Chapter Two: 'Til Death Do Us Part

There was a cool breeze blowing, biting lightly at the cheeks and noses of those braving the air of early autumn, but the sky was clear and overall the morning not unpleasant. At that moment the sun was still low and twilight reigned between the buildings. Later, after the sun had its chance to banish the last trace of the night's chill from the darker corners of the city, the day ahead promised to be beautiful. There had been rain over Philadelphia. His attempts to stay above the weather had ended up in vain as he'd come out of the clouds, his hair and coat soaked when he arrived on her doorstep. To his great relief, she had not seemed to notice.

His coat was still damp. Its cold, heavy presence at his back where he'd draped it over the back of his chair was only moderately distracting, but he had let it pull his mind away from his thoughts. It felt as though a part of the storm-bruised sky he'd passed through to get here had followed him. Or a piece of the consuming darkness he'd awoken to that morning. Nathan could find no comfort in clear skies or warm sun promised as that same emptiness began to creep back into his world.

At an outdoor table in a sidewalk café in Manhattan, his ex-wife, Heidi, sat just across from him at the same table. Their eyes were locked together as they each wrestled the silence that had fallen between them after a miscarried greeting. Yet that contact seemed tenuous, strained against the palpable sense of distance which loomed between them. He was certain that she felt it, too. Some small part of it. What he doubted was that her understanding of their alienation extended to its true cause, the cause which was killing the hope that had been born in him earlier that morning even as she watched.

Despite his memories of time together as man and wife, the woman that sat before him was a stranger.

He could not remember how he once felt about this woman. He felt nothing now. Against what he believed he should feel what it really felt like was a betrayal. The uncertainty lay in which of them had betrayed the other. The disappointment bourn by this defeat was crushing, and in contrast to the intensity of emotion that had driven him here, his sense of purpose, his need to be with her, he had returned to feeling…empty. Almost dead inside.

And yet oddly, perhaps perversely, as he looked across the space between them at this familiar, unfamiliar woman, his hands almost burned to touch her. His eyes were drawn down where they rested on the table before him. Their stillness belied the turbulence of his thoughts. He drew them back slightly, fingers curling away into the palms. Right now they were snakes, and he didn't trust them.

Perhaps it was only because he'd turned his eyes away that he finally managed to find his voice.

"You have no idea what it means to me that you said yes."

There was no lie in those words, at least. It would be impossible for her to guess the amount of importance this meeting held for him. To her it was just a morning coffee before she heads to work. Just to talk, just to see her, just because he was in town… Just…

"You kind of caught me by surprise when you showed up. I thought you were still in DC." In her voice was a note of amusement beneath her irritation, her surprise that he'd shown up as suddenly and unexpectedly as he had, the annoyance at the interruption it posed to the life she had put together without him.

Pulling himself away slowly from his own troubled inner life, he allowed himself to take her in fully once more. Perhaps, he hoped, there was some crucial thing he had missed that would lead him to find what it was he was lacking. Her own hands were clasped loosely together on the table in front of her, just inches away. They filled the empty space between them, like a barrier. Dressed for the workday, small line creasing the skin between her eyes, the squared posture of her shoulders as she sat in the seat across from him… The details fell together in a way that struck him quite suddenly. It was so…defensive. She was prepared with every line of her body not to listen to what he had to say.

"I took a flight out this morning," he said, leaning back slightly, hoping that between his words and his posture some distance would put her at ease, "to visit my brother."

"That's…sweet." She frowned slightly, the furrow between her eyes deepening. Her hands shifted slightly, parting from their grasp on one another. She was a smart woman, he knew that much. He felt she knew what he was really here for. She would also recognize how rare it was for him to drop everything for family.

I wonder, he speculated as the uncertainty bloomed in her eyes, if right now I feel like a stranger to her.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Nathan, I—" Her words held a hint of desperation, her shoulders dropping almost imperceptibly. They had almost another hour before this had to come to a close, but she couldn't want to spend that time trapped in this awkward emotional dance any more than he did. She wanted him to get to the point. He decided to oblige her before she was forced to push him. Before it pushed her away.

"You don't have to say anything, Heidi. I just… I'd like you to listen." His hands perched on the edge of the table, the heels of his palms braced against the rim. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. He'd spent the entirety of the trip that morning deciding what he was going to say to her, but now that she was in front of him his confusion had stolen the words from his mouth. He spent a moment trying to bring it all back together.

"I… I got caught up in a lot of things. First, when Pete was missing… I handled it so badly…I don't have to tell you that." He saw her head dip slightly, no doubt remembering. The depression and drinking, living like a bum, unable to visit his children. That much, at least, had already been mended. They had Peter back, and he'd put his life back together. He'd been allowed the right to visit them once more. Like so much else, his recollection of his depression, of the pain at losing his sons was blunted beyond holding any sting. "After we found him, I wanted to try and fix things between us. But things just started happening so fast after that. The assassination attempt, things related to my father's death, the assignment from the President… I just…"

He trailed off as he remembered all the betrayals. Forced to confront his actions in his attempts to make amends with Peter, his grasp of everything that he had done was still a little shaky, but he'd been able to recall most of the things that had driven them apart in the past months. As he thought of his father, he held on briefly to the anger the memory brought. Perhaps no good could come from hating the dead, but it was so rare in the past weeks for him to stumble upon some remembered sense or emotion that felt genuinely like his own. He let the feeling go with a touch of regret.

If that's the best legacy Arthur Petrelli could leave, perhaps I'm better off.

He realized something, then. His brother and mother, Claire, the others…they weren't the only ones he'd betrayed during those months. He should have had time for his sons. He should have made time for them, and damn anything else. His shame at that failure kindled a fierce, bitter anger. It seethed. His excuses were pathetic. Insignificant. It didn't matter what he had been doing, or what he'd done. Fathers should never abandon their children.

"I lost sight of what was important." He said, finally. He had to close his eyes to speak, to avoid her seeing the heat of anger that was burning itself inside him. "I'm finally seeing that now. I still have a lot of things I have to work out with my mother and brother, but the one thing I know…" It was the one thing he knew at this moment. The one thing he was sure of. She frowned, and he could tell she saw it coming. As it stood now, though, he couldn't bring himself to care. It had to be said.

"I want my family back, Heidi. And if it's at all possible for that to include you and the boys, I'd be willing to do anything… I'll make any sacrifice to have that happen. Please. Just give me another chance." He finally allowed himself to put his hand out next to hers on the table. It was such a gentle touch, deceptively casual when there was that insistence inside him, he let the tips of his fingers find contact with her skin. "I know it sounds a cliché, but I want you to see that I've…changed."

She still wore her wedding ring. It was a piece of the puzzle of her, one that he'd noted and stuffed away for keeping before he'd even had a chance to sit down. He brushed the pad of his thumb lightly against the finger that wore it. The sensation of his finger against the gold brought back the image of the day he put it there. Their vows. Their family looking on. The way she looked in that dress. It astounded him that he could have ever forgotten something so beautiful.

But there was still that…distance. An absence in himself.

"I love you." He tried to make himself believe it. Tried to make himself feel it. Tried to make himself remember feeling it. His voice was thick with emotion, but it wasn't love. He shoved hard on the frustration and anger he felt at this…lack…as deep down inside him as he could. Still, he felt a faint tinge of brutal satisfaction at acquiring the memory, like he'd scratched an itch that had been bothering him for a long time. Though, still, the need he'd been feeling hadn't receded.

If anything, it was stronger now than ever.

"I don't know, Nathan…" He looked into her eyes, fearful that she'd picked up on something wrong. From the way his skin was tingling where they'd touched, he was surprised he hadn't burned her. But she hadn't taken her hand away from his. He saw that her eyes had begun to tear, redden. It made their blue so vivid. He found himself speculating that was probably quite lovely when she cried. Her lips press slightly, forming a thin line as that crease on her forehead squirmed indecisively between her eyebrows. He realized she was trying to convince herself that this wasn't what she wanted. That whatever the life was she had without him was enough. If the empty space he had left in her life was even a shadow of how he felt, he knew it couldn't be at all easy to do.

"You don't have to make up your mind now. Just… Give it some consideration."

The words were so impersonal he could have been selling watches. Inside, he was wrestling with the thought of what he would do if she just said no. He didn't know what he wouldn't do to have them. The intensity and possessiveness of what he was feeling was almost frightening. He decided he had to distract himself from them. He tried to latch onto the first safe thought that crossed his mind. The words he found coming out of his mouth surprised him.

"Also… I want you to meet her."

"'Her'?" The dangerous tone supplied him with Heidi's own surprise, on its heels followed by suspicion and anger. Her features twisted, eyes growing hard as her eyebrows drew downward. However she looked when she cried, she was downright stunning when she was pissed. Then something seemed to cross her mind, and her features softened dramatically. "Your daughter?"

"Claire..." He trailed off, deeply regretting the change in topic. As with Arthur, the emotions he felt for Claire sometimes felt very real. They were possibly some of the strongest ones he truly possessed. They were also among the most confusing. While he considered his words, he found her staring at him. Between the silence and her searching gaze, he suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. Like he'd exposed a raw wound. "I know it's… Damn, it's awkward, but I would. She's…"

He gave a weak smile, eyes lowered to the table where their hands still touched. He let his fingers fall back from that contact slowly, angry at himself for dragging that confusion into the conversation and feeling very foolish. "You know, never mind. It was a stupid idea. I—"

"No." Heidi gave a small smile. Not an enthusiastic one, but it felt genuine. He wondered if, without fully understanding it, she had detected something of the weakness he had exposed. On the table, her hand returned to his, their fingers twining together loosely. "I'd love to meet her. She sounds important to you."

"She's…" Important was a rather neutral word. Nathan found the strength for another anemic smile, but it broadened and gained life as he thought of her. Claire was back in Washington. She had been working closely with her other father, trying to help with what they were doing—trying to be a hero—but had still taken the time to visit him several times over the past few weeks. He still couldn't fathom how in so short a time she'd become such a significant part of his life. It was difficult to sort his feelings for her. Mixed with the pride of a father was something else, something he found difficult to name. The closest he had come to defining it was a sort of admiration. The admiration of a craftsman for something…flawless.

"She's very special."

In the remaining minutes, their conversation turned toward less charged topics. About her work, about his, and how his sons were doing. Though the desire to see them was still a painful force, he was beginning to doubt that the reunion would bring any more sense of reality to things than had that with their mother. He found himself thinking back upon the vows whose memory he had recovered. "'Til death do us part" seemed to hold a strange note in his mind, for some reason. Perhaps he simply survived his life, anymore, instead of living it. This couldn't be all there was. There had to be more to this. To them. To her. There had to be something he was missing, some piece of her that couldn't be seen that would make him love her like he was supposed to. Make him remember why he ever had in the first place.

He made a new vow—to himself and the strange need he felt to claim her. He would love her. He would remember how to love her. He would find that secret. No matter how deeply into her he had to dig.