(no subject)
Date: March, 2006
Characters: Nathan Petrelli.
Summary: Nathan is starting to go crazy inside the house-Almost laterally.
Status: Comeplete
With a pulse in his head, Nathan Petrelli tries to recollect a breath- watching his pair of boys holed up under the table pretending they are painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Little fingers wrapped around rainbow Crayolas while doe, innocent eyes see a work of art in the blur of colour and line that's more Jackson Pollack than Michelangelo. For a moment he wants to crawl under the table and join them, forgetting everything but sticks of coloured wax wrapped in pretty paper. But he doesn't.
It's been exactly tree months, one week and two days since his father died and the impact left behind had been slight, given the circumstance in their relationship at the time. Now, however, the empty space is becoming a bother. Sitting in his large leather sofa, Nathan feels stiff and weary as the memories better forgotten rise and repeat like echoing phantoms from the dusty corners of his mind.
“Promise?”
The tall, half clad man stopped surveying his state of the art walk in closest in search for a preferable shirt, and turned around to look down at the boy standing behind him, shifting from one foot to the other with big puppy dog eyes. Flashing his pearly white, perfectly even teeth, Arthur asked. “Nathan, Do know what the Petrellis do when they make promises? ”
Little Nathan blinked uneasily for a few moments, clearly mulling over what to say, and trying to figure out the correct answer. “They-They keep them?”
His father nodded slowly,“Yes. Son. They keep them.”
An miniature, photocopy of his father's smile bloomed across Nathan's face. “So, I can have a little brother?”
“If you promise to take good care of him, I'll talk to your mother.” Arthur glanced at his watch; reminding himself that he has to be in Boston within the hour. “Deal?”
“Deal!” Nathan curled his bottom lip in thought, before blurting out. “And-and...can I be like you when I grow-up. Da?”
Arthur eyes brows shot up as he pondered the question for what was a nanosecond, “No. You don't ever want that.” He snapped indignantly. “You won't, and that's a promise. Right?”
“But...” The to-be eldest pulled a pooh-poohing face, thinking twice about arguing with his father and agreed. “I promise. Da”
“ You understand one day. Nathan. Your a smart kid.” Petrelli offered his son a fin excuse for a smile, as though they came to a mute agreement-not trusting himself to say much else.
His father; the would-be hero, turned out not to be as indestructible as he once seemed. Nathan knows that the little boy in him is more than just disappointed, given he was under the delusion that Superman didn't die, and unfortunately for him his father had been exactly that- the almost perfect hero. So much so that the his little self pretended that the reason his father was never home was because he was too busy saving the world. At first Angela agreed, and back then he thought Mothers never lied. But, It wasn't too far into his teen years that Nathan had made his own conclusions, and dropped the rose tinted glasses.
“Daddy, can I watch my X-men DVD?” Pleads Simon, as soon as their mother is out of ear shot, and he's done with destroying the future.He grabs hold of Nathan's arm and squeezes a little in attempt to bring his dad out of his daze. “Pleeeeeeease!"
"I want to watch fishy,” says Monty, referring to the cartoon 'Finding Nemo' that he has seen at least 20 times already.
Luckily, they have a several DVD house hold, and the two boys are not in the least bit perturbed after watching their mother vanish into the wilderness of their back garden. Nathan feels a overwhelming flush of love for them as he realises that it's because he's able to mind them for a turn. If it had been their nanny, Monty would no doubt have attached himself to Heidi's leg and been dragged up the garden path screaming like a banshee.
But, 'Daddy' is the next best thing to uncle Peter and Mum-in fact sometimes Daddy's even better because He indulges them that little bit more. Today, the day that he has a new case-file gathering dust on his desk, is no exception. So after their bubble bath, Nathan pokes them down with a milky drink each, watching the film of their choice in separate rooms.
Once he's sure they are engrossed, Nathan sneaks downstairs to his office and settles himself down in front of his desk. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the mind-numbing combination of long, complicated words, he sighs and spins his chair around to stare out of the window, feeling trapped inside the four walls, while everything outside seems pure and bright-recebtly bathed with dirty diamond rain.
Never before has he felt so trapped, so powerless. The city is closing in on him, and he can feel its eyes staring at him every time he is given permission to crawl out of his woollen cocoon on the bed. Desperation is seeping through the cracks, slithering across the floor and biting its way up his tingling legs, urging him to bend his knees and shoot like a rocket into the sky; Physicality be dammed.
His grip tighten on the armchair, straining his bandages and stinging his wounds. The pain is soothing, because there is nothing he can take, no pill, no drug, no amount of alcohol can dull out the cacophony of deja-vu or memories that seems to be loitering about his brain like a bored teenager with a spray can of mixed emotions, painting images and colours that he can't put his finger on.
It's a bad thing. Sort of. Maybe. Hes still not too sure on that. Good or bad and whatever the hell the 'feeling' is meant to mean, it's definitely present and waiting like a bear trap for him to find the right trigger.