Thanks to everyone who took the time to read my first attempt at Heroes fiction. I have more story ideas so if you enjoyed these chapters please be on the look out for new stuff!

Happy reading…

Chapter 3: and baby makes four…

Arthur returned home at about noon the next day. Naturally he was apologetic, blaming his overindulgence in scotch at the office for his suggestion that Angela terminate the pregnancy. He promised to continually support his wife and assured her that over time he would become accustomed to the idea of a second child.

What choice did Angela have but to forgive him? She was a woman of society, high class and well bred. From the moment she had entered adulthood her mother had warned her that a wife must overlook a husband's indiscretions for the sake of a happy home and respected social standing, whether those indiscretions were in the form of aggressive behavior, gambling, excessive drinking, overt affairs, no matter the case. It would be her wifely duty. And so Angela had. The first time Angela emptied her husband's suitcase and discovered the scent of a perfume that was not hers she simply called a maid and instructed her to take on the task from then on. He lost his first big case several years into their marriage and it was the first time she saw him in a drunken rage. She did what any good society wife would do; she sent two-year-old Nathan to the park with the nanny, dismissed the help early and waited for him to pass out. They had been married for 17 years and one would assume that she had lost track of all such occurrences. Not Angela. She remembered every embarrassing scene, every spike of fear or feeling of regret he had inspired. She kept a reckoning and she couldn't wait for the day when she could repay Arthur some of the pain he had so generously dealt her.

However, now was not the time for retribution so Angela just added the experience to her growing pile of ammunition, smiled convincingly and told Arthur that she understood. She even allowed her husband to kiss her and agreed when he decreed that they never speak of the unpleasantness again.

Nathan, of course, was relieved to find his parents reconciled when he returned from school. After dinner, rather than head out to his social club as was expected, Arthur decided the family should retired to the drawing room to talk over dessert. Nathan was shocked at the unusual suggestion and, though his parents were obviously tip toeing around the most important subject at hand, it was a genuinely pleasant evening. Nathan was grilled about his finals and his mother reminded him that the following Tuesday he had an appointment at Hillcrest Academy for a mandatory placement test before the fall semester. "Remember to take this seriously," admonished his father, "This test will set the path for your high school career and you must never forget that college and law school will likely follow the trend that you set in these next four years."

Nathan was well aware of these facts. He was even aware of this when his father gave him almost exactly the same speech when he started Jr. High School. While some children may have rolled their eyes and shrugged off their father's advice, Nathan was a much different breed of child. He not only sought his father's advice, but his desire was to emulate him in all that he did, which meant success in school. Nathan had natural intelligence to be sure, but he was also cunning and hardworking, all of which was evident in his school records and at his graduation ceremony several days later. Among his other commendations Nathan was celebrated as his class valedictorian with an impressive GPA of 4.2, a fact that imprinted a smug grin on his father's face as he mingled with the other parents whose children were obviously less gifted than his.

After graduation summer seemed to fly away from Nathan. If his school year was structured and scheduled to the smallest minutiae, his summers were more so. You see, the Petrellis were old money, the cornerstone of the Manhattan upper crust for generations. Their status had even survived the awkwardness of revealing their tendency toward advanced genetics. That sort of influence was not easily achieved. Privilege was earned, at least as far as the family was concerned, and not offered as a birth rite. For Nathan that meant his summers were free of the idleness and play that he heard his friends speak of fondly. Instead he spent the first several weeks of his break working at his father's office doing mostly errands and making the occasional copy. That experience finished, he spent a month at a leadership training camp in Washington D.C. where he was surrounded by other like-minded young men; the leaders of tomorrow. He enjoyed being in the capital and watching the political process in action. On their last day Nathan was surprised when their session leader, a young man who he greatly admired, told him that he obviously had a great mind for politics.

"You really think so?" Nathan, who was waiting for his chartered bus, could feel his chest swell with pride that this young man would offer him such high praise.

"Sure. You're smart and shrewd, you're a natural leader and you speak will in front o large groups. It's too bad, really."

"What's too bad?" Nathan's bus had pulled into the station and he moved to hand his bag to the porter.

"Well you're advanced, right?"

"Yeah," said Nathan in a confused voice. He didn't see any connection between the two topics.

"Come on, Petrelli," he laughed. "The people of this country will never vote for an advanced candidate. Not in our lifetime anyway." Nathan fought a swell of anger that rose at the man's words, especially as he kept repeating how impossible a political career would be for him and what a sad waste of talent any other career would be for Nathan. The boy sighed in relief as the bus driver called for his passengers to board the vehicle. He muttered good-bye to the man he would no longer remember very affectionately and climbed aboard to find a seat where he could be alone.

Nathan wasn't quite sure why he was so upset. It wasn't like he had ever seriously considered going into politics. His father had pretty much mapped his life out for him and he would happily oblige with that guidance. However, about an hour into the drive as he stared aimlessly out the window, it suddenly occurred to Nathan that no on had ever previously told him that he could not do something. From the time he was a young child he was coached into believing that the world was his for the taking if he only persevered. Nothing was ever too hard or out of reach for a Petrelli. He had been raised believing this axiom and he still did. A look that was too mature for his boyish face hardened his eyes and he silently vowed that he would one day prove that near sighted young man wrong.

Nathan had no choice but to put the matter behind him because his summer activities weren't over yet. His month at leadership training was followed by a month at an AP youth camp called Endless Horizons. His family had been involved with the founding of the camp in 1960 and had apparently donated a significant enough amount to warrant the naming of one section o the wooded camp "Petrelli Pines". Nathan found this exceedingly embarrassing, especially as he hadn't been completely honest when he told his classmates that his family's concerns did not lay in the AP world. In fact, if the Petrellis were major players among the east coast elite, they were akin to royalty among the AP. They were the first family of CAP. They had stood by Adam Monroe through controversy and financed him during those first tough years. Actually Nathan wouldn't learn until he was much older the extent to which his parents were involved in the running of this exclusive world. Concurrently, he had been raised to see himself as a normal though privileged boy who just happened to be able to fly. He was being truthful when he said that being AP wasn't a key part to his identity. The summer camp was really the only time that he mingled with APs who weren't his parents.

All of these facts combined made Nathan's first few years at Endless Horizons quite difficult. He was nine when he first started, too young for the older kids to notice from atop their lofty thrones of maturity, and most of the kids around his age had been raised on stories of the famous Petrelli ancestors who fought for AP rights along with Adam and the old guard. They felt too awed to be in his presence to actually play with him. Yet, as time progressed, he made his group of friends and their bond remained strong over the years. Even though he was a bit uncomfortable with the exuberance with which most of his fellow campers held to their AP identity he always managed to enjoy himself. He was able to fly as much as he wanted, which was good. Junk food like candy and French fries weren't normally accessible to him per his mother's strict dietary regime, so he valued the opportunity to indulge while it was available to him. Plus, though he would never admit it, Nathan really liked making crafts. All things considered it was a pleasant bucolic experience for the city boy. He would never mention it to his 'normal' friends, of course. 'They wouldn't understand,' he thought, watching a friend roast marshmallows over a fire he had started by shooting high intensity beams from his eyes.

However, for the first time since he had started at the camp years ago, he was actually very sorry to see the end of their time come so swiftly. Unfortunately that had less to do with the great time he had at camp and more to do with how nervous he was to return home. At the beginning of camp he had received a letter from his mother informing him that the doctor had been wrong about the original due date. He had moved it from early December to mid September, meaning that Nathan's return home would be shortly followed by the arrival of his baby brother. It also meant that he had less time to get acclimated to the idea. All summer he had tried to put the looming event out of mind. Trying not to think of it, he packed his bags and, still trying not to think of it, he bid his friends farewell for another year. As soon as he began the trek home, however, he could think of nothing else.

Nathan was nervous and he didn't like being nervous. He liked being in control, knowing what to expect and now that was certainly not the case. What if his worst fears were brought to fruition and the infant was a little monster with a rancid odor and an ear splitting wail? Would he actually be expected to change a diaper? The thought alone made him gag.

Nathan's frightened musings were disrupted when the pilot announced that they would be landing in ten minutes and while the man gave his parting pleasantries Nathan watched a boy across the aisle read a book with his sister. The boy could have been six or seven, the girl maybe three or four, young enough to still carry a blanket. That's when a new fear horrified Nathan. 'Is it possible that I'm too old to be a good brother?' He saw that the children had abandoned their book to play some silly game with their hands. 'All of my friends with younger brothers or sisters have three, four, five, maybe six years apart. I'll be almost 14 years older than the kid.' He hardly noticed the turbulent landing as he lost himself in his concerns. 'I don't know any baby games. I don't want to know any baby games. By the time he's six I'll nearly be twenty! How can a twenty year old relate to a six year old?' The worried boy groaned and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying in vain to calm his racing mind.

A few minutes later he was scanning the busy airport for any sign of his ride.

"Nathan!"

He turned at the sound of his name, surprised to see both of his parents there to receive him. He happily greeted the pair, kissing his mother on the cheek and accepting a heavy pat on the back from his father.

"You guys never pick me up from camp," he said as they went to retrieve his bags once his mother was done inspecting him. "Is everything okay? You didn't fire John, did you?

"Everything is fine and no, of course we didn't fire John. He's waiting with the car. Aren't parents allowed to miss their son after two months?"

"Yeah, I guess so," laughed Nathan as they stepped through the automatic doors into the New York sunlight.

"Mom!" Nathan shouted, causing both adults to stop suddenly. He gazed at his mother with wide eyes, as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"What is it?" Angela was alarmed by his cry and a bit scared by the way he looked at her. She shook his arm gently, "What Nathan?"

"It's just," he hesitated, and then exclaimed, "You're huge! Somehow I didn't notice inside but you're really really big."

Arthur smothered a laugh at his son's insensitive comments, recognizing that though his wife's pregnant stomach had indeed grown rapidly in the past few months it wasn't wise to tell her as bluntly as their son had. For her part Angela just smoothed the blouse covering her expanding waistline, pursed her lips and turned to enter the waiting vehicle.

"What?" asked Nathan as his father shook his head and pushed his son toward the car, "I wasn't trying to make fun of her. She really is huge."

Arthur just replied, "Kid, you've got a lot to learn" and prepared himself for an icy ride home with a hormonally unstable woman.

Returning home from a long trip is always an unsettling experience. To Nathan, who had spent months surrounded by crowds of noisy children, his home felt like a tomb; quiet, cool and empty. It was lonely; especially once his father left the day after Nathan's return.

Nathan only had one week before he was to begin his first semester of high school and he spent the first days of that week adjusting to the changes that had taken place in his absence. His mother was most eager to show Nathan the nursery.

"Isn't it exquisite?" she asked as she toured him around the space.

"It's very...blue," he responded, overwhelmed by the singular coloring from the ceiling to the floor.

"Honestly, Nathan," she clucked, "Blue…can't you see that the walls are cornflower, the ceiling is azure and the carpeting is midnight; three very distinct colors. Besides, Darlene says monochromatic is very chic."

"Darlene?" He paused from inspecting the starry mobile over the low crib. "Who's Darlene?"

"My nursery room designer. Victoria's sister recommended her to me. It's been ages since I had to decorate a baby's room. I wouldn't know where to begin." She carefully lowered herself into an antique rocker by the window, caressing her abdomen in small circles while watching her older son.

He ventured to open a chest of drawers and was astonished by the volume of clothing they held. "Did all this come from the baby shower?" he asked, picking up an impossibly small sock.

"Most of it," she confirmed. "The ladies truly outdid themselves. Probably because it's been so long since any of us have had little ones around. Everyone's excited." They remained in silence for several moments, the mother rocking slowly, the son leaning his back against the chest of drawers.

Angela decided to shatter the quiet. "I have to know that you're alright, Nathan," she said suddenly.

"What do you mean, Ma?" the boy moved to sit at a stool by her knee, honestly confused by her abrupt question.

"Are you still upset about the baby?"

"Ma…" Nathan whined, rubbing his eyes in a tired motion that was a subconscious mimic of his father.

"I realize we all made a silent agreement to never speak of that night again, but the baby will be here in a few weeks…"

"I know that, Ma," he interrupted, angry that his mother was forcing him to confront a side of himself that did not make him very proud.

"I am your mother," she snapped, straightening her back and stilling her chair. "You will not address me with that tone and you will not interrupt me when I am speaking." Seeing that he was properly subdued, she continued. "I'll ask again. Are you still upset?"

He considered her question carefully, unsure whether to tell her the truth or what he knew she wanted to hear. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm not mad, exactly, I just…I don't know. I'm sure I'll be fine. How's pop?"

She sighed and with a significant look said, "He'll be fine too." She gasped and sat forward, one hand on her stomach. Nathan jumped at her unexpected movement, ready to run for help.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "Your brother just kicked me."

"He did, huh?" Nathan grinned.

"Mmm hmm. Come here," she said, reaching for Nathan's hand.

"No, it's okay." He pulled his hand away, uncomfortable with the idea of feeling something move around inside his mother.

"Don't be such a child," she reproached. "Give me your hand." A reluctant Nathan allowed her to place his hand on the underside of her belly. The first few moments were uneventful but then he was amazed to feel something pushing against his palm.

"Whoa," he said softly. "That's him?"

"That's him," she smiled.

"Does he always do that?" he asked, moving his hand in a different position to test whether the fetus would do the trick again.

"He's certainly been doing it often, but only recently. He has a lot of energy, this one." She was content to silently watch these first interactions between her children; delighted that Nathan was interested in the unseen but precious movements of her youngest son.

"Have you thought about what we're going to call him?" Nathan asked as he sat back on his stool.

"I have," she said, reaching to a nearby table and picking up an old book of folk tales and children's poetry. "Do you remember this?"

"Yeah, you used to read that to me when I was little."

"Correct." She fingered through the book till she fount the memorable and well-worn page she was seeking. "Does this look familiar?"

Nathan laughed and took the book she was offering, running his eyes over the much-loved picture and text. " 'Peter, Peter the Pumpkin Eater.' Man, I loved this story."

"I know, I had to read it to you every night. For six years."

He cocked an eyebrow and asked, "You're not going to name him Peter the Pumpkin Eater, are you?"

"Just Peter, actually."

"Why are you naming him after a fictional pumpkin eater who couldn't catch a chick?"

"Don't say chick. It's crude." She took the book back and caressed the cover. "And it's not about the story."

"Then why?"

She paused and then said, "I haven't been a very good mother, Nathan. By nature I'm cold and stubborn, in no way nurturing or kind-hearted. I despise cooking and baking and I'd rather use a knitting needle as a torture device than to knit a sweater with one. Your father was probably right when he said that this isn't the life I was mean for." She reached over to smooth the frown marking her son's forehead. "But when you were a little boy and you would call for me in that darling voice and we'd settle down on your bed to read this tale…I felt like a mother. You'll never know how I treasure those memories. I want to be better. I don't want to make the same mistakes, Nathan. Every time I see him, my Peter, I'll remember this story and I'll think of you and what it means to be a mother. Can you understand that?"

Nathan was quiet, flashbacks of soft pillows, his mother's voice and the scent of lilacs occupying his mind. He looked his mother in the eye and said, "Peter. Peter Petrelli. I think I like it."

She leaned forward as much as her girth would allow and held his face between her hands. "So do I."

Peter's birth was the first major event in Nathan's heretofore mundane life, but the events of his birth projected a future of strife for the newborn and his father, promising that Peter would buck the traditions and sensibilities that the man held dear. To begin with he was arrived five days past his due date, flying in the face of his father's love for punctuality and making useless his carefully scheduled plan for Angela's labor. When Peter did finally decide to make his way into the world he chose to do so while Angela and Nathan were stuck in the middle of what had to be one of the worst traffic jams in the city's history. And so the youngest of the illustrious Petrelli clan was born in the back of his family's town car. He would become his mother's joy and there were even times that his father seemed glad to have him around. To Nathan his little brother was nothing short of a miracle, bringing life to their empty home. As he cradled the tiny bundle in his arms he would tell him, "Just you wait, buddy. This is only the beginning." And, like always, Nathan was right. Only history would tell the depth of their bond and the strength of the love that made them the brothers Petrelli.

Thanks again! Please do review…constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.