[Fitter, happier, more productive. Comfortable
Nathan Petrelli was a powerful man (a Powerful Man, he thought sometimes with a grin. With the capital letters, just like that. Powerful in more ways than one). Nathan Petrelli was a Powerful Man, and Powerful Men do well in life. Until they find themselves in situations that they can't talk (buy) their way out of.
[No chance of escape. Now self-employed. Concerned but powerless
Nathan drifted in and out of consciousness. Once when he awoke, he saw his mother sleeping in the chair by his bed. He reached to touch her, but found that his hands seemed to be caked in charcoal and he could barely move them (why would someone do that?).
"Ma," he croaked, his lips also covered in soot. Mrs. Petrelli awoke and jumped up with a start, but Nathan had already been sucked back into the grasping hands of (coma) sleep. When he awoke again, he realized what the charcoal was (Oh, God. Oh God my skin. Oh, shit, what... why is there no pain? Why can't I feel anything? Why am I alive? Why can't I FEEL ANYTHING?). He tried to yell but only succeeded in groaning weakly. Nathan couldn't think. He saw the IV needle that had been inserted into his arm, considered for a moment, pulled it out.
[Pragmatism, not idealism. Will not cry in public
The pain flooded back as the morphine drained away and Nathan gasped. He wanted to die, wanted to stop the pain, but the needle on its tube had fallen off the bed and out of the reach of his (barbeque) hands. But with the pain came thoughts, memories.
(Where's Heidi? Why hasn't Heidi come to see me?
What happened? Is New York gone? Those people, that man, what happened? Are they burnt too? Are they... the explosion, the burning... Where are they? Where's)
"Peter," Nathan moaned. He thrashed in his sleep, dislodging the morphine drip that a friendly nurse ("Just call me Fran, sunshine"), hiding her feelings of revulsion at this mangled human being under a sunny mask, had helpfully fixed. The pain jerked Nathan out of the fitful pit of rest (sweet dreams of hellfire and screams) and he remembered.
"Peter," Nathan whispered. No answer. "Peter," Nathan said. "Peter," he called. "Peter," he screamed. "Peter. Peter. PETER." The name echoed back to him from the dark corners of the empty room. "PETER," he shrieked, his voice rising in hysteria. The pain was flooding his brain; he couldn't think about anything but (PETER) the pain as if engulfed him, sucked him towards (coma) unconsciousness, but all he could think about was (peter).
The night nurse, not nearly as friendly as ("just call me) Fran (sunshine")but just as helpful, came in and gave Nathan a heavy sedative.
[Sleeping well. No bad dreams. No paranoia.
When Nathan woke up, nearly twenty hours later, he no longer looked as though someone had left him on the grill for far to long. He ran his smooth hands over his smooth face and wondered about (Peter) Heidi. Where was (he) she? Where were the boys? He asked his mother this and she shrugged, but her face said (that she knew, the lying bitch) she didn't want to tell him, didn't want to upset him. He asked her about Peter. She cried. When she left, he cried too.
The doctors called it a miracle. They wanted to study him, find out how a human being (even a Powerful Man) could heal that quickly. Nathan wanted to tell them that he wasn't healed, not at all; he was more broken than he had been before (Peter) the explosion, but he knew that they wouldn't understand. So he left.
He knew that wasn't the end of it, of course. He still didn't have (Peter) freedom; he still didn't have (Peter) peace. He was a senator; he was (a Powerful Man) well-known. People would be watching him. Nathan suddenly had to lean over and retch into the gutter. A woman in a fur coat watched him as she passed by. She looked in disgust at (the drunk on the sidewalk) Nathan as he vomited, then put her nose primly in the air and hurried on. People would be watching him. Let them watch. He had nothing to hide; he had nothing.
[Fitter, healthier, and more productive. A pig. In a cage. On anti-biotics