6. The Next Move

Damon the Polar Bear slowly released his hold on gravity, floating higher and higher into the air. When he was about seven feet above the ground, he suddenly dropped out of his levitation. As he fell, he became the unfortunate victim of a radioactive fireball, straight to the face. He landed on the concrete porch, now a mass of cotton, smoke, and ashes.

Lyle stared at Damon's remains with intense googly-eyed awe. "That was badass."

Peter grinned confidently. "What else you got?"

"What are you guys doing?" Claire asked, closing the back door behind her. Her eyes caught the half-scorched face of Damon the Polar Bear lying on the concrete. "Is that my Damon Bear?!"

She looked at Peter, who had an absolutely horrified look on his face. "You said that was yours!" He yelled at Lyle.

"Right, like I would let you nuke my toys," he snorted. "Anyway, she has like a ton of bears."

"That was my very first one, idiot!" Claire yelled, punching Lyle in the arm several times, hard.

"Ow, ow, OWW!"

"You're such a little prick!"

"Hey, hey," said Peter, holding Claire back before she could tear Lyle apart. "Don't do it, Claire, not worth the trouble. I'm really sorry about Damon, even though certain jerks had to be insensitive and not tell me about him." He glared at Lyle. "Why don't you go inside and help your parents with something?"

Lyle didn't even bother resisting. Rubbing his arm, he stormed inside, a sour look on his face.

"Damon was from England!" said Claire. "My uncle gave him to me, and now I'm never going to get him back! How could you tell me not to rip him apart?!"

"Sometimes siblings are the biggest assholes you will ever meet," Peter explained. "But sometimes you have to let it go."

"'Let it go?' Peter, he has been tormenting me for thirteen years-"

"—I meant, in exchange for another kind of revenge," he interrupted, with a grin. "Find his toothbrush, and brush it around in toilet water every morning. Don't tell him about it until like a month later."

She stared at him for a moment, and soon burst out laughing. "Something tells me you've done this to Nathan before."

"Hey, when you've eight and your older brother is a college student, you have to have creative kinds of retaliation. Make your circumstances work for you."

Claire laughed. "Making your circumstances work…I'll keep that in mind."

The back door opened again, and Mr. Bennet walked out, toting some dinner plates and utensils. "What's this I hear about a burned bear?" he asked.

"Dad, could you ground Lyle for like, twenty years?" she asked sighing and holding out Damon Bear's corpse. "He had Peter take out a hit on Damon Bear."

"I'm sorry, honey," he chuckled. "I'll have a talk with him after dinner. Meanwhile, if you could take these and set the table?"

Peter walked across the backyard a little ways, deciding to wait until Claire was inside before asking his question. "You know, uh, given that I'm leaving tomorrow…I wanted to ask you something," he started.

"Certainly, Peter," said Mr. Bennet, ever calm. "Right after this."

"What are-" he turned around, and mid-sentence his hand instinctively went up and shot out a mini-fireball at the dinner plate catapulting towards his head. One spectacular mini-explosion later, and the charred ceramic pieces had fallen to earth.

He and Bennet exchanged grins. "Not bad," Bennet told him casually.

"Jeez, you did that on purpose the other day, didn't you! Lobbing the thing at my head?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're just like Claude, you know," Peter complained. "Except Claude's more up front about being a douchebag. Honestly, you guys' lessons are harsh."

"I might've borrowed a lesson plan or two," he answered simply, sweeping up the sizzling plate remains into a dustpan.

"Well, it works." After a hesitant moment, he decided to ask, "Why don't you do this more often?"

"Hm? Do what?"

"Well, help people like me. You know more about us than most guys, so why don't you?"

The corner of Bennet's mouth twitched, and his demeanor turned stoic instantly. "I think I explained something to you about 'familial responsibilities' the other day, Peter." The reply was formal, cold, and followed by a strategic sneer. "Isn't that why you're embarking on this fruitless quest of yours? To find your dead brother?"

Peter should've responded with an emotional defense of some kind. He used to be so easily damaged by put-downs and discouragement. But he had grown up considerably in the past year, and his confidence was on high after having Claire's support throughout the past week. He realized that this was just a little tactic of Bennet's to avoid the question.

"Sure it is," he said casually, feeling bullet-proof for once. "But I mean, well…there are more responsibilities in life than just those to your family. My dad always taught me that being able to do something to help others came with the responsibility of actually doing it. Like what you said about me going after Sylar, if I have to. I'm one of the few people with the capacity to stop him, so I have a responsibility to others to do so."

"Don't moralize, Peter, you don't have the gravitas."

"Hey, I'm not trying to-"

"—Yes, you are." He stood up now, glaring at him. "I took it upon myself to get the Company's satellite and resources destroyed, to persuade the Sanders' family to risk their lives infiltrating the computer system, to make sure that the Company wouldn't bag-and-tag someone like you ever again. My responsibility ends there, Peter, I'm not helping you in your disillusioned mission to save the world and teach it to sing."

Peter stood silent for a few seconds, slightly disheartened. He would've expected the same kind of speech from Claude, but…well, he now realized just how much the world had changed in four months. "Sorry I asked," he said finally, knowing that it was the only thing he could say.

Bennet walked over to the garbage can, emptying the dustpan's contents. "Are we finished here?" He asked, sounding casual and almost conversational again.

"No, sorry…um..." It was a little awkward for Peter to ask, after that talk. "…I did need a favor. I know you've done a lot for me, Noah, but you told me in New York that you had a tracking system?"

"'Had' is an appropriate term," said Bennet. "I don't know where she is anymore."

"She?"

"The tracking system is a little girl, Molly Walker. She has the ability to find people. The last time I checked, she was staying with Dr. Suresh."

"Do you know where he is?"

"We've sort of mutually agreed not to keep tabs on one another," he explained curtly. "We're not exactly friends. I do know he's not in New York anymore, though."

"Guess I've got some investigating to do," said Peter.

Bennet nodded. "Good luck to you, then." They shook hands, but there was a certain insincerity to it this time.

"I know you don't mean that," Peter said honestly. "You think Nathan's dead."

"Well, Claire doesn't, thanks to you," he told him. "So you're going to need all the luck you can get."

The next afternoon, when Nathan woke up again, he found that he could move. He still felt extremely ill, but he could make his arm lift off the bed and his fingers flex slowly. His feet could even swivel around by the ankles.

That was way too speedy a recovery from a four-month coma.

He didn't receive any visitors, thankfully, save for a nurse, so he spent the rest of the day moving his extremities and working out which ones he could use. He also tried talking, once he found that he could groan loudly in response to the nurse's syringe prick. By the time Aster came in for another visit the following day, Nathan could've probably given him one of his stump speeches with some degree of enthusiasm.

"And how are we today?" Aster asked.

"I can move," said Nathan hoarsely. "And talk."

"Soon you'll be well on your way to becoming a real boy," he deadpanned.

"What are you people giving me? Some kind of experimental drug or something? No one recovers from a coma this quickly. It's a miracle I'm even asking you this right now, I haven't spoken in four months."

"Blame it on your good health, Mr. Petrelli," he told him cheerfully.

"And what about my brother's?"

Aster understood and smiled knowingly, to Nathan's disgust. "Think he's bed-ridden as well, do you? There's no need to worry; his powers allowed him to heal after the explosion, and he has been looking for you ever since."

"I'm assuming you know this because you're having him followed. But why? What's the catch?"

"Well, that all depends on you," he answered, with all the bravado of a game-show host. "You see, you're a real live miracle, Nathan Petrelli. You should've died in that explosion, but instead you've qualified for a second chance at life."

Nathan snorted. "The lightning round."

"Yes indeed. But I'd like to know; what do you intend to do with that second chance, Mr. Petrelli? I know you haven't had much discretion with your first."

"I'm guessing that all depends on you, John." No way in hell was he calling this kid 'Mister.'

"And why is that?"

"Well, your old man had something of a god-complex; I'm assuming that genetics have dominated in your case."

Aster grinned. "I'm honest enough to agree, although I'm going to be presenting you with a job offer, not a request for mass homicide."

"Technically it was a job offer, the president's."

"Yes, but I can't aim that high this time. No one would elect a man who suddenly reappeared after dropping off the face of the earth for four months."

"That was your fault," Nathan said angrily, annoyed with Aster's apparent 'charity.' The man was his father's son, all right. "You didn't have to hide my disappearance. I don't owe you any favors."

"But we didn't hide it," he said. "Not at first, at least."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, just think about the alternatives for a second," Aster implored him, looking Nathan right in the eye. "If you recover and walk out of here, what are you going to do? Go back to your family? What are you going to tell Heidi? She's been bothered and harassed by the media for months, and you're suddenly going to show up at the front door with no explanation? And your mother, your staff, everyone you know is going to have questions for you and your brother. Nothing is going to be the same, Mr. Petrelli. The world has changed. You don't even have a right to your seat in the House anymore; they barely elected your friend Josh Sutter to serve for you last week."

He withdrew, allowing the man to think over his words. "It doesn't matter how you got to this point, Nathan. I'm not trying to hold you here against your will, but right now there aren't many viable options to choose from."

Nathan knew the man was right, as much as he hated to admit it. No excuse could cover for his disappearance. Hell, even the truth would be outrageous, and dangerous even if he wanted to prove it. Not only that, but Peter would be held up to public scrutiny as well. By the time of the explosion, his brother had more or less forgiven him (he assumed) for lying to everyone about his flying hijinks. But would Peter be able to stand all of the questions and mistrust he would certainly receive after returning? Especially with that fib about his depression? His poor brother wouldn't be able to live a normal life ever again.

"So…" Nathan started, after a time. "What is this position you're so kindly offering me?"

Aster had a gentler tone this time, ready to cushion after the impact he had left with the truth. "I'd like you to help me rebuild this company. You would serve in an executive position, as adviser to me in all major affairs."

"That's it?" he said, almost willing to laugh at the proposal. "That's your offer? You tell me that I risk public crucifixion by going back to my family, and then you ask me to help you by serving as a business partner in the Linderman Group? What kind of circular logic are you trying to pull on me, John?"

"I'm sorry, I probably should've clarified," said Aster. "I wasn't talking about that company."