A/N: After writing an exhaustingly long FF for Star Trek 2009, I had to get back to my boys in Heroes. Hopefully this one won't be as long, but I make no promises. Needless to say this is AU. As always, reviews are appreciated. Cheers!
Chapter 1- Separate but Equal
Gabriel Gray adjusted the glasses that sat on his aquiline nose and sighed as he looked out the tiny porthole window at the clouds beneath him. He was bored, cramped, and tired. His long legs didn't really fit so well in the space allotted and it was just his luck to get a window seat in the tail of the plane. His knees were already sore from rubbing against the seat in front of him and he grimaced when the occupant pushed back, but he tolerated it quietly. He wouldn't have the nerve to say something even though he wouldn't reach New York for at least five more hours. It was just in his nature to put up with the pain in order not to draw attention to himself; God knows he was a magnet for unwanted scrutiny anyway without really trying.
Gabriel was a bit tall for his age, but he always had been. That wasn't so much of a problem in and of itself, but he was also a little thin. Not painfully so in a malnourished kind of way, but the others at school didn't think it necessary to make that distinction. Not helping matters was the fact that his now single mother was poor. His father had left them destitute a few years ago without so much as a goodbye. Gabriel had been attending a public school in a rough section of Brooklyn, but he was deemed exceptionally bright by his teachers and it was decided that he may be better challenged if he went to a school with an accelerated program for gifted kids. That, and the little problem of him coming home almost every day with fresh cuts and bruises he had sustained in fights either at school or as the result of an ambush on his way home.
His mother had never been a particularly religious person, but after his father left she spent more and more time at mass and it just so happened that the parish had a school that was almost nationally renowned for their rigorous academic standards. The problem was, his mother couldn't hope to come close to paying the ridiculous tuition such an institution demanded. However, after much discussion and review of grades and intelligence testing, the school believed him to be smart enough to attend, but poor enough to do so on waivers. Essentially, he was a charity case. There were not many at the school, the administrators were careful to stress that to his mother while he sat quietly at her side in front of the Dean's enormous desk feeling somehow guilty for being socioeconomically disadvantaged as though it were their choice.
Once granted admittance, he worked hard to do well in his classes. He wanted to prove himself worthy to his teachers, but most of all to his mother. He wanted her to be proud although in truth he hated every minute spent within the walls. He tried to keep to himself; he had no friends and he ate his subsidized lunch in the hallway or under a stairwell to avoid the inevitable harassment. His classmates were quick to tease him for being poor and thin. They would often ask him if his mother couldn't afford to feed him. Sometimes they dumped their food scraps on his lunch tray when they left the cafeteria and told him to take them home so he would have something to eat for dinner. When he wouldn't respond, the boys would shove him and the girls looked on and giggled in their high pitched voices.
Unlike the public school, the shoving never turned to punches, but it all hurt just the same. Of course he would never tell them as much. He would keep his head down, mouth shut and wait for them to grow tired of taunting him. It wasn't like he didn't know how to fight. Attending the public school taught him that being tall meant he had a longer reach and by the time he had transferred schools, he was becoming skilled at self defense. He had to, it was a matter of his daily survival. Instead he endured it because he knew that if he had been caught fighting by any of the nuns or priests he would immediately be expelled and lose his scholarship. That would break his mother's heart and he just found it easier to abide the mistreatment than to be yet another source of disappointment in her already shattered life. He was all she had now and he tried to make her happy although it seemed more often than not he failed.
The trip had been paid for out of the tuition fund, so Gabriel wondered who actually paid for his travel since it obviously wasn't him. He sighed again and tried to think of pleasant things to tell his mother when he got home. The class trip to Mexico City had in reality been a disaster, but of course he would never tell her that. He knew she would sit on the ratty couch in their dingy apartment and listen to him talk about seeing ancient ruins with that far away look of awe that she usually had when thinking of a life better than the one she knew. In her own mind she was a world traveler with a life of adventure, but this was a fantasy world and her only connection to it was her son who would experience these things for her. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his mind was uneasy and he had an inexplicable bad feeling that stirred deep in the pit of his stomach.
Meanwhile, Peter Petrelli slouched in his overstuffed seat in first class and stretched out his legs. The stewardess offered him something to drink for the umpteenth time and once more he declined with a polite smile although he was anything but happy. He rummaged through his backpack and removed his portable CD player loaded with Pearl Jam's latest album and placed the headphones over his ears in the hopes that the stewardess would get the hint and not try to push more drinks or food or magazines or anything else on him. He just wanted to be left alone.
Peter wasn't usually this grumpy, but it had been a long trip from his point of origin in Costa Rica early this morning with a connection in Mexico City. He had enjoyed his time there immensely. While most of his classmates chose to visit the beaches in Cancun or Puerto Rico, he convinced his parents that he would rather spend his time volunteering at a community health clinic in the costal city of Tamarindo. They didn't understand, but there was nothing he wanted more. He couldn't explain it, but for as long as he could remember he always wanted to help people.
His parents were very wealthy, among the top 20% of all New Yorkers he would have guessed. Not that he really cared much about that, in fact he spent most of his time downplaying the enormous amount of privilege and power it afforded him. He was granted admission in one of the city's most exclusive private schools just as his older brother Nathan had, after a small donation on behalf of his parents to the endowment fund of course. Peter was no academic slouch, but it seemed he was always occupied with real world problems and couldn't help but feel that there was something that could be done to ease the tremendous suffering that he saw day in and day out through the blackened windows of the family's chauffeured town car as they went to a series of endless high end dinners and theatre engagements. Peter went along because it was expected of him, but he felt strangely disconnected from it all as though it were some strange dream.
His mother was generally indulgent of his passions, although she could at times be rather severe and cold with her affection. His father appeared to be far more interested in Nathan's life than his own, although Peter never felt jealous toward his sibling because of it. His father wanted another man of power to take his place as a lawyer or perhaps something more. Nathan showed great promise in this regard. He was handsome and strong with a sharp wit and keen sense of survival that made him quite popular in school as well as in his current job as a Navy pilot. He was quickly rising through the ranks and had received many compliments on his bravery and leadership skills by his commanders.
Peter was happy for him, but he could never be any of those things. But the beautiful part was, Nathan never expected him to. It seemed as though he were the only one in the wealthy, power hungry family that both understood and accepted Peter for what he was. While Nathan certainly was supportive, he could never really be said to have been a compassionate man. That meant he could never fully understand how important it was to him to help others sometimes at his own expense, but he never once discouraged him from it or talked down to him like he was a kid.
In fact, Peter had recently confided in him that he was thinking of going to nursing school after he graduated. He knew his father would be furious and his mother would patronizingly tell him it was only a phase, but he knew Nathan would take him seriously. Indeed, he sat on the edge of the bed in Peter's room while he was visiting on his last leave. After a moment of silence to let it sink in, he finally stood to embrace him and encourage him to pursue becoming a nurse no matter what anyone said if that was what he truly wanted. In fact, he would be downright proud to have a nurse for a brother. Peter smiled just thinking about it.
The two weeks he spent at the clinic were hard. At 16, he was just old enough to join the program. His Spanish was very limited, but that was the least of his problems. He had been trained in first aid prior to his arrival by the Red Cross, but when he got there he was shocked by the lack of basic medical supplies. The clinic itself was tiny and not exactly sterile, but the staff worked with grim determination while outside the line of people seeking care grew exponentially. Some had walked for miles because they had no other access to doctors. He was saddened by the lack of care and was often faced with the task of bandaging wounds that had been open for days. How the people had not died of infection was beyond him. Sometimes he was instructed not to waste supplies on more minor wounds or people that the doctors did not believe would survive much longer. That was hard for him to deny care to people who looked pleadingly into his eyes and muttered, "Senior, por favor…" while they grabbed his hands and held them in their own. It ripped his heart out of his chest, but all he could do was shake his head in an apologetic manner and reply, "Lo lamento." While the sense of helplessness was overwhelming, to have people thank him or kiss his hands in gratitude made up for it. If even just for a little while, he had made their lives better.
He sat up in his seat when the fasten seatbelt sign lit up. He had noticed the turbulence, but it seemed to be getting worse. He buckled his belt and jerked it tight, but thought no more about it until he picked up on the look of panic on the stewardess' face as she ran down the isle to her own seat. Peter wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew he didn't like it.