Chapter Nine

Angela/Arthur, Nathan (11/12 years old), Peter

Angela and Arthur Petrelli

Manhattan

1979

She'd seen him die. Dead, right in front of her, she was sure of it, but there he was standing in her foyer. Nathan was asleep; he would know nothing of his father's near-death experience against his foe, a foe just as deadly as Sylar. A widow at thirty-three was not something Angela had ever thought she'd be, even after all the bitterness and lone years between them. She had grown from a girl to a woman in his presence. He was the father of her child and the first man she had ever given her heart to. And even though she had found herself in love with Kaito, only a few years earlier, she had ended it, for the sake of her family. It was now just another regret keeping her lonely at night.

She had that look of shock, the same look she'd have when her son Peter came back to her from the dead or when her son Nathan would be healed. It was a miracle. A miracle Angela should have been used to by now, in the few years since they had all found each other, but it was still shocking. It also showed Angela how much she still loved him. How much she would miss him if he were gone.

Angela wore a long white nightgown and when she walked slowly down the stairs it flowed behind her like a train. Arthur walked toward her in his own state of shock as if he hadn't seen her in years, and figuratively it was true. Near death, or even coming back from the dead, can shake a man to his core and show him what is most important to him. To Arthur it was his family – it was Angela and Nathan.

Angela's mind raced back to the night's events, just hours before.

The 12

The DeveauxBuilding

Three Hours Earlier

Like so many times, Angela was caught in the line of fire without any way to protect herself or her family. As strong as she was now - as smart, wily and commanding she could be when she entered a room - in the world of abilities, Angela had to relay on others to protect her and she hated that. It was also something she would never forget. There are things that change in a woman when she can't protect herself, when she can't protect her son from what goes bump in the night. When the bogeyman hides in the dark spaces of the evening. When the bogeyman is real. For all her skills, Angela was no match for men who could walk through walls and women who could shoot fire. These were the only time Angela felt helpless again, and it was the main time she worried for her son and his future. How would a flying man come out of this world unscathed?

"Get her out of here!" Arthur yelled to Charles over the noise of the fight.

"No, I'm staying!" she demanded. Angela fought the war in a different way, the only way she knew how; with determination. But her determination wasn't always enough.

Charles and Angela

The Petrelli Estate

One Hour Later

"He's dead, isn't he?" Angela questioned, tears streaming down her face, Arthur's blood on her hands and dress.

Charles walked to Arthur's bedside table and took something from the bottom drawer.

"Stay here, I'll be back to check on you." He handed her a company issue gun. "Take this, you know how to use it."

Angela nodded her head. She took the gun.

"I'll find Linderman." He replaced the clip of his own gun and set it in a holster under his brown leather jacket.

"Linderman can't raise the dead, " she demanded.

Charles looked at her and he knew she was right; Arthur was dead.

"Just stay here. Wash the blood off your hands."

"That I don't think I can do," she muttered.

"I have to go. Take a breath, Angela." And then Charles lied. "He'll be fine. Now I have to go."

"Don't lie to me, I know you too well." Her eyes were filled with tears, but she would not allow them to drop, she would not be weak. Angela had to be strong; it was her only defensive power. But she could never lie to Charles, just like he could never lie to her. The truth was Charles didn't care if she cried. He never saw it as her weakness; he saw it as human.

Charles kissed her on the top of the head and he was gone, as he had done so many times before. And then Angela was left alone.

Angela & Arthur Petrelli

Manhattan

The Present 1979

When Angela reached the bottom step of her staircase, Arthur was standing in front of her. She looked down at him, tears streamed down her face. She ran her hand along his cheek as if to check that he was real. And without words she wrapped her entire body around him and he held her against him. He had missed that and Arthur Petrelli started to cry. It was only the third time in his life that Arthur had done so. And they kissed. They kissed passionately for the first time in two years. And that night Angela and Arthur conceived Peter.

What Angela remembered most was how it made her feel. The power — how it felt in her hot little hands and it wasn't even her hands that wielded it. It was beyond the power of beauty. This was different. This wasn't just smiles and admiring glances, doors opened and tabs paid for. It wasn't just men looking at her in a way that made her husband glad he was the one who had her, even if he forgot to pay attention to her. It was all different – this was bigger, it was something that she now had control over and control is the greatest form of power.

It was the look in their eyes when she entered a room, the respect, that power, both of them received, the entire family. The regal couple. Together, oh what children they would have. She loved it. Oh, how she loved it. She was blinded by her youth and her eyes glowed at the addiction of it and all she wanted was more. She saw the look in her own eyes, in Arthur's eyes, in all of them and would one day see that look in her son Nathan's eyes as well. In Nathan it would grow from brash young imaginary power to the power he used in the courtroom. It was a necessary evil, needed at some degree to survive the outside world. Angela and Arthur had fallen into it and it made them drunk, drunk with the high. Money, sex and power, it's all the same – once you get that taste, one learns to enjoy it. And that's when it has you, when the power has you in its all too human hands. That's when it controls you, or you control it, when you need that fix -- the fix controls it all. Soon, the fix controls you.

And when she finally woke up from it all, like some forgotten dream all that was left in her and Arthur's mind were the ruins of their spoils and it was nothing – nothing but quicksand that never ended. And there was no getting out.

Angela Petrelli

Four weeks later

Angela was just finishing getting dressed when she felt a sudden kick of nausea come over her. Was a dream coming on, she wondered? She hadn't felt sick or passed out from a dream in years. She had grown past that a long time ago.

She took a step and it felt like her whole body took a leap. Her head was spinning. She had to stop for a moment. She took a deep breath and walked a few steps into her bathroom, gripping the edge of her marble sink - it felt cold and soothing. She turned on the faucet and cupped her hands under the water, sending a few handfuls into her mouth, but it didn't seem to help. She leaned her head forward and her body back, taking in deeper breaths. And then it hit her. Angela caught herself in the mirror and she knew that look, she remembered this feeling, in her head, in her body, down to her feet. She put her hand to her stomach and slightly grinned in shock, her mouth half open.

"Peter..." she said softly. He had finally come. Her emotions were about to get the better of her, but before her eyes could fill with tears, her body got that feeling again.

"Ma!" Nathan yelled from the hallway.

Angela jumped. "One moment, Nathan." She took a breath and lowered her head. She felt dizzy and knew if she moved a muscle, she might be sick. It subsided but her headache was unbearable.

"Ma!" An eleven-year-old Nathan appeared in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Nathan!" she snapped at him. "I said one moment. And what have I told you about yelling in this house!"

"Pop wants to see you." He wasn't sure what he had done wrong. Everyone yelled in his house, even when they themselves told others not to – it was just done. Children often learn from actions and not words.

"Tell him, when I'm ready, I'll be down," she snapped again.

Nathan got scared and ran out.

After a moment Angela found herself sliding, back first, down the front of the sink. She wasn't sure if it was the morning sickness or the shock that after almost fifteen odd years, Peter would be arriving.

Arthur & Angela Petrelli

"I'm pregnant." Angela just blurted it out to Arthur in his study as he sat behind his desk.

He tossed his reading glasses onto his desk and looked at her. "How is that possible?" Then he paused and nodded his head. "Linderman... " He caught her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know why. It was two years ago. We hardly talked... I wasn't getting pregnant. I thought maybe it didn't work."

"So... "Arthur stood. "This is Peter?" he asked oddly, gesturing towards her stomach.

"Yes..."

"I thought we decided. I thought we agreed bringing more children into this thing – into this life wasn't a good idea, Angela." He put his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't do this by myself, Arthur..." Her voice was powerful, but not demanding.

Arthur counted back and remembered when the event must have occurred. It had to have been the night he had been brought back to life with Adam's blood. The night Arthur remembered why he loved her, and why his family was what was most important to him – it was his re-birth. What better way to signify it but with the birth of another child? His eyes got wet for a moment.

"No, no..." He shook his head.. "You're right. I'm sorry..." He walked around his desk. "I'm sorry..." He took her in his arms and kissed the top of his head.

"He doesn't have to be part of this, Arthur. I can make sure that happens. I know it."

Arthur parted from Angela and looked at her straight on. "If it his density to be one of us, well then...who are you– who are we to stop him?"

"We're his parents – we will protect him."

"You know that's not always true..."

Angela gave him a stern, unhappy look and walked away from him. When she reached the door she turned back. "I'll make it true. Until I can no longer do anything more."

"I thought we learned we can't avoid our destiny, Angela."

"These are our sins, Arthur. We mortgaged our souls to protect them, our boys - to save the world. What's one more sin in the fire, if it means they don't have to live with what we've done? Promise me, Arthur. Just promise me we'll try."

Arthur lowered his head; it felt heavy. He looked up at her with his eyes. "It's still no guarantee, Angela."

"So be it." She nodded her head slightly. "At least I will have tried." She started to leave, but Arthur stopped her before she could exit.

"Angela..." His call caused his wife to look toward him "You know Linderman... like Adam's blood it doesn't always heal everything – you may not be as good as new-- as good as you were before Nathan was born, yes but... It was never easy for you to carry a child. Nothing says this pregnancy won't be as hard on you as all the others." He looked at her with such concern.

"I can handle it," she said with all her power and assurance. And she left the room.

And although he knew she could, he still worried for her and as much as he tried to keep his distance, he worried for his unborn child. A child who already had a name: Petrelli. And it would be a brand that would carry him his entire life. A brand that would seal his fate.

Nathan, Angela & Peter Petrelli

Manhattan

December 23, 1979

Nathan was there when Angela went into labor. They were about to leave to look at the Christmas windows on Fifth Avenue. Angela was so shocked when her water broke two weeks early that she knocked over the flowers in the foyer, sending the water and the glass to the ground. Blood trickled down her white knuckles. It scared Nathan half to death; he had just turned twelve. And when Arthur never arrived at the hospital, it was Nathan at her side.

The second time Angela gave birth was just as difficult as the first, maybe more so, but she was a different woman. She was an older woman. A wiser woman. A woman not new to pain. Arthur was right, it was a hard labor, just as hard as her pregnancy had been. She fought as hard as she would fight for Peter the rest of her life; until she felt there was nothing more she could do.

It wasn't until the final moments that Nathan was ushered in to the delivery room, hours later. He had asked his mother if he could be there for his brother's birth and she agreed. Since Nathan would end up being more of a father to her son then his own father would it was fitting.

And it was nice, this time, to be alone, without her husband. She wasn't frighten, but, she wasn't alone.

Angela breathed and pushed, breathed and pushed and screamed. At one point, Nathan took her hand and squeezed it. Angela was shocked by the gesture, but she held onto his hand as tight as she could. The drugs were beginning to kick in, but Angela wasn't sure if it was the drugs or the fatigue and exhaustion that was seeping her energy away from her. It was then that a cry was heard and it wasn't from Angela, it was from Peter. Angela cried with joy and delight as Peter was lifted into her view. After so many years they had finally met. Peter Petrelli was one with this earth.

The embillicord was cut and Angela leaned in to Nathan before he could run away from her.

"You are his older brother, Nathan. You will take care of him, you will protect him, that is the role you will play in his life."

"Yes, Ma..." he said, almost fearing her.

"That's my boy..." She nodded her head.

"Can I?" Nathan asked with enthusiasm.

Angela nodded her head and Nathan ran from her side to take a closer look at Peter.

"Have you decided on a name?" The nurse asked Angela as Peter was washed and wrapped in a blue blanket.

"Peter," she smiled with half her strength. "Peter Petrelli."

Next Chapter: Angela and Arthur push forward, making plans for their new agenda: saving their sons from the madness they created... or by doing so will they only drag their sons deeper into it?