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The Not-So-Average Girl
Nathan's hope that killing Linderman would be simpler than spying on him began to falter basically the moment the guard that led him into the elevator took him to the lower levels rather than to Linderman's office. As much as Nathan's ability made him uncomfortable, in an upper-level office Nathan could have just shot Linderman and flown out of the window; it couldn't have been that hard to find somewhere in Vegas he could go to make up a suitable story long before the man's staff could come up with a plausible explanation for how a man could shoot their boss and then escape from right under their noses. Underground limited his options from the beginning, particularly when he would have no idea what to expect from this shift of location in the first place.
When the doors opened onto the kitchen, Nathan stayed silent as he was led through the busy kitchen, constantly scanning the people around him in what even he knew was a weak attempt to work out if any of them might be a problem, until he walked around a corner and saw figure standing in front of a chopping board. Amid the white chef's outfits and the blue uniforms that were likely worn by the waiters, this man's smart grey shirt stood out almost as much as his thick head of white hair.
"Mr Linderman," Nathan said as he walked up to the other man, fingers crossed that he could still get out of this mess.
"Do you enjoy vegetables, Mr Petrelli?" Linderman replied as he turned around and put the knife down, the other people in the room filing out of the kitchen as though responding to some cue.
"I've been known to eat zucchini when the mood strikes, but not as a rule," Nathan replied, lost for a better response as Linderman continued to work on a dish of some sort. "You know, you can probably hire someone to do that for you."
"I like to cook; it's my meditation," Linderman explained. "One aims for perfection in one's life, but one doesn't find it very often. For me, this is about as close as it gets."
A brief chuckle was accompanied by him holding up a small dish, some kind of pastry hanging over the sides of a ceramic bowl. "Voila! A pot pie. Wholesome, warm, healthy. That's, of course if you can live without the cream sauce. Personally, I can't. I mean, what's the point?"
When the older man turned to put the pie in the oven, Nathan took a glance around to confirm that they were alone; he couldn't make the kind of easy escape he'd planned, but he still had options.
"You know," Linderman said as he walked over to a nearby oven and set it, "people can sleep, they can gamble, or they can even make love when they're miserable, but I think that most people eat when they're happy. I like to see people happy. Are you happy, Nathan?"
"Not especially," Nathan said; if Linderman wasn't going to be direct, he could talk around the topic himself. "I guess I have a few issues that… plague me."
"Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that," Linderman said, looking thoughtfully at Nathan. "You see, I think there comes a time when a man has to ask himself whether he wants a life of happiness or a life of meaning."
"I'd like to have both."
"It can't be done," Linderman chuckled as he shook his head. "Two very different paths. I mean, to be truly happy a man must live absolutely in the present, and with no thought of what's gone before and no thought of what lies ahead. But a life of meaning, a man is condemned to wallow in the past, and obsess about the future. My guess is that… you've done quite a bit of obsessing about yours these last few days."
Nathan took the gun out of his pocket as he stared at Linderman, a cold resolve settling into his mind; regardless of the risk, he was going to do something decisive after coming this far.
"Now you can't have any of my pot pie," the older man glanced down at the gun, disturbingly nonchalant about the situation. "I won't hold it against you. Lots of men have tried to kill me."
"Then I'll be the last," Nathan said, aiming the gun at the older man.
"Of course, you can pull that trigger, Nathan. You'd be taking both of our lives, seeing as you'll be dead within moments. Or… I could offer you something."
"I'm not interested in anything you have to offer me," Nathan replied, the gun steady in his hand.
"I think you are," Linderman replied, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "I think there are things you need to hear. Things that I know about."
"Too late for that," Nathan retorted.
"That you can fly, for instance?" Linderman asked. "Or about your brother Peter's interesting little boosts lately? And all those others out there like you."
The news that other people knew about the strange circumstances he and Peter had been experiencing so far raised some disturbing questions, but Nathan wasn't sure how he should feel about this revelation coming from Linderman. As the man had pointed out, quite a few other people had been revealed to have abilities recently, so it wasn't implausible that a man with Linderman's connections was aware of them…
"I can offer you more than just information, Nathan," Linderman said as he walked towards the younger man, Nathan briefly embarrassed to find himself backing away even as he kept the gun trained on Linderman. "You'll win your election, I'll see to that. And two years from now, through a series of fluke circumstances, you will find yourself in the White House. A heartbeat away from the presidency. A life of meaning, Nathan. Think about it. The choice is yours."
When Linderman turned his back, Nathan was honest enough to keep the gun raised and contemplate doing what he'd come here to do in the first place, but the older man's words kept shifting through his mind.
…Heartbeat away from the presidency…
If he could achieve a position like that… nobody would say that Peter was the most powerful man on the planet again…
"Japanese feudalism, Renaissance, Baroque, Mayan, Persian, twentieth century," Nathan observed as he followed Linderman into the man's museum, looking at the wide range of artwork assembled on the makeshift walls. "You must bring all your first dates here, huh? What do you do with all this?"
"I protect it," Linderman replied in a wistful tone. "I shield it from a greedy and dangerous world."
"You push the cultured façade long enough, people forget you're a criminal," Nathan nodded, trying not to feel jealous at the sight of a picture of what had to be Peter flying; he didn't even like his ability that much, what did it matter who got depicted using it…?
"When my day of judgment comes, Nathan, I'll be remembered as a humanitarian," Linderman countered as he walked off to a set of plants on display. "I care about the world. I just want to save it. To heal it. And to do that, I need you."
"What could you possibly know about healing?"
Turning back to the plants, Linderman reached over to take hold of a leaf from a dead-looking plant, rubbing it thoughtfully with his fingers.
Nathan only just stopped himself showing his shock when he saw the plant apparently come 'back to life' before his eyes, and he wasn't sure if he was more shocked at this demonstration of a new power or at the fact that he was facing a notorious criminal who had the ability to heal others so easily.
"A few things," Linderman said, his voice soft as the dead flowers began to regain their colour.
"…I know this man," Nathan said, looking around to try and find something else to focus on; the painting style made it hard to be completely certain, but that definitely looked like Hiro shoving a girl out of the way of some kind of avalanche of boxes.
"Well, great," Linderman replied, tone louder and more confident compared to his earlier solemn declarations. "If you see him, tell him I want my sword back."
"…He took a sword?" Nathan said, hoping the impulsive bluff would work.
"I think it would be simplest if we didn't lie to each other about the extent of our knowledge," Linderman retorted. "I'm aware that Mr Nakamura took it from me, and I know that you gave him help getting inside."
"He said… he needed it to save the world," Nathan said, feeling stupid even as he said the words but unable to stop a brief incredulous smile. "A lot of people seem to be saying that these days."
"Well…" Linderman chuckled, as he began walk through the paintings again, "we all have our roles to play in the events to come. You know, this isn't just a collection of art; this… is a road map. These artists envisioned a brighter future. Peace, prosperity…"
"That's your idea of a brighter future?" Nathan indicated the painting that appeared to show the destruction of New York, a brilliant fiery orange explosion at the heart of the familiar skyscrapers, the Empire State Building on one side and the Chrysler Building on the other.
"What if I were to tell you that it was?" Linderman leaned over to whisper to him.
"I'd say you were a lousy humanitarian."
"I was a lot younger than you when I discovered my power," Linderman explained, as they stood solemnly in front of the explosion picture, Nathan intrigued at the chance to hear Linderman's story despite himself. "And there were others too, like me, who discovered theirs. We were all confused. And we found each other. Together, we tried to make a difference to the world. And for a while, we did. It was beautiful. And then, some of my… friends… they lost their way. They used their powers for personal gain, and all the good that we'd done was… well, it amounted to nothing. And I learned that healing one person at a time was just not enough. We needed something… something to pull it down on course. Something big."
"And that's what you think this is?" Nathan indicated the painting.
"People need hope, Nathan."
"An explosion of that magnitude would destroy half the population of New York City like that," Nathan countered, snapping his fingers as he walked away from the painting.
"There's six and a half billion people on the planet," Linderman countered. "That's less than point zero seven percent. Come on, that's an acceptable loss by anyone's count."
"By anybody's count?" Nathan repeated.
"Look, I said people needed hope, but they trust fear."
"This is crazy," Nathan countered, not entirely comfortable with the way this argument made such grim sense.
"This tragedy will be a catalyst for good… for change," Linderman continued. "Out of the ashes, humanity will find a common goal; a united sense of hope couched in a united sense of fear. And it is your destiny, Nathan, to be the leader who uses this event to rally a city, a nation, a world. Now you look deep into your heart. You'll know I'm right."
"Look," Nathan said, trying to focus on the practicalities of this situation as Linderman turned away, "I don't mean to toss a wet blanket, but if you haven't noticed, I'm down in the polls. I'm not gonna get elected to Congress, let alone the White House."
In response, Linderman pulled out another metal display with a new painting on it.
"Do you think I'd leave that to chance?" the older man said. Walking around to look more directly at the painting, Nathan saw a figure that seemed to be himself, standing in a roo that was clearly the White House Oval Office, his arms folded and a grim expression on his face.
"If you know all this…" Nathan looked uncertainly at a black sketch of what appeared to be the exploding man, "then you have to know that there are people out there trying to stop it."
"Mr Nakamura and his associates have been taken into account," Linderman said. "As I said, we all have our roles to play."
"And mine is to let this happen?"
"Let what happen?" Linderman countered with a slight chuckle. "The actual explosion is not something we intend to set off; we're merely ensuring that the chain of events that will lead to it taking place unfold as they should. We have enough experience of prophecies to know that they will happen regardless of what we do once they've been made, and one as clear as this is hard to misinterpret no matter the medium."
"The medium?"
"Whether they're prophetic dreams or paintings of the future, the essential details of such visions have always come to pass, and I think we can agree that destruction on this scale is a relatively unambiguous vision."
"…Someone can dream the future?" Nathan looked at the older man incredulously. "That's an actual thing? As in, you know it works?"
"The ability itself is rare, and I'm informed that the dreams are of questionable accuracy as they obviously use dream-imagery on occasion where paintings such as this are more exact, but such abilities do exist," Linderman smiled. "Regardless of their source, one thing remains certain about this topic; the day after your election, that explosion will give you the chance to shine."
Looking at the painting of what appeared to be himself standing in the White House, Nathan couldn't deny that the image was a tempting one.
Peter Petrelli… Superman…
Nathan would never admit it out loud to anyone else, but the thought of his brother having that kind of 'respect' when he just got lucky with some weird genetic lottery Nathan didn't entirely understand…
Peter meant well, but he was too idealistic; no matter how powerful he allegedly was, he'd never fully understand how the world worked well enough to effect any meaningful change…
"If… this explosion," Nathan began, as he turned to look at Linderman. "You've got evidence that it's going to happen?"
"Without question."
"And this kind of prediction is never wrong?"
"There isn't much leeway for how to interpret that, is there?" Linderman indicated the painting of the explosion behind them. "We already know that you're destined to make it to the White House, Nathan; all we have to do is ensure that history takes its appropriate course to get to that stage. We've done some research of our own to confirm the details of how the explosion will occur in the first place, and we have been presented with some… interesting candidates that can cause such a disaster."
"But my family will be safe?"
"Removing dear Heidi and your sons from the city beforehand is a simple enough prospect, I assure you," Linderman gave him a warm smile.
"What about Peter?"
"He'll be safe-"
"We both know that's not what I was referring to," Nathan cut the older man off. "If you know about all this, you know what he's capable of."
"Indeed," Linderman nodded. "But power is only part of what he will require to do anything to affect our plans. You, your father and I have all been soldiers, and we understand the necessity of ruthless pragmatism; idealists like Peter have their place in the world, but they'll never be able to do what has to be done to save humanity from itself."
"You're sure that I can still win the election?"
"I have an agent or two taking steps to guarantee your final victory."
"Then…" Nathan looked at Linderman with a grim expression for a moment, before he nodded. "Let's save the world."
"Indeed," Linderman nodded at him in turn. "You've made a good call, Nathan; I have a feeling your father would be proud of the change you're going to make."
"Let's just get on with it," Nathan said; even if he agreed with the plan, the less said about what would have to happen to get to that point the better as far as he was concerned. The fundamental point of people rallying behind a tragedy made sense, but he had no interest in thinking too much about the extent of what would have to happen to get there.
Looking at the painting of Hiro, he suddenly wondered what had happened to Hiro and Ron's efforts to get that sword, but pushed the thought to the back of his mind; he had more immediate priorities than what two strange young men had done with an old sword.
He'd gone from a potential senator to a prospective president in a few minutes; he needed time to consider what he was going to do once the explosion had happened…