Fourteen Days - Chapter Two
Standard disclaimer applies. I own nothing.
A/N – in this version, Peter did not run in to Claude but given that I have a soft spot for the old guy, he may well make an appearance later in the story! I also have not done copious legal research to write this chapter - I'm sorry. If anyone feels they will be offended by the lack of 'legalise' and the prevailing feel of 'Judge Judy', then please spare yourself the trauma now. If you think you can cope, then please enjoy the chapter!
After a clock-watching hour and a quarter, dinner had finally been laid to rest. Knowing he would have to re-emerge long enough to satisfy his brother's scrutiny of his medication, Peter took refuge in his room for as long as he was able. His recently consumed dinner was not sitting well in his stomach and the young man knew he wouldn't be able to keep it down much longer. Shouldn't have had the wine but, dammit, he'd needed it. He took a deep, slow breath, willing the nausea to abate and, for a moment, his churning insides seemed to steady just a little. Lately, it had been impossible to hold more than one meal down a day. The former nurse desperately wanted to attribute it to his latest round of medication but, reluctantly, he suspected that his emotions, so often the root of his problems, were again to be held accountable.
But since the trial, since Odessa, Peter's emotions had been off the chart. He couldn't even begin to categorise them all, much less pull them together into some semblance of order. For every moment that an emotion could be identified, another one swept in to take its place: anger at his current predicament; frustration at the helplessness; gratefulness at his brother's caring; an overwhelming sense of injustice; fear of the unknown or, more precisely, of what he suspected but still could offer no concrete explanations for.
But above all, the most prevalent emotion that always surfaced unbidden or otherwise was love. It was Peter's one weakness and his one strength just as he was for his brother. However, this particular condition was un-curable: Peter loved, unconditionally – the world, complete strangers, cheerleaders, his destiny but above all, his brother. And that, perhaps, was what was frustrating the boy the most – no matter how angry he became, no matter how incensed at his confinement, Peter just didn't have it in him to be that angry. Not at Nathan. Not at the man who had, consistently, from the cradle to the present day, reached down a hand whenever Peter had been flailing, broken the surface and pulled him out.
Leaning against the doorframe, Peter rested his head against the cool, smooth wood for a moment longer before pushing himself up straight. As he moved into the room, one foot came back to kick the door shut behind him. Unfortunately, Peter's emotions were still fuelling his actions and he misjudged the force behind the kick, slamming the door shut before it rebounded open and slammed, again, into the wall behind it. Instinctively, the boy cringed. Peering out of his room, Peter listened for a moment, waiting to see if the resulting 'bang' echoing across the marble entrance way would bring the attention of his brother. However, after a few moments watching and listening, Peter grew satisfied that he hadn't incurred a visit from the elder Petrelli and turned back into his room, this time shutting his door with more restraint.
The mattress squeaked in protest as he flopped down on his bed, scuttling himself further up against the pillows propped up on the headboard. Staring out intently at his well-maintained room, filled with all the luxuries and gadgets that he remembered from his childhood in this place, Peter allowed a sliver of his anger to seep into his chest like an inky cloud, spreading its tendrils inch by inch into previously clear waters. This wasn't fair; this wasn't right; it wasn't even safe for those around him – if he could only prove that. How dare Nathan treat him this way? What had he ever really done, to warrant this? Sure, Nathan would come up with a few suggestions, but that was only because Nathan, being who he was, could take any situation and turn it in to the golden opportunity he needed it to be, Peter's wishes be damned.
And Nathan had moved quickly. My God, Peter mused, once he had made a run for it from the hospital, he had never imagined his brother could rally the forces with such rapidity, even with his political connections and muster. Peter didn't even want to think about how many airports, taxi-firms, police stations and hospitals and no doubt, countless other institutions, had his picture, name and queried mental health status, pinned up on their relevant bulletin boards within the first thirty minutes of his departure.
He should have suspected though. In hindsight, there had been little other reason for the middle-aged lady behind the check-in desk at United to have stopped, suddenly when he handed her his ID, nor for her to have discreetly, and with a waning smile, picked up her phone and asked him if he would mind waiting, just one moment. What had he been expecting? A one-time offer for a complimentary First Class upgrade? That they were so taken with his 'I'm very obviously just out of hospital and still reeling from the effects of it' look that he had going for him? He chuckled, grimly to himself. Perhaps if he had made a run for it then, before the airport 'muscle' and the supervisor had arrived, he might have made it all the way to the exit before he was hauled into a private questioning room? Highly doubtful. If his luck had continued along its present path, he would more likely have spun, tripped over the nearest baggage cart and gone flying headlong into the bystanders.
Of course, strictly in retrospect, babbling rather frenetically about simply having to get on to that flight because otherwise he was going to explode, wasn't the wisest course of action. Peter had to admit, his rather volatile emotions, fuelled by his recent nightmare, had dampened his judgement somewhat. Still, as they say: hindsight is 20:20. And boy, did that go down like a lead balloon with the airport officials. At that point, he was lucky that Nathan had had him listed as mentally unwell or he could have been in for some rather…unpleasant treatment. As it was, with Nathan having already been summoned, as per the request on the alert notification, it still took some smooth talking and some throwing of weight around, for Nathan to convince officials that his brother was completely harmless to others.
But not to himself, Peter thought, bitterly. No – that, Nathan no longer accepted. By this point, by the time Peter had caused his airport scare, the police had been involved, and Peter had been transferred. Once again, he found himself in custody but this time, under the supervision of doctors and psychiatrists. Once again he was found not to be a threat to others and yet, frustratingly, still not released. And it had scared him. The more people talked, the clearer Peter saw where it had been heading. Not in time, however and not before he had said some rather questionable things to rather too many people. Not before he realised that the right questions to the wrong people in his life, could further damage his chances of getting out of this thing with his sanity officially in tact. There were so many people, after this little fiasco that the young man was forthwith crossing off his Christmas card list…
Peter paused in his blend of seething and wallowing, long enough to make it to his en-suite bathroom: the battle of retaining his food had finally been lost and after the increasingly frequent uncomfortable bouts of sickness, Peter gulped down some water and crawled back onto his bed, this time lying down flat and staring, blankly at the ivory-toned ceiling. Waves of anger had instantly been drawn from him: by this point in the evening, he was always too exhausted to maintain it.
For Nathan's part, even the cool-headed politician had been mildly alarmed at the direction events were spiralling into, once his brother had been evaluated. It had been an extremely tense conversation with the attorney he had hired to argue his case. Nathan hadn't even noticed the strain he was putting on his muscles until he registered the painful, dull ache throughout his body in the following days. Every fibre in his body had been on alert as he had listened to the State's proposition.
"An institute?! Are they insane? They can't do this!" His normally placid expression was rippled with concern.
With a preparatory cough, his attorney straightened his tie before turning over the sheaf of papers before him, on the desk. "With respect, Mr. District Attorney, the investigation into your brother's mental standing and his ability to function in society without supervision was instigated at your insistence. A judge will be free to take whatever action they feel appropriate to the case."
The Petrelli patriarch exhaled, sharply, the muscles in his jaw working overtime. For a moment, he said nothing.
Presently, he spoke. "My brother needs supervision – that, I agree with. But an institute? Pete won't survive in a place like that – he's too damned delicate." Nathan's thoughts drifted momentarily to his mother and her scathing reaction to what her eldest son would have done. My God! He hadn't even considered Heidi – she positively doted on the boy and was already convinced Peter was the misused underdog of the entire Petrelli dynasty. His hand passed over his eyes, fleetingly massaging away the tension building beneath the surface.
"Mr. Rumpole, I need my brother with me and I'm paying you to fix it. You have been very carefully selected for this job: you were top of your graduating class and your success record is flawless. So work with what we've got and make it happen." The finality in Nathan's voice, coupled with the glint in his eye, caused Rumpole to sit a little taller in his chair and clear his throat once more.
"We have a good chance, Mr. Petrelli. With your connections, we can have this hearing bumped up the ladder – leave the State less time to prepare. I believe you know the judge in question – that will help." Nathan nodded, thoughtfully. His silence prompted Rumpole to continue.
"Peter's been evaluated by their doctors but it would be in our favour to have him examined by our own. There's a psychiatrist I know well – top of his field, highly reputed. He owes me a favour: I can call him in, immediately. I'm sure after speaking to both you and Peter, he can be swayed to the professional opinion that your brother would be better off under your supervision. Hospitals are overflowing and the strain on the medical profession has come under a lot of fire, lately. If there's even a half-way decent alternative to a patient's care, particularly one that focuses on family, then any judge hoping for re-election in the coming months would be a fool not to take it."
At that, Nathan had risen to his feet. "Do it," he ordered. "I'm going to make some phone calls." When Nathan left the office, he left with a renewed sense of hope and purpose. Everything would be all right. It would be all right because he needed it to be, because Peter needed it to be and it was the big brother's job to provide what his sibling needed.
Not that Peter seemed to realise this but that was only to be expected.
As he lay on his bed, contemplating the décor and focusing on taking steady breaths, Peter's mind, once more, ran over those fateful events.
Both brothers had been glad that the hearing was kept informal, in Judge Barrel's Chambers. But that was about all Peter was grateful for. It seemed, to the young man, that his presence that day was entirely fruitless. His attempts to speak up on his own behalf, usually at uninvited moments in the proceedings, were commonly met with meaningful stares from his brother and an all-encompassing blanket statement of: You'll have your turn speak, young man.
Like his turn to speak had actually made the slightest bit of difference when all was said and done. As Peter had sat, slouched in his chair in between Nathan and his lawyer, he had silently fumed as conversations had passed over him: what was in his best interests; they had to consider what would address Peter's particular needs… The judge and lawyers went on. Peter had been torn between switching off entirely and listening to every development, like a hawk. The incessant gnawing at the pit of his stomach had made Peter's insides feel cavernous and rocky and tumultuous.
He had been immensely relieved when Nathan's lawyer had argued his case so effectively. The thought of being on suicide watch in a state-run hospital was overwhelmingly terrifying, his medical training making the dreading that much worse and that much more real. Thankfully, Peter knew it scared his brother, just as badly. Nathan may not always do what he wanted, but, without fail, he would always protect him from any outside harm. When the judge ruled in Nathan's favour, despite Peter's anger and frustration at the entire charade, he could almost have wept in relief. Judge Barrel's final stipulation then, rang hollow in his ears:
As I said, I have awarded custody to you, Mr. Petrelli but on the express condition that both you and your brother undergo quarterly reviews to assess how well the arrangement is working out. This is a probationary period of one year. If there are any further incidents involving Peter, during this time, then this ruling will immediately be reviewed.
Nathan had nodded his understanding as he thanked the judge and Mr. Rumpole, before leading his little brother out of the Chambers.
And that, Peter mused, was that. Here he was, two weeks on. A light knocking on his door, made him glance in its direction. It didn't really matter if he answered – Nathan would come in anyway. However, for the sake of pleasantries and because years of breeding had conditioned him to it, Peter mumbled a vague invite. Slowly, the door pushed open and his brother poked a somewhat tentative head through the gap. Seeing his sibling contemplating the ceiling, Nathan sighed gently and came in, shutting the door behind him. Peter hadn't acknowledged him and Nathan knew from experience that his younger brother's silent treatments could outlast anyone's. The elder man carefully perched himself on the edge of the bed, by his brother's legs. "Are you not going to talk to me?" The young man's gaze resolutely remained fixed on the ceiling. Undeterred, Nathan tried again. "I take it you're still upset about the conversation at dinner?" Peter raised an incredulous eyebrow but otherwise, said nothing.
Nathan ran a hand across his own face, pinching the bridge of his nose and it was in that moment that Peter noticed, for the first time, just how tired his brother looked. Reluctantly, Peter's gaze left the ceiling for the last time and instead, focused on a spot, somewhere below his brother's right shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Peter," and the weight with which Nathan spoke those words, made Peter wonder if they were still talking about the argument at dinner or about the entire debacle. "I know what you've given up, I know this whole situation is new to you but you know, it's new to me, too. And maybe I screw up sometimes, you know but I'm still figuring parts of this out. Work with me a little, hey?" He ventured a hand onto Peter's knee. When it wasn't shrugged off, he left it there – a warm but weighty presence.
His brother's response was so quiet, Nathan had to lean forwards to hear it. "You just admitted you screwed up." Inwardly, Nathan felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. A grin crept across his face as he did his best to sound affronted.
"What? And that surprises you? I'll have you know, I keep a close category of all my errors." And Peter didn't doubt that he did.
"I'm going to start making a list," Peter continued. "A meticulous one." Nathan didn't lose his award-winning smile. "You do that, Pete. I'll categorically deny it."
Peter offered him a wry smile in return. To Nathan, it was a work of art. Peter pushed himself up until he was sitting next to his brother. Nathan wrapped a casual arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him close for a moment, planting a kiss on the side of his head. Peter glanced across at him. "You meant what you said?" he questioned. "About Mohinder? You're really going to call him?"
Nathan suppressed his grimace with ease. "Absolutely. First thing in the morning." He smiled at his brother but Peter merely nodded, seemingly lost in thought. For the first time in two, long weeks, his former childhood home no longer seemed as oppressive as it had before and Peter hoped things could only get better as time went on.
Thanks very much for reading and to those lovely people who took the time to review – it always helps to motivate and inspire the next chapter! I'm glad there are people who are enjoying this. I shall set to work on chapter 3 as the ideas come to me! All your reviews and comments are very much appreciated.