn't his reputation or his candidacy or his campaign: it was the fact that he could no longer stand to look at his wife.
Even as he kissed her goodnight before going to yet another stiff-backed, cardboard-flavored dinner with a potential campaign sponsor, Nathan felt no particular regret for leaving—guilt, yes, imagining his wife and kids eating yet another meal in the large, sterile dining room without him (the room felt void with even the one chair empty), but Nathan could not help the relief flooding through him knowing that he would be walking out of the door in a matter of moments, out into a world bereft of the squeak of rubber tires on meticulously polished wooden floors.
"I'll be back before midnight," he promised, straightening from the brief embrace he and his wife always shared before he left the house. She smiled up at him.
"Liar," she said, turning her wheelchair away from him. "Just don't wake the kids up on your way in."
Nathan smiled at her back until she had turned the corner then left, walking at a brisk pace to the spot out front where his car was parked, the man behind its wheel wearing a comfortingly unaffected expression.
Unfortunately, it was about an hour into the night before Nathan's guilt entirely subsided and he allowed his mind to replace it with other matters (which he convinced himself were far more pressing). The potential benefactors were a wealthy elderly couple called the Arnolds, who had a high reputation and a grown daughter who looked bored to be there. Nathan had brought his own guest to the dinner; a man named Dave who was both his assistant and political advisor. Dave was shooting Nathan candid hints on how to get the conversation going in the right direction. It was no simple task; the benefactors seemed decidedly comatose.
"We appreciate your having us to dinner," Dave said eagerly, shooting Nathan a glance. Nathan set his fork down and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
"Mm," he said, swallowing. "Yes. I've been interested in your charity work for some time, Dr. Arnold. I was delighted to hear that you might be interested in my campaign."
Mrs. Arnold blinked. Their daughter nudged her father in the ribs and smiled at Nathan. He smiled back.
"Oh—oh, yes," Dr. Arnold, a former Dean of Medicine at John's Hopkins, finally replied. "Yes—I must admit, I didn't see the point of my involvement until—until--." He paused to emit a long, hacking cough. When he continued, his voice was too loud. "—until I heard about the unfortunate business with your brother. Obviously, my wife and I are very interested in cases such as his."
Nathan's smile faltered. Ah, yes, his brother. Yet another family obligation he was ignoring. Unlike with his wife, however, he felt very little guilt towards his younger brother, Peter—a nurse who had recently become convinced of his own super powers. And while Nathan knew the truth about these "powers" he maintained a firm stance in his disbelief. This was the reason he had told the press that his brother's attempt to fly was really a suicide attempt—if the press found out that there was a history of mental illness in his family, at least he could give the public something to empathize with.
This wasn't why Nathan didn't feel guilty, though. The reason he didn't feel guilty was because tonight, he had saved Peter's life.
Nathan cleared his throat. "Yes," he said. "He had—ah, been depressed since our father's passing. He's doing much better now."
"Glad to hear it!" Dr. Arnold barked. Everyone flinched. "And where is your brother now, Mr. Petrelli?"
"Hopefully at home," Nathan replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the daughter smile and flip her hair back. He smiled slightly.
At this, Mrs. Arnold seemed to tune in. "Perhaps you ought to check in on him, dear," she suggested. The old woman's voice, unlike her husbands, was dry and thin, like a record that had been played too many times.
Nathan glanced at Dave, who nodded slightly. "Yes, perhaps I should," he said. Nathan glanced down at his watch and switched the face so that it displayed the time in Texas. His heart skipped a beat—9:20. More than an hour had passed since his brother was supposed to have died. Nathan stood quickly—too quickly. His leg jostled the table and his wine glass toppled, staining the tablecloth and his pants. Dave buried his face in his hands.
Nathan shook himself mentally to keep from swearing and looked up at the hosts, who were eyeing him concernedly, smiling sheepishly.
"Guess I'm clumsy at this time of night," he said. "May I ask where you restroom is?"
"Just use the kitchen," the daughter said, leaping to her feet. "I'll help you find it."
Dave, his face still hidden, waved them out the door.
The kitchen, it turned out, was not difficult to find at all, as it was right off of the dining room. Nathan eyed the pretty young daughter with curiosity as she crossed to the sink and wet a washcloth.
"Sorry for making you do this," he said. "I never could hold my liquor."
The woman—girl—laughed tinklingly. "That's funny!" she exclaimed, handing him the cloth. Their eyes met for a moment. Nathan looked away quickly, scraping at his pants, staining the cloth red.
"Damn," he muttered.
The girl grabbed his wrist and he stopped wiping. "You can't even tell," she said, looking directly into his eyes so that he could not look away. Nathan could not help but notice that she was very pretty. "Here." She took the cloth away from him. "Let me."
Nathan tensed as she bent down and touched the cloth to his thigh, rubbing the stain in small circles.
"I can do it," he said. "Really, you don't have to—."
The girl moved to his other thigh, rubbing in increasingly larger circles. Nathan leaned his head back, his words catching in his throat.
"We should--." He choked on his words, swallowed and tried again. "Let's get back."
The girl straightened, biting her lip.
"All done," she said.
Nathan forced a smile. "Thank you," he said, turning to go. Without warning, the girl reached out and seized his face with both hands, pulling him into a lip-smashing kiss. Nathan jerked away at first, but the girl held fast, and soon Nathan felt himself being pulled deeper and deeper into the kiss, until he was almost drinking it in….
"Ahem."
The two of them broke apart and turned to see Dave standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. The girl straightened her blouse. Dave smiled pleasantly at her as Nathan rubbed his forehead.
"Can you excuse us please?" Dave asked. The girl scampered out. Dave waited until she was gone before rounding on Nathan.
"What was that?" he hissed. "What are you thinking? What if someone else had walked in on you?"
Nathan looked away. "Nothing happened," he said.
"Yeah, it sure looked like nothing," Dave shot. "Do you have any idea what would happen if the voters found out you were cheating on your crippled wife?!"
"What do you need, Dave?" Nathan interrupted loudly.
Dave stopped, his shoulders sagging. He shook his head, putting his hands on his hips.
"The police are on the line for you," he said. "They say it's about your brother."
Nathan's heart plummeted as Dave slapped a cell phone into his hand and stormed out. Nathan watched him go, his heart beating a violent tattoo against his ribcage. Once Dave was gone, he flipped the cell phone open with shaking hands.
"Hello?" he said, glad that could keep his voice from shaking.
"Hello, Mr. Petrelli?" an official sounding voice at the other end of the line asked.
"Yes," Nathan said.
"This is Officer Warren with the Odessa Police Department in Texas. I need to talk to you about your brother Peter."
Nathan had to stagger sideways and grip the counter to stop himself from falling over. It took a moment before he could reply, "Is—is he all right?"
There was a pause on the other end.
"Peter Petrelli has been arrested in an investigation involving the murder of a teenage girl at Odessa High School. Your brother is our primary suspect."