Fic: All My Sins Remember'd, Part Two
Fic title: All My Sins Remember'd
Author name: evil_is_pretty
Artist credit(s): Banner by azarsuerte & YouTube Trailer by trackburst or Download from Sendspace
Genre: Gen, AU
Pairing: Ensemble, subtle Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 29,463
Challenge: Written for heroes_bigboom
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Season One
Summary: What would have happened if the bomb had gone off?... If Claire hadn't been given the chance to get away from her father and grandmother? If Niki and DL hadn't been able to stop Linderman? If Peter and Hiro had been left to face Sylar alone? Nathan sends Mohinder on a journey to find his brother in the aftermath, and along the way, everyone begins to discover that things aren't always the way they seem.
A/N: Special thanks to trackburst and azarsuerte for the beautiful trailer and artwork! Also thanks to azarsuerte for the title, because I hate coming up with such things! Thanks to my lovely betas, forsquilis (who took the chance to read something from an author she'd never read before!), and icalynn. Also lots of love to my perpetual cheerleader, moonlitpines. This story came about through a mixture of convoluted spoilers generated toward the end of last season, and my secret wish that the bomb had gone off. (I also have an immense love for AU's.) Originally it was just going to be a small Sylar/Mohinder fic... but then Nathan got involved and I ended up with a monster gen. Note to self: Tape Nathan's mouth shut next time... P.S. My apologies to Lewis Carroll for blatantly stealing both titles and quote.
Link to fic:
Part One: Down the Rabbit Hole * Part Two: A Caucus Race and a Long-Tale * Part Three: A Mad Tea-Party * Part Four: The Lion and the Unicorn
It’s nightfall by the time Mohinder reaches the first address on the list - the Petrelli mansion. Here, the damage done is minimal, with most buildings still standing, though some appear destroyed by fires. The vegetation is dead or dying, and the streets still as empty as everywhere else Mohinder has driven through. The checkpoints he passed on the way to Central Park were surprisingly easy to get through. Even the military personnel seem to be in a bit of a daze over everything that has occurred. Once he leaves the furthest reaches of the destruction, though, Mohinder figures his search is going to get a little more difficult.
Putting the jeep in park, he leaves the engine running while he rummages through the bag for the flashlight. As his fingers brush against the gun, he hesitates for just a moment before tucking it into the waistband of his pants, and adjusting his jacket to cover it. He turns off the engine and climbs out of the car, the flashlight snapping on before he makes his way up the walk and toward the door. Without a key, he may just need to shoot the lock off the door to open it, but is surprised to find that when he reaches for the knob, it turns easily, allowing him entrance.
Inside, the home is untouched, apparently one of the few not ransacked during the chaotic exodus from the city. In fact, if not for the lack of electricity and heat, one would have no idea anything had happened, standing inside of the Petrelli home. Stay away from the windows, and Mohinder could pretend it was all just a nasty nightmare.
The thought gives him a brief flash of hope, and he licks his lips before calling out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Not expecting an answer, he continues his way down the hall and into the first room that appears to be a small receiving parlor. He spends a few moments glancing through the expensive knick-knacks, recalling a day not so long ago when he carried Peter’s dead body into the home, and was told quite succinctly by Mrs. Petrelli to get the hell out. He wonders what she would think if she knew he had come back.
Finding nothing worthy in the parlor, Mohinder returns to the hall and continues his exploration of the first floor. “Hello? Peter, are you here? It’s Mohinder.”
He finds his way into the kitchen, an enormous room more suitable for a restaurant than home. He realizes he hasn’t eaten yet today, and considers checking the cabinets before rethinking the idea. Exodus or not, it certainly is no excuse for him to go stealing food from people, especially when he has a box of MRE’s back in the Jeep. It amazes him how easily the human brain can fall into chaos at the onset of tragedy. It’s a case of instinct, survival of the fittest, and thankfully, a good portion of humanity has learned to overcome that automatic response. Those who haven’t… well, they’re the ones to worry about. He can only imagine someone like Sylar feeding off the survivors of this catastrophe.
As he moves to leave the kitchen, the beam from his flashlight moves over a box of Captain Crunch left on its side on the table. He stares at it for a moment, wondering at the significance of its presence and why it has caught his attention. Mohinder steps over to it, reaches out, and picks it up to realize it’s empty. An empty box of cereal left on its side in the Petrelli kitchen doesn’t make much sense. Not when the Petrellis left the city before the explosion happened.
Eyes widening with renewed hope, Mohinder hurries out of the kitchen sweeping the arch of the flashlight through the house as he heads toward the staircase.
“Peter? Peter Petrelli! It’s Mohinder - if you’re here, answer me!”
He takes the steps two at a time, imaging Peter possibly injured, needing help, unable to speak.
“Peter, if you can’t call out, knock on the floor or something.” He peers into the first room he comes to but sees nothing. “I’ve come to help you. Nathan sent me, he - “
“What does he want? Hasn’t he done enough?”
Mohinder whirls around at the voice, flashing the beam of light at Peter, who was standing in a spot that he had literally just checked. It’s as if he’d simply appeared out of nowhere. “Peter, why didn’t you answer?”
“I didn’t want to,” he says, eyeing Mohinder warily as he moves around him. “You didn’t answer my question. What does Nathan want?”
“To find you. To make certain you’re safe.”
Peter laughs but it’s without humor. Mohinder is certain he hasn’t heard a sound quite so ugly. He never would have expected it from the man beside him.
“That’s funny. He lets me explode, lets me kill - “
He stops himself, turning away abruptly, his shoulders heaving as if the exertion of silence is too much. Mohinder waits in silence for answers, realizing he understands very little about what’s going on. He had expected Peter to be happy to be reunited with his family; he was wrong.
“You should leave, Mohinder,” Peter says after a few moments.
Well, that damn well isn’t going to happen.
“Peter, what happened? I don’t think I understand any of this. Your brother said there was a man named Ted Sprague, who had this ability, and that Sylar - “
“Sylar’s dead.” Peter turns back to face Mohinder, though he remains half hidden in the shadows. He smiles a little, and it seems out of place. “One good thing to come out of this, huh?”
Mohinder expects to feel elation out of such a statement. Instead, he just feels… empty? Cheated somehow, perhaps. Sylar was his responsibility; he should have been the one to kill him. Of course, when given the chance, he’d failed.
“In the explosion -“ he begins, but Peter cuts him off.
“No. Hiro killed him. With a sword, if you can believe it.” He leans against the wall, closing his eyes as his head falls against it. “I wanted him to kill me, too, but Sylar was… alive long enough to make that impossible.”
“I don’t understand. Peter.” Mohinder steps closer, reaching out tentatively to place a hand on his shoulder. “How did this happen?”
“You really want to know?” Peter stares at him, and for a moment, Mohinder doesn’t think he’s going to get his answers, but then he slowly slides to the floor, and begins to tell his story.
Peter had been in the process of leaving the city with his niece, Claire Bennet (it takes Mohinder only a moment to realize he recognizes her name from the list), when they discovered that Sylar had killed Ted Sprague and taken his power to create radioactive energy. Knowing he was the only one who had the ability to stop Sylar, he decided to go to his brother for help. Mr. Bennet wanted his daughter to be kept safe, first and foremost (Mohinder is confused as to how the Bennets and Petrellis are related but decides that a topic to broach at a later date), and Peter knew none of this could be done without Nathan’s assistance.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t listened to Claire when she told him she didn’t trust Nathan, and he had to find out for himself that Nathan had betrayed them all - he wanted the bomb to go off, even if it was his own brother. Knowing he was the last one left to protect Claire while Mr. Bennet was taking care of other business, Peter turned to leave only to discover that his niece had run off without him. Just as he went to search for her, Ted’s ability began to surface and he passed out.
Here he pauses, as if there is something he doesn’t want to say, and Mohinder waits with surprising patience for him to continue, mind filled with questions that he knows he can’t ask for fear of the tale not being concluded. What does he mean, Nathan wanted the bomb to go off? And why were they all so certain it would be Peter when Sylar had been equally as certain that it would be him?
And how many people on the list have been right under his very nose, and Mohinder has never had the slightest clue? Is it because he’s been so focused on finding Sylar and revenging his father? Or is he simply not very good at this?
Peter continues, breaking Mohinder’s train of thought. “When I woke up, I wasn’t certain where to look. I figured that Isaac could help me - I mean, he was the first to paint the future, right? Maybe there was some new clue or something. We’ve had our problems but -“
He stops again, as if he’s saying too much. Closing his eyes, he leans his head against the wall once more.
“Isaac was dead when I got there, and there were these paintings… obviously Sylar’s work.”
“He can paint the future?” That explains the phone call.
“Could.” Here Peter opens his eyes, and has that odd smile again that doesn’t seem right on his face. “Too bad he couldn’t paint his own future, hmm? That might have been a little more helpful for him.” He rubs at his forehead for a moment, expression dissolving into despair.
“There was a painting of Sylar and myself, at Kirby Plaza. So I went there to face him. I really didn’t know what I was doing - what I could do. He had such control over these abilities and I - I can’t. I felt so stupid. Then Hiro showed up and, just like that, took Sylar out with a sword.”
More questions flood Mohinder’s mind but he bites the inside of his cheek to refrain from asking them. Later, when things are a little clearer; when Peter doesn’t seem so on edge. But then, how do you ever step back from that precipice when you carry in your heart the knowledge of what you’ve done?
He reaches out and touches Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll get the answers to our questions once you’re out of here and safe.”
Peter slowly turns his head to meet Mohinder’s gaze, and there almost seems to be a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You think I’m going back with you?”
“Peter -“
“You don’t understand, do you?”
He laughs suddenly as he jumps to his feet, staring down at Mohinder. “I’m responsible for this.” His voice is cold and angry, filled with an ugly resonance that Mohinder has never heard from Peter. “Nathan - my brother who’s supposed to love me - he made me responsible for this. And you want me to go back to him? To what, get a hug and hear platitudes about how thankful he is that I’m alive? Well, fuck that. I’m the one who has to live with this, not him, not you, not anyone else. Me! I am responsible for the deaths of millions, and God, I wish it had been me Hiro killed. I wish - “
He turns away, takes a few steps into the darkness and Mohinder gets to his feet to follow.
“Don’t.”
Mohinder feels a pressure against his chest, preventing him from moving any further.
“I don’t want to catch you following me again, Mohinder.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, to anything really. Nathan should have done this himself, should have had the courage to face his brother and, at least, attempt to right the wrongs he is responsible for.
“What do I tell your brother?” He asks.
Peter is silent for a moment, and when he responds, Mohinder knows there might never be a way to fix him.
“Tell him… Tell Nathan he’s more than welcome to join me in Hell.”
****
Early morning finds him standing in Brooklyn where civilization, while not quite what it should be, doesn’t appear as dead as it does across the river in Manhattan. He doesn’t know what has drawn him here, but Brooklyn feels familiar to him, the name itself evoking a comfort inside of him that he hasn’t felt since he awoke.
Getting across the river hadn’t been easy; he’d been forced to make his way further north along the water, where the devastation became less significant until he found ferries that appeared to be carrying refugees off the island. There was a heavy military presence but he discovered that he could simply blend in with the others around him, hundreds of souls who looked as dazed and disoriented as he felt. Blank stares, tiny groups huddled together, hushed voices and muted sobbing was the general atmosphere lining the docks. He fit comfortably among them, slipping in between the families and lone individuals, careful as anyone else not to meet any gazes, eyes trained on the ground beneath him as he listened to the occasional quiet conversation.
No one seemed to know where the explosion originated from. The public believed it was a terrorist bombing but the government is insisting otherwise. He overheard some soldiers talking, saying that the blast and resulting radiation was different from a typical nuclear bomb. No one seemed to have an answer, and that kept him nervous, kept him wondering if the reason for his missing memory wasn’t a part of what happened, if he wasn’t a part of it.
It took a few hours before he finally found himself aboard one of the ferries, shuffling on to it with hordes of others, searching for a spot where he can stand out of the way, out of notice, hiding near the railing as if he could make a fast getaway if needed. There was a little girl beside him, clutching her mother’s hand, staring up at him in curiosity. Unlike the adults, her gaze was unguarded, hope and innocence still shining brightly through her big blue eyes. He found himself smiling at her, and she quickly returned it, a gaping hole where her two front teeth should have been.
“Your watch is broke, mister.” She pointed a chubby finger at his wrist.
He figured it probably happened during whatever landed him in the sewer. He’d noticed it shortly after waking up. He wasn’t certain why he still wore it. What good was a watch that didn’t work? The face was cracked, and the time was stuck at seven minutes to twelve. He believes that must have been when the explosion occurred, or whatever it was that happened to him. He briefly considered tossing it but found he was unable to do so. After all, he had so very little that actually belonged to him, not even a name. He might as well hold on to his one possession in this new world.
The girl’s attention wandered, one hand clutching the railing as she peered down into the water. He took that moment to slip away from her side, disappearing deep into the crowd, waiting with everyone else to reach the other side, hoping for something more. He supposed those around him were hoping to find a home; he was hoping to find himself.
But now that he’s reached Brooklyn, he is uncertain of where to go. The sense of familiarity remains strong; he knows these streets, knows these buildings, and knows the general layout of everything around him. The world has shifted here, as it has across the river; people have been evacuated due to the fallout, others have simply left because of fear. The streets are quiet, the businesses closed. He imagines that this is the end of the world, and maybe it’s lucky that he doesn’t remember. What if he’d had a really good life and now, all of that was gone?
He resumes walking, allowing his feet to guide him, carrying him away from the waterfront and south toward Brooklyn Heights. Military vehicles move past him but they only give him a cursory glance, their attention apparently focused elsewhere. He tries his best not to look too out-of-place, keeping his head high and gait even. He’s hungry and he hurts like hell but he doesn’t need anyone to see it. He doesn’t need to be asked questions he doesn’t have the answers to. Once out of the waterfront, he sticks close to the buildings, moving in the shadows and generally staying out of the way of the few people he comes across.
Though he can attribute no memories to Brooklyn, no images that tie him there, he realizes that he is moving with a singular purpose through the streets. His feet seem to know where they’re going, even if he does not. He’s hoping his subconscious knows enough to take him home, or at least to someone familiar, someone who can help him fill the gaping black hole in his mind. He becomes so focused on his journey that he ignores the hungry gnawing at his stomach, choosing to forget that he hasn’t eaten in almost twelve hours, and that had only been a breakfast bar.
It’s not until he reaches the apartment building that he stops, and he turns and sits on the steps that lead up to the front door. Pulling the last breakfast bar from his pocket, he carefully opens the cellophane wrapper, neatly folding it back on itself before taking a small bite. He remains there, meticulously eating this last meal, on the stoop of an apartment building he has no recollection of; he simply knows this is where he has to stop.
Once finished, he slips the empty wrapper into a nearby trash can, and then looks up at the building. It appears no different from any other; older, dilapidated, the stone dark and dirty from decades of exhaust and neglect. Logically, he realizes he should continue on and look for help elsewhere. But logic seems somewhat blasphemous in this new world, and so he decides to wait, and see what happens.
****
Nathan isn’t in a good mood when he makes his way to a meeting with Linderman. He’d just flown back earlier that morning from Capitol Hill, by request of Linderman, who seemed to think he was supposed to jump at every beck and call. A call from Mohinder before leaving Washington had confirmed exactly what he hadn’t wished to hear - Peter blames him for everything. Peter doesn’t even want to come home. As if Nathan isn’t carrying enough burden of guilt around with him at the moment; his younger brother has to go and insist on adding to it -
He winces almost immediately at the selfish thought, realizing it sounds too much like something their mother would say. Peter needs to be his focus right now… Well, him and whatever the hell is going on with Linderman. He can admit to himself that he feels rather adrift, lost in a chaos completely out of his hands, and while he willingly accepted that role, hindsight has shown him he doesn’t particularly like the new landscape. Power often comes with a price. Nathan has never really understood how much so until now.
Moving through the heavy security that guards the lower levels of the Corinthian Hotel, Nathan barely offers a glance toward the guard on his right as the door before him is opened and he steps inside. Here the setting is anodyne and institutional, a far cry from the more posh areas of the casino that Nathan has grown accustomed to. Linderman is on the far side of the room, seated at a table with two children, and Nathan realizes the girl is Molly Walker, the one who could have helped him find Peter. The boy he doesn’t recognize but as he approaches, he realizes the poor kid distinctly does not wish to be there, or at least not in Linderman’s presence, by the clear expression of dislike on his young face.
“Ah, Nathan.” Linderman stands as he reaches the table, extending a pleasant smile.
“Molly, Micah. I’d like you to meet Senator Petrelli. His is a name you would be good to remember as he’s fast becoming be a key player in Washington. Nathan, meet Molly Walker and Micah Sanders. The future.” He fixes Nathan with a pointed look as he says this.
Micah Sanders. Niki’s son. Nathan is careful not to react to the connection, but he’s certain Linderman knows, and is gauging his response, anyway.
“You both must be awfully important to be guests here at Mr. Linderman’s hotel.”
The lack of response to his comment from either child tells Nathan all he really needs to know. Niki and her husband had said Linderman kidnapped their son; Nathan hadn’t truly wanted to believe it. Something to do with the election, she claimed. He stares at Micah for a moment longer, considering Linderman’s words about them being ‘the future’, and wondering what the kid did to win him the senate seat. Children shouldn’t be used as pawns, no matter the circumstances, and he can’t help but feel the stir of anger at himself once again for being a part of all of this.
Carefully keeping his features neutral, he returns his attention Linderman. “You wanted to see me?”
Smiling as if pleased by Nathan’s reticence, Linderman glances down at the two children. “If you’ll both excuse us, I have some important business to speak with the senator about. Candice should be here soon with some planned activities to keep you entertained.”
He steers Nathan toward a door on the left side of the room, and they step through it into a laboratory, complete with equipment, long wide benches and a researcher who darts out the opposite end of the room the moment he sees them. Nathan stops just inside the door, crossing his arms as Linderman moves over to a stool and takes a seat.
Without preamble, Nathan asks, “Where are their parents?”
“Orphans, both of them, poor things.” Linderman makes a face of pity. “Molly’s parents were murdered by Sylar a few weeks ago. Micah’s parents made the unfortunate mistake of being in New York when the bomb went off. It’s a shame, honestly. They were both very special people.”
Nathan can’t prevent the reflexive wince at the news. He’s the one who told Niki and her husband where to find Linderman, not realizing he’d already left the city. His thoughts twist suddenly, and he wonders if Linderman didn’t know all along that they were coming. Did he suspect Nathan’s role as well?
“How did it go on Capitol Hill?”
It takes a moment for him to respond. He pushes Niki Sanders from his mind. “As well as expected. The push for aid is slow but the world is rallying behind us. Money and support is coming in from everywhere. People are already talking of rebuilding, of trying to adopt some semblance of normalcy.”
He hates discussing what happened this way, with such apathy. But he knows Linderman doesn’t want him to care about the past; he wants him to care about the future. Nathan can accept that for now. He has to.
“As expected.” Linderman smiles as he taps his hands against the top of his thighs for a moment. “Humanity is never so spectacular as when struck by tragedy, Nathan. When all hope seems lost, we rise from the ashes like some glorious phoenix. The world is weeping, tangled in one another’s arms, offering comfort and solace over this great loss, all thought and attention tuned into one singular moment. In the words of Blaise Pascal, ‘the glory and shame of the universe’.” He chuckles. “It’s coming time to solidify that glory, Nathan. Mankind has spent far too long chasing its own tail, mired in trivialities and terror, set on its own course for destruction rather than evolution. But that’s going to change. You and I, Molly and Micah - we’re living proof.”
Nathan frowns. “I don’t see how -“
With a wave of his hand, Linderman cuts him off. “Not now, of course. The seeds have been sown for retaliation. Can you imagine if the world at large were to learn that one of us was responsible for this destruction? It may take a while for so many meager minds to accept the truth, but once that occurred…” He sighs and shakes his head. “Mark my words, the truth will come out. But not yet. Not until a few more assurances are set into place.”
“Mr. Linderman -“
“I want you to return to your home in Hyde Park.” He stands and faces Nathan. “I want you to make grand promises about restoring New York City to its former glory. I want you to give the people hope, Nathan. With Heidi and your boys at your side, you will go out among the people, hold out your hand and help them to stand once again. You will tell them that you are working to ensure such tragedy will never again happen, and that we all have a choice to keep our loved ones safe. They will trust you, love you, and follow your lead.”
“You can’t just force people to dance to your tune,” Nathan says, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
“On that, you are quite right.” Linderman purses his lips, nodding. “But you can certainly take the lead, as it were. In times of peril, humanity has always looked to a leader, someone to guide them back to the path of normalcy. You know what has happened; you know what needs to be done. While the rest of the world struggles to understand, your calm in the chaotic storm is exactly what is needed to gain their trust.”
“The entire proposition sounds a bit conditional to me.”
Linderman smiles. “In time, you’ll understand.”
Nathan hopes so because he feels like time is the one thing he is running out of. “What about Claire?”
“Your mother and I will see to her welfare. Her inclusion at this time could be… complicated. You have enough to focus your attention on.”
There is no way in Hell Nathan is leaving Claire in Linderman’s hands. When speaking with Mohinder earlier, he asked him to track down Bennet. He’d received information that the man had been listed as an injured victim of the blast, but there are so many patients flowing in and out of the hospitals that keeping tabs on any one is near impossible. As much as Nathan prefers to keep his daughter under his own protection, handing her back over to her surrogate father is the most sensible solution for the moment. Bennet seems to understand these people, and will keep her safe. He just hopes the man can find a way to get her out of Linderman’s grasp.
So it’s back to New York. And Peter. Nathan wonders if maybe he’ll have the chance to find his brother himself, and tell him… tell him how sorry he is, and how wrong he’s been.
“Well then.” Nathan forces a bland smile. “I should prepare to return home.”
He turns to leave, stopping as he glances at the door into the next room. “What about the children?”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ll be well-cared for. And, when their time comes, they’ll be ready to take their places, and make the world a far, far better place than their parents ever knew.”
Clenching his jaw at Linderman’s words, Nathan nods once before quickly escaping.
****
He’s beginning to feel like everyone’s lapdog.
When Mohinder originally agreed to track down Peter for Nathan, it had been out of a sense of obligation to Peter, an apology for not believing him from the first, for having gotten him involved in so much. He figured his work was over with his phone call to the senator, letting him know that Peter wasn’t ready to be talked into returning, but he was safe and that was most important. Mohinder was ready to return to his own work, to go back to the apartment in Brooklyn and gather what he needed to continue on with his father’s research. With Sylar out of the way, there is no longer a sense of urgency to reach these people before they become victims, but the need to find them, to study them, still prevails.
Unfortunately, the phone call hadn’t gone so well. Nathan was incensed that Mohinder had ‘allowed’ Peter to escape; luckily when Mohinder asked exactly how one kept track of an individual who could not only hold you back through telekinesis but also simply disappear before your eyes, his brother returned to reason. One request, though, turned into another, and now Mohinder finds himself pulling up to Lawrence Hospital Center, where Nathan believes Mr. Bennet was taken after the blast. There hadn’t been much time to explain the details, and Mohinder feels a sense of wandering without direction. He’s told to go to point A, and he goes because it’s the right thing to do at the moment, and because he really doesn’t know where else to go on his own. His entire world continues to tilt on its axis, and just when he figures he has his bearings straight, it goes and upends itself again. The deeper he falls into the rabbit hole the more Mohinder realizes that the destinies of those on the list and his own are intertwined, and none of them really have control over any of it.
As he heads into the hospital, he mentally forces all of the little puzzle pieces together. Bennet worked for Linderman, who somehow has a connection to the explosion. Bennet is Claire’s father, but not really - Nathan let that one slip in the recent phone call. Claire is the daughter of Nathan Petrelli, niece to Peter Petrelli, and apparently her grandmother, Angela Petrelli, is somehow wrapped up in all of this as well. But Bennet no longer works for Linderman because he knows something about the organization that he doesn’t trust, and he is trying to protect Claire, and that makes Mohinder worry for Molly all the more. Exactly what were these children being dragged into? And did his father have any inkling of the scope of what was happening around them before Sylar murdered him?
Sylar. Mohinder still tenses as the name crosses his mind, expecting the man to rise from the ashes like some phoenix, always following him, always watching. His death may be something he will never accept because he should have been the one to do it, because he felt robbed of the privilege… or maybe simply because Sylar seemed so unstoppable. Somewhere, in the recesses of Mohinder’s mind, maybe he thought he would always be there, and was, for one reason another, reassured by that thought.
Silently scoffing at the flow of his thoughts, Mohinder makes his way down the crowded hallway through hundreds of desperate citizens hoping for proof that their loved ones are alive, when he catches sight of a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. Spinning around quickly, he sees Bennet skirting the edges of the crowd, moving toward the front doors.
Pushing through the crowd, Mohinder follows, hoping to catch the man before he is as lost to him as Peter.
“Excuse me,” he apologizes as he knocks into one woman a little more roughly than intended, but he doesn’t slow down to check on her, mumbling three more apologies before he reaches the door. “Bennet!” He calls out, pushing the door wide as he hurries outside.
Turning at the sound of his name, Bennet frowns as he glances through the throng of people before noticing Mohinder. There is another man who stops with him; they’re both dressed in green scrubs, and Bennet is wearing a pair of thick-framed glasses that seem out of place on his face.
“Dr. Suresh.” The surprise is evident in Bennet’s voice as Mohinder reaches them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you around here. You wouldn’t happen to have a car you could loan us, would you?”
So much for niceties. “I can do better than that,” Mohinder says, nodding toward the street and indicating they should follow. “How will a plane out of here do?”
“Plane?” The man with Bennet furrows his brow for a moment, glancing over at Mohinder. “Wait. Petrelli sent you?”
Mohinder pulls up at the words. “How did you know?”
“You’re working with Nathan now?” Bennet asks, eyeing Mohinder warily.
“He sent him here to find us,” the other responds. “And… Peter?”
“Are you reading my mind?” Mohinder demands, alternately unsettled and fascinated by the idea.
“Dr. Mohinder Suresh, Matt Parkman - mind reader,” Bennet introduces. “Parkman, Dr. Suresh here has been tracking down and researching others like you. Now, back to my question, you’re working with Nathan?”
“He sent me to New York to find his brother,” Mohinder tells them, turning to continue to the jeep as he explains. “He also requested that I track you down, Bennet, so that he could get you to Vegas.” Mohinder pauses, not really certain how to refer to Claire. He finally goes with what makes the most sense at the moment. “Your daughter is in danger, it seems. He wants you to get her out of there.”
“Claire is still with him?” Bennet seems to consider this information. “And why does he suddenly care about her welfare? He didn’t seem quite so concerned when he was forcing her to stay with him against her well.”
Mohinder has no idea what to say to that. “The landscape has changed since the explosion from what I understand. The organization you work for -“
“Worked for.”
“Excuse me. Worked for seems to have had a bigger hand in what has occurred than anyone would suspect.”
“Hold up.” It’s Parkman’s turn to stop in midstride, confusion clouding his expression. “Linderman was somehow behind the explosion? I thought it was Peter who blew up? What the hell do they have to do with one another?”
“I wish I knew,” Mohinder says, moving ahead to the car. He reaches in to grab the satellite phone, growing silent as he dials the number and waits.
Beside him, Bennet is staring off into the distance, either taking in the view of the devastation along southern Manhattan or thinking about the safety of his daughter. Maybe both. Mohinder turns his gaze to Matt Parkman, vaguely remembering the name from the list, considering what an amazing ability the man possesses when the other end of the line is finally answered.
“Petrelli.”
“Senator, I found Bennet.”
“Put him on, please.”
Frowning at the abrupt dismissal, he holds the phone over to Bennet. “He wants to speak with you.”
Mohinder turns his attention to Parkman as Bennet moves away with the phone. “What were the two of you doing in New York?”
“Bennet said that Linderman’s group has some kind of tracking system to hunt people down and we needed to take it out in order to be safe. So that’s what we came here to do.”
“Tracking system?” Mohinder looks over his shoulder toward Bennet, glaring. “Molly? You were here to kill Molly?”
“Molly?” Parkman reaches out for Mohinder’s arm, pulling his gaze back to him. “Wait, Molly Walker, the girl I saved from Sylar. She’s the tracking system?”
Mohinder feels relief at the realization that Parkman didn’t know. Since the man can read minds, he hopes that means Bennet didn’t really know either, else they’d be having some real problems real fast.
“Yeah. Linderman has her in Vegas right now. I was working with her when they flew us out of here. Now they won’t let me near her for one reason or another.”
“I didn’t know,” Parkman says softly, running a hand over his face. “I guess I should have realized…”
Of course, this changes everything. As much as he knows he should get back to contacting the people on the list, he can’t leave Molly alone like that. Not when there are men like Linderman using her, men like Bennet out to kill her. He certainly didn’t save her just to put her in danger all over again. She needs him. The people on the list, they could wait.
He glances over to find Parkman watching him carefully, brow furrowed. He gives him a hard look, not completely appreciating someone intruding on his thoughts.
“You really know of other people like me?” Parkman asks. “I mean, you’ve been trying to find us?”
Mohinder looks away. “Trying and failing.”
“But, you know what’s going on. You know what’s happening, right?”
He shrugs, bringing his gaze back to the man beside him. “Yes, I suppose. It was my father’s research, really. A genetic change in the evolutionary development of the human race. Unfortunately, most people either want to ignore it or are simply afraid to talk to me.”
“And that’s why you can’t give up.”
“Molly needs me. I’m not going to let Bennet or you or anyone else hurt her.”
“I’ll take care of Molly.” Parkman grabs his arm, shaking him a little. “Look, when this first started happening to me, I didn’t know what was going on. It scared the hell out of me. I thought I was going crazy or something. I ruined my career, almost lost my wife - I didn’t understand any of it. Hell, maybe I still don’t. But it’s a nice thought to think that maybe if I’d had you to explain it to me, transitioning might have been a little easier. And you know there’s got to be a lot of others out there, just like me, who could use your help in understanding what the hell is going on with them.”
If only it were so simple, Mohinder thinks, dropping his gaze as he considers Parkman’s words. It’s the trying to convince people he really wants to help that makes it most difficult. When Zane had been there - correction. When Sylar had been posing as Zane, it seemed like the simplest solution to have someone with special abilities along with him to gain trust. Of course, that hadn’t exactly ended in rainbows and hugs. Mohinder is as much responsible for Dale’s murder as the man who actually committed the crime.
“You led Sylar to one of us?”
Mohinder’s head whips around to flash a sharp look at Parkman. “I don’t appreciate that.”
“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, though he’s looking at Mohinder a little differently now. “I just -“
“We need to get to Jersey,” Bennet interrupts, apparently finished with the call. He tosses the phone into the backseat. “There’s a plane waiting to take us to Vegas.”
Mohinder quickly makes his decision. He’ll grab what’s left of his research, go back to Vegas for Molly, and then continue his work. “I’m heading into Brooklyn first -“
“No time, Suresh,” he interrupts. “I’ve warned Petrelli about Candice but the longer we take, the bigger the chance that Linderman catches wind of us communicating, and then it all gets a hell of a lot more complicated.”
“Who’s Candice?” Mohinder asks.
“She works with Thompson and has the ability to make you see what she wants you to see,” Parkman says.
“She’s used it against me more than once.” Bennet is already pulling the door to the jeep open. “I’m not letting it happen again.”
“But I need to grab some of my research - “
“Then you’re doing it on foot, doctor,” Bennet says, and he’s not joking. “I don’t think you realize how important this is.”
Mohinder starts to continue his protest and then reconsiders. Once out of reach of the phone, Nathan no longer controls him. He glances up to find Parkman watching him again, giving him a little nod of assurance. Maybe it’s possible to get back to the work that needs to be done, after all. Parkman is right. There are a lot of scared people out there, and who knows what Linderman ultimately has planned? He can eventually get to Molly as long as they don’t see him coming. All he needs to do is grab some of the items he left behind at the apartment, and get transportation back to Las Vegas. It’s possible that Parkman will even help, since he seems to care about Molly’s welfare as well. Bennet and Nathan can worry about Linderman; Mohinder has a whole lot of other people on the list who need him first.
Reaching into the back, he grabs his bag. “Take the jeep. Head up 87 to get out of here, you should only hit two major checkpoints. I figure the senator already has the call out for you anyway, but it’s less of a hassle.”
“You gonna be all right?” Parkman is back to watching him, this time with concern.
Mohinder nods. “Yes. Just… look after Molly for me. Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Parkman nods. “I promise.”
Stepping back, Mohinder watches as they both climb into the jeep and soon speed away, disappearing from sight as they merge with the unending exodus from New York.
****
“Nathan!”
He barely has his overcoat off before Heidi has him wrapped in a hug, peppering his face with kisses of relief. He aims to toss the coat toward the settee in the hall, misses, but ignores it as he returns his wife’s embrace. She clutches him, burying her face against his neck, and he takes a brief moment to enjoy it - holding her like this as she stands on her own two feet, a miracle for which he owes thanks to Linderman.
Dammit.
“I was so scared for you,” Heidi whispers, and he wonders if she’d be saying those words if she knew the truth about everything.
“I’m all right. Everything’s all right.” He pulls back from her, brushing the strands of dark hair from her cheeks, cupping her face. “The family’s together, and safe.”
Her brow creases with concern. “But what about Peter? Have you heard anything?”
“Peter’s fine,” Nathan says with a smile. “He was nowhere near the blast. He’s staying with some friends, helping out with things. You know my brother. He’ll join us when he runs out of hard-luck cases.”
She smiles, and Nathan’s certain he’s never seen anything quite so beautiful. He kisses her softly, closing his eyes, thinking how this moment wasn’t supposed to be quite so complicated. He was supposed to win an election, become state senator, celebrate his accomplishment with his wife and family. Nathan supposes that life will never be simple again; hasn’t been since the moment he learned he could fly.
“Where are the boys?” he asks after the kiss, pulling away to hang his coat up.
“Upstairs playing. Your mother brought some puzzles back with her.” Heidi pauses, crossing her arms over her chest as if suddenly uncomfortable. “She’s waiting for you in your office.”
His wife and mother once got along very well. Heidi was born into money; an established New York family who could trace their roots to the Mayflower. She was used to lawyers and doctors and politicians. Used to hosting elaborate dinner parties and receptions, and barely blinking an eye when introduced to the richest and most powerful men in the country. She and Angela Petrelli understood one another on that level, how to put on the best face for both cameras and guests, how to make the powerful men around them appear even more admirable and impressive. Heidi had dedicated her life to being proper hostess and mother long ago, just as Nathan believed his mother always had.
Of course, now he is waiting to find out his wife harbors just as many secrets as Angela Petrelli.
Over the last few months, Nathan has watched his wife’s relationship with his mother grow slightly more icy and stilted. When asked, Heidi would simply reply that she felt his mother was becoming too involved in his political career. As right as she may be in that assessment, Nathan can’t help but wonder if there is something else going on between the two women.
“I’d better go and speak with her.” He leans in to kiss Heidi’s cheek. “Tell the boys I’ll read a story to them after dinner.”
When he enters the office, his mother is seated on the couch, flipping through the latest issue of Social Life magazine, barely affording him a glance. “Have you finally come to your senses, Nathan?”
He ignores the question, moving over to the wet bar to pour himself a drink. He needs it. “I thought you’d be staying with Claire.”
“Linderman will take good care of her,” she says, laying the magazine to the side as she folds her hands in her lap and looks up at him. “I’ll return to Las Vegas in a few days, after you’re all settled, and we’ll leave for Paris. I feel it’s important that you focus on the needs of your constituents right now. When the time comes, Claire will be a part of this family as much as any other.”
“Here’s to hoping she gets better treatment than Peter.” Nathan can’t help but raise his glass in a mocking salute.
His mother’s expression turns to granite. “Peter had a destiny, Nathan. We all do, whether you choose to accept this now or not. He’s done a great service for the future of humanity, and I hope that one day he realizes this.”
“Then, you know he’s all right.”
She brushes her bangs from her forehead in a delicate, sweeping motion. “Of course, I do. Do you honestly believe I care so little for my youngest son? Just because he doesn’t have your strength doesn’t mean I love him any less. If I could have spared him this pain - “
“What? You would have?”
“You know very well that nothing about this plan has been left to chance.”
She straightens her shoulders, somehow making it seem as though she were towering over Nathan while she was still seated. He’s always wondered how she does that.
“Believe me when I say that originally we had counted on a different source but then - “ She waves a hand, dismissing it. “Well, somewhere along the way, we lost control. The task fell to your brother, and now it falls to you.”
Nathan frowns at her words, eyes drawn to the scotch in his glass. He swirls the liquid silently, considering what she’s said, wondering if he’ll ever get the pieces to fit. “And what if I don’t want it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nathan.” She stands and walks over to him, the soft scent of Chanel bringing memories of childhood, of fascination with his newborn baby brother, and promises to always look after him.
“You want this. You always have. Your father and I noticed it early on when you were always the first to reach for your gifts under the tree, always the first to reach for dinner, always the first to take what you wanted. You’ve always outshone anyone around you, even if you hated every moment of it. You can’t help yourself. There’s a need in you for control, for power. It’s your strength - never doubt that. It’s gotten you this far, and it will take you much further.” She smiles as she touches his face. “My son, the president.”
The soft expression that touches her eyes lingers only a moment before she continues. “I recognize that Peter has helped shape you over the years, teaching you to bend when you might otherwise break, softening edges that might have grown too sharp. Without him, you might have become like - “
Nathan waits for her to finish the sentence but she compresses her lips and turns away, moving back to the couch to pick up the magazine.
“Like who?”
“Other than whom you are.” She smiles as she dances around the question. “I love you, Nathan. And I love Peter. You have both made me enormously proud. I promise you that as you give your speech on Wednesday, when you look out at all of those reaching out to you for direction, for purpose and meaning, you’ll understand what we’re trying to achieve. You’ll begin to understand the sacrifices that have been made by so many of us to get to this point. And you’ll realize that this was the only direction for us to take to preserve the future for your children, and your children’s children.”
Part Three: A Mad Tea-Party
Author name: evil_is_pretty
Artist credit(s): Banner by azarsuerte & YouTube Trailer by trackburst or Download from Sendspace
Genre: Gen, AU
Pairing: Ensemble, subtle Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 29,463
Challenge: Written for heroes_bigboom
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Season One
Summary: What would have happened if the bomb had gone off?... If Claire hadn't been given the chance to get away from her father and grandmother? If Niki and DL hadn't been able to stop Linderman? If Peter and Hiro had been left to face Sylar alone? Nathan sends Mohinder on a journey to find his brother in the aftermath, and along the way, everyone begins to discover that things aren't always the way they seem.
A/N: Special thanks to trackburst and azarsuerte for the beautiful trailer and artwork! Also thanks to azarsuerte for the title, because I hate coming up with such things! Thanks to my lovely betas, forsquilis (who took the chance to read something from an author she'd never read before!), and icalynn. Also lots of love to my perpetual cheerleader, moonlitpines. This story came about through a mixture of convoluted spoilers generated toward the end of last season, and my secret wish that the bomb had gone off. (I also have an immense love for AU's.) Originally it was just going to be a small Sylar/Mohinder fic... but then Nathan got involved and I ended up with a monster gen. Note to self: Tape Nathan's mouth shut next time... P.S. My apologies to Lewis Carroll for blatantly stealing both titles and quote.
Link to fic:
Part One: Down the Rabbit Hole * Part Two: A Caucus Race and a Long-Tale * Part Three: A Mad Tea-Party * Part Four: The Lion and the Unicorn
It’s nightfall by the time Mohinder reaches the first address on the list - the Petrelli mansion. Here, the damage done is minimal, with most buildings still standing, though some appear destroyed by fires. The vegetation is dead or dying, and the streets still as empty as everywhere else Mohinder has driven through. The checkpoints he passed on the way to Central Park were surprisingly easy to get through. Even the military personnel seem to be in a bit of a daze over everything that has occurred. Once he leaves the furthest reaches of the destruction, though, Mohinder figures his search is going to get a little more difficult.
Putting the jeep in park, he leaves the engine running while he rummages through the bag for the flashlight. As his fingers brush against the gun, he hesitates for just a moment before tucking it into the waistband of his pants, and adjusting his jacket to cover it. He turns off the engine and climbs out of the car, the flashlight snapping on before he makes his way up the walk and toward the door. Without a key, he may just need to shoot the lock off the door to open it, but is surprised to find that when he reaches for the knob, it turns easily, allowing him entrance.
Inside, the home is untouched, apparently one of the few not ransacked during the chaotic exodus from the city. In fact, if not for the lack of electricity and heat, one would have no idea anything had happened, standing inside of the Petrelli home. Stay away from the windows, and Mohinder could pretend it was all just a nasty nightmare.
The thought gives him a brief flash of hope, and he licks his lips before calling out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Not expecting an answer, he continues his way down the hall and into the first room that appears to be a small receiving parlor. He spends a few moments glancing through the expensive knick-knacks, recalling a day not so long ago when he carried Peter’s dead body into the home, and was told quite succinctly by Mrs. Petrelli to get the hell out. He wonders what she would think if she knew he had come back.
Finding nothing worthy in the parlor, Mohinder returns to the hall and continues his exploration of the first floor. “Hello? Peter, are you here? It’s Mohinder.”
He finds his way into the kitchen, an enormous room more suitable for a restaurant than home. He realizes he hasn’t eaten yet today, and considers checking the cabinets before rethinking the idea. Exodus or not, it certainly is no excuse for him to go stealing food from people, especially when he has a box of MRE’s back in the Jeep. It amazes him how easily the human brain can fall into chaos at the onset of tragedy. It’s a case of instinct, survival of the fittest, and thankfully, a good portion of humanity has learned to overcome that automatic response. Those who haven’t… well, they’re the ones to worry about. He can only imagine someone like Sylar feeding off the survivors of this catastrophe.
As he moves to leave the kitchen, the beam from his flashlight moves over a box of Captain Crunch left on its side on the table. He stares at it for a moment, wondering at the significance of its presence and why it has caught his attention. Mohinder steps over to it, reaches out, and picks it up to realize it’s empty. An empty box of cereal left on its side in the Petrelli kitchen doesn’t make much sense. Not when the Petrellis left the city before the explosion happened.
Eyes widening with renewed hope, Mohinder hurries out of the kitchen sweeping the arch of the flashlight through the house as he heads toward the staircase.
“Peter? Peter Petrelli! It’s Mohinder - if you’re here, answer me!”
He takes the steps two at a time, imaging Peter possibly injured, needing help, unable to speak.
“Peter, if you can’t call out, knock on the floor or something.” He peers into the first room he comes to but sees nothing. “I’ve come to help you. Nathan sent me, he - “
“What does he want? Hasn’t he done enough?”
Mohinder whirls around at the voice, flashing the beam of light at Peter, who was standing in a spot that he had literally just checked. It’s as if he’d simply appeared out of nowhere. “Peter, why didn’t you answer?”
“I didn’t want to,” he says, eyeing Mohinder warily as he moves around him. “You didn’t answer my question. What does Nathan want?”
“To find you. To make certain you’re safe.”
Peter laughs but it’s without humor. Mohinder is certain he hasn’t heard a sound quite so ugly. He never would have expected it from the man beside him.
“That’s funny. He lets me explode, lets me kill - “
He stops himself, turning away abruptly, his shoulders heaving as if the exertion of silence is too much. Mohinder waits in silence for answers, realizing he understands very little about what’s going on. He had expected Peter to be happy to be reunited with his family; he was wrong.
“You should leave, Mohinder,” Peter says after a few moments.
Well, that damn well isn’t going to happen.
“Peter, what happened? I don’t think I understand any of this. Your brother said there was a man named Ted Sprague, who had this ability, and that Sylar - “
“Sylar’s dead.” Peter turns back to face Mohinder, though he remains half hidden in the shadows. He smiles a little, and it seems out of place. “One good thing to come out of this, huh?”
Mohinder expects to feel elation out of such a statement. Instead, he just feels… empty? Cheated somehow, perhaps. Sylar was his responsibility; he should have been the one to kill him. Of course, when given the chance, he’d failed.
“In the explosion -“ he begins, but Peter cuts him off.
“No. Hiro killed him. With a sword, if you can believe it.” He leans against the wall, closing his eyes as his head falls against it. “I wanted him to kill me, too, but Sylar was… alive long enough to make that impossible.”
“I don’t understand. Peter.” Mohinder steps closer, reaching out tentatively to place a hand on his shoulder. “How did this happen?”
“You really want to know?” Peter stares at him, and for a moment, Mohinder doesn’t think he’s going to get his answers, but then he slowly slides to the floor, and begins to tell his story.
Peter had been in the process of leaving the city with his niece, Claire Bennet (it takes Mohinder only a moment to realize he recognizes her name from the list), when they discovered that Sylar had killed Ted Sprague and taken his power to create radioactive energy. Knowing he was the only one who had the ability to stop Sylar, he decided to go to his brother for help. Mr. Bennet wanted his daughter to be kept safe, first and foremost (Mohinder is confused as to how the Bennets and Petrellis are related but decides that a topic to broach at a later date), and Peter knew none of this could be done without Nathan’s assistance.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t listened to Claire when she told him she didn’t trust Nathan, and he had to find out for himself that Nathan had betrayed them all - he wanted the bomb to go off, even if it was his own brother. Knowing he was the last one left to protect Claire while Mr. Bennet was taking care of other business, Peter turned to leave only to discover that his niece had run off without him. Just as he went to search for her, Ted’s ability began to surface and he passed out.
Here he pauses, as if there is something he doesn’t want to say, and Mohinder waits with surprising patience for him to continue, mind filled with questions that he knows he can’t ask for fear of the tale not being concluded. What does he mean, Nathan wanted the bomb to go off? And why were they all so certain it would be Peter when Sylar had been equally as certain that it would be him?
And how many people on the list have been right under his very nose, and Mohinder has never had the slightest clue? Is it because he’s been so focused on finding Sylar and revenging his father? Or is he simply not very good at this?
Peter continues, breaking Mohinder’s train of thought. “When I woke up, I wasn’t certain where to look. I figured that Isaac could help me - I mean, he was the first to paint the future, right? Maybe there was some new clue or something. We’ve had our problems but -“
He stops again, as if he’s saying too much. Closing his eyes, he leans his head against the wall once more.
“Isaac was dead when I got there, and there were these paintings… obviously Sylar’s work.”
“He can paint the future?” That explains the phone call.
“Could.” Here Peter opens his eyes, and has that odd smile again that doesn’t seem right on his face. “Too bad he couldn’t paint his own future, hmm? That might have been a little more helpful for him.” He rubs at his forehead for a moment, expression dissolving into despair.
“There was a painting of Sylar and myself, at Kirby Plaza. So I went there to face him. I really didn’t know what I was doing - what I could do. He had such control over these abilities and I - I can’t. I felt so stupid. Then Hiro showed up and, just like that, took Sylar out with a sword.”
More questions flood Mohinder’s mind but he bites the inside of his cheek to refrain from asking them. Later, when things are a little clearer; when Peter doesn’t seem so on edge. But then, how do you ever step back from that precipice when you carry in your heart the knowledge of what you’ve done?
He reaches out and touches Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll get the answers to our questions once you’re out of here and safe.”
Peter slowly turns his head to meet Mohinder’s gaze, and there almost seems to be a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You think I’m going back with you?”
“Peter -“
“You don’t understand, do you?”
He laughs suddenly as he jumps to his feet, staring down at Mohinder. “I’m responsible for this.” His voice is cold and angry, filled with an ugly resonance that Mohinder has never heard from Peter. “Nathan - my brother who’s supposed to love me - he made me responsible for this. And you want me to go back to him? To what, get a hug and hear platitudes about how thankful he is that I’m alive? Well, fuck that. I’m the one who has to live with this, not him, not you, not anyone else. Me! I am responsible for the deaths of millions, and God, I wish it had been me Hiro killed. I wish - “
He turns away, takes a few steps into the darkness and Mohinder gets to his feet to follow.
“Don’t.”
Mohinder feels a pressure against his chest, preventing him from moving any further.
“I don’t want to catch you following me again, Mohinder.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, to anything really. Nathan should have done this himself, should have had the courage to face his brother and, at least, attempt to right the wrongs he is responsible for.
“What do I tell your brother?” He asks.
Peter is silent for a moment, and when he responds, Mohinder knows there might never be a way to fix him.
“Tell him… Tell Nathan he’s more than welcome to join me in Hell.”
****
Early morning finds him standing in Brooklyn where civilization, while not quite what it should be, doesn’t appear as dead as it does across the river in Manhattan. He doesn’t know what has drawn him here, but Brooklyn feels familiar to him, the name itself evoking a comfort inside of him that he hasn’t felt since he awoke.
Getting across the river hadn’t been easy; he’d been forced to make his way further north along the water, where the devastation became less significant until he found ferries that appeared to be carrying refugees off the island. There was a heavy military presence but he discovered that he could simply blend in with the others around him, hundreds of souls who looked as dazed and disoriented as he felt. Blank stares, tiny groups huddled together, hushed voices and muted sobbing was the general atmosphere lining the docks. He fit comfortably among them, slipping in between the families and lone individuals, careful as anyone else not to meet any gazes, eyes trained on the ground beneath him as he listened to the occasional quiet conversation.
No one seemed to know where the explosion originated from. The public believed it was a terrorist bombing but the government is insisting otherwise. He overheard some soldiers talking, saying that the blast and resulting radiation was different from a typical nuclear bomb. No one seemed to have an answer, and that kept him nervous, kept him wondering if the reason for his missing memory wasn’t a part of what happened, if he wasn’t a part of it.
It took a few hours before he finally found himself aboard one of the ferries, shuffling on to it with hordes of others, searching for a spot where he can stand out of the way, out of notice, hiding near the railing as if he could make a fast getaway if needed. There was a little girl beside him, clutching her mother’s hand, staring up at him in curiosity. Unlike the adults, her gaze was unguarded, hope and innocence still shining brightly through her big blue eyes. He found himself smiling at her, and she quickly returned it, a gaping hole where her two front teeth should have been.
“Your watch is broke, mister.” She pointed a chubby finger at his wrist.
He figured it probably happened during whatever landed him in the sewer. He’d noticed it shortly after waking up. He wasn’t certain why he still wore it. What good was a watch that didn’t work? The face was cracked, and the time was stuck at seven minutes to twelve. He believes that must have been when the explosion occurred, or whatever it was that happened to him. He briefly considered tossing it but found he was unable to do so. After all, he had so very little that actually belonged to him, not even a name. He might as well hold on to his one possession in this new world.
The girl’s attention wandered, one hand clutching the railing as she peered down into the water. He took that moment to slip away from her side, disappearing deep into the crowd, waiting with everyone else to reach the other side, hoping for something more. He supposed those around him were hoping to find a home; he was hoping to find himself.
But now that he’s reached Brooklyn, he is uncertain of where to go. The sense of familiarity remains strong; he knows these streets, knows these buildings, and knows the general layout of everything around him. The world has shifted here, as it has across the river; people have been evacuated due to the fallout, others have simply left because of fear. The streets are quiet, the businesses closed. He imagines that this is the end of the world, and maybe it’s lucky that he doesn’t remember. What if he’d had a really good life and now, all of that was gone?
He resumes walking, allowing his feet to guide him, carrying him away from the waterfront and south toward Brooklyn Heights. Military vehicles move past him but they only give him a cursory glance, their attention apparently focused elsewhere. He tries his best not to look too out-of-place, keeping his head high and gait even. He’s hungry and he hurts like hell but he doesn’t need anyone to see it. He doesn’t need to be asked questions he doesn’t have the answers to. Once out of the waterfront, he sticks close to the buildings, moving in the shadows and generally staying out of the way of the few people he comes across.
Though he can attribute no memories to Brooklyn, no images that tie him there, he realizes that he is moving with a singular purpose through the streets. His feet seem to know where they’re going, even if he does not. He’s hoping his subconscious knows enough to take him home, or at least to someone familiar, someone who can help him fill the gaping black hole in his mind. He becomes so focused on his journey that he ignores the hungry gnawing at his stomach, choosing to forget that he hasn’t eaten in almost twelve hours, and that had only been a breakfast bar.
It’s not until he reaches the apartment building that he stops, and he turns and sits on the steps that lead up to the front door. Pulling the last breakfast bar from his pocket, he carefully opens the cellophane wrapper, neatly folding it back on itself before taking a small bite. He remains there, meticulously eating this last meal, on the stoop of an apartment building he has no recollection of; he simply knows this is where he has to stop.
Once finished, he slips the empty wrapper into a nearby trash can, and then looks up at the building. It appears no different from any other; older, dilapidated, the stone dark and dirty from decades of exhaust and neglect. Logically, he realizes he should continue on and look for help elsewhere. But logic seems somewhat blasphemous in this new world, and so he decides to wait, and see what happens.
****
Nathan isn’t in a good mood when he makes his way to a meeting with Linderman. He’d just flown back earlier that morning from Capitol Hill, by request of Linderman, who seemed to think he was supposed to jump at every beck and call. A call from Mohinder before leaving Washington had confirmed exactly what he hadn’t wished to hear - Peter blames him for everything. Peter doesn’t even want to come home. As if Nathan isn’t carrying enough burden of guilt around with him at the moment; his younger brother has to go and insist on adding to it -
He winces almost immediately at the selfish thought, realizing it sounds too much like something their mother would say. Peter needs to be his focus right now… Well, him and whatever the hell is going on with Linderman. He can admit to himself that he feels rather adrift, lost in a chaos completely out of his hands, and while he willingly accepted that role, hindsight has shown him he doesn’t particularly like the new landscape. Power often comes with a price. Nathan has never really understood how much so until now.
Moving through the heavy security that guards the lower levels of the Corinthian Hotel, Nathan barely offers a glance toward the guard on his right as the door before him is opened and he steps inside. Here the setting is anodyne and institutional, a far cry from the more posh areas of the casino that Nathan has grown accustomed to. Linderman is on the far side of the room, seated at a table with two children, and Nathan realizes the girl is Molly Walker, the one who could have helped him find Peter. The boy he doesn’t recognize but as he approaches, he realizes the poor kid distinctly does not wish to be there, or at least not in Linderman’s presence, by the clear expression of dislike on his young face.
“Ah, Nathan.” Linderman stands as he reaches the table, extending a pleasant smile.
“Molly, Micah. I’d like you to meet Senator Petrelli. His is a name you would be good to remember as he’s fast becoming be a key player in Washington. Nathan, meet Molly Walker and Micah Sanders. The future.” He fixes Nathan with a pointed look as he says this.
Micah Sanders. Niki’s son. Nathan is careful not to react to the connection, but he’s certain Linderman knows, and is gauging his response, anyway.
“You both must be awfully important to be guests here at Mr. Linderman’s hotel.”
The lack of response to his comment from either child tells Nathan all he really needs to know. Niki and her husband had said Linderman kidnapped their son; Nathan hadn’t truly wanted to believe it. Something to do with the election, she claimed. He stares at Micah for a moment longer, considering Linderman’s words about them being ‘the future’, and wondering what the kid did to win him the senate seat. Children shouldn’t be used as pawns, no matter the circumstances, and he can’t help but feel the stir of anger at himself once again for being a part of all of this.
Carefully keeping his features neutral, he returns his attention Linderman. “You wanted to see me?”
Smiling as if pleased by Nathan’s reticence, Linderman glances down at the two children. “If you’ll both excuse us, I have some important business to speak with the senator about. Candice should be here soon with some planned activities to keep you entertained.”
He steers Nathan toward a door on the left side of the room, and they step through it into a laboratory, complete with equipment, long wide benches and a researcher who darts out the opposite end of the room the moment he sees them. Nathan stops just inside the door, crossing his arms as Linderman moves over to a stool and takes a seat.
Without preamble, Nathan asks, “Where are their parents?”
“Orphans, both of them, poor things.” Linderman makes a face of pity. “Molly’s parents were murdered by Sylar a few weeks ago. Micah’s parents made the unfortunate mistake of being in New York when the bomb went off. It’s a shame, honestly. They were both very special people.”
Nathan can’t prevent the reflexive wince at the news. He’s the one who told Niki and her husband where to find Linderman, not realizing he’d already left the city. His thoughts twist suddenly, and he wonders if Linderman didn’t know all along that they were coming. Did he suspect Nathan’s role as well?
“How did it go on Capitol Hill?”
It takes a moment for him to respond. He pushes Niki Sanders from his mind. “As well as expected. The push for aid is slow but the world is rallying behind us. Money and support is coming in from everywhere. People are already talking of rebuilding, of trying to adopt some semblance of normalcy.”
He hates discussing what happened this way, with such apathy. But he knows Linderman doesn’t want him to care about the past; he wants him to care about the future. Nathan can accept that for now. He has to.
“As expected.” Linderman smiles as he taps his hands against the top of his thighs for a moment. “Humanity is never so spectacular as when struck by tragedy, Nathan. When all hope seems lost, we rise from the ashes like some glorious phoenix. The world is weeping, tangled in one another’s arms, offering comfort and solace over this great loss, all thought and attention tuned into one singular moment. In the words of Blaise Pascal, ‘the glory and shame of the universe’.” He chuckles. “It’s coming time to solidify that glory, Nathan. Mankind has spent far too long chasing its own tail, mired in trivialities and terror, set on its own course for destruction rather than evolution. But that’s going to change. You and I, Molly and Micah - we’re living proof.”
Nathan frowns. “I don’t see how -“
With a wave of his hand, Linderman cuts him off. “Not now, of course. The seeds have been sown for retaliation. Can you imagine if the world at large were to learn that one of us was responsible for this destruction? It may take a while for so many meager minds to accept the truth, but once that occurred…” He sighs and shakes his head. “Mark my words, the truth will come out. But not yet. Not until a few more assurances are set into place.”
“Mr. Linderman -“
“I want you to return to your home in Hyde Park.” He stands and faces Nathan. “I want you to make grand promises about restoring New York City to its former glory. I want you to give the people hope, Nathan. With Heidi and your boys at your side, you will go out among the people, hold out your hand and help them to stand once again. You will tell them that you are working to ensure such tragedy will never again happen, and that we all have a choice to keep our loved ones safe. They will trust you, love you, and follow your lead.”
“You can’t just force people to dance to your tune,” Nathan says, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
“On that, you are quite right.” Linderman purses his lips, nodding. “But you can certainly take the lead, as it were. In times of peril, humanity has always looked to a leader, someone to guide them back to the path of normalcy. You know what has happened; you know what needs to be done. While the rest of the world struggles to understand, your calm in the chaotic storm is exactly what is needed to gain their trust.”
“The entire proposition sounds a bit conditional to me.”
Linderman smiles. “In time, you’ll understand.”
Nathan hopes so because he feels like time is the one thing he is running out of. “What about Claire?”
“Your mother and I will see to her welfare. Her inclusion at this time could be… complicated. You have enough to focus your attention on.”
There is no way in Hell Nathan is leaving Claire in Linderman’s hands. When speaking with Mohinder earlier, he asked him to track down Bennet. He’d received information that the man had been listed as an injured victim of the blast, but there are so many patients flowing in and out of the hospitals that keeping tabs on any one is near impossible. As much as Nathan prefers to keep his daughter under his own protection, handing her back over to her surrogate father is the most sensible solution for the moment. Bennet seems to understand these people, and will keep her safe. He just hopes the man can find a way to get her out of Linderman’s grasp.
So it’s back to New York. And Peter. Nathan wonders if maybe he’ll have the chance to find his brother himself, and tell him… tell him how sorry he is, and how wrong he’s been.
“Well then.” Nathan forces a bland smile. “I should prepare to return home.”
He turns to leave, stopping as he glances at the door into the next room. “What about the children?”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. They’ll be well-cared for. And, when their time comes, they’ll be ready to take their places, and make the world a far, far better place than their parents ever knew.”
Clenching his jaw at Linderman’s words, Nathan nods once before quickly escaping.
****
He’s beginning to feel like everyone’s lapdog.
When Mohinder originally agreed to track down Peter for Nathan, it had been out of a sense of obligation to Peter, an apology for not believing him from the first, for having gotten him involved in so much. He figured his work was over with his phone call to the senator, letting him know that Peter wasn’t ready to be talked into returning, but he was safe and that was most important. Mohinder was ready to return to his own work, to go back to the apartment in Brooklyn and gather what he needed to continue on with his father’s research. With Sylar out of the way, there is no longer a sense of urgency to reach these people before they become victims, but the need to find them, to study them, still prevails.
Unfortunately, the phone call hadn’t gone so well. Nathan was incensed that Mohinder had ‘allowed’ Peter to escape; luckily when Mohinder asked exactly how one kept track of an individual who could not only hold you back through telekinesis but also simply disappear before your eyes, his brother returned to reason. One request, though, turned into another, and now Mohinder finds himself pulling up to Lawrence Hospital Center, where Nathan believes Mr. Bennet was taken after the blast. There hadn’t been much time to explain the details, and Mohinder feels a sense of wandering without direction. He’s told to go to point A, and he goes because it’s the right thing to do at the moment, and because he really doesn’t know where else to go on his own. His entire world continues to tilt on its axis, and just when he figures he has his bearings straight, it goes and upends itself again. The deeper he falls into the rabbit hole the more Mohinder realizes that the destinies of those on the list and his own are intertwined, and none of them really have control over any of it.
As he heads into the hospital, he mentally forces all of the little puzzle pieces together. Bennet worked for Linderman, who somehow has a connection to the explosion. Bennet is Claire’s father, but not really - Nathan let that one slip in the recent phone call. Claire is the daughter of Nathan Petrelli, niece to Peter Petrelli, and apparently her grandmother, Angela Petrelli, is somehow wrapped up in all of this as well. But Bennet no longer works for Linderman because he knows something about the organization that he doesn’t trust, and he is trying to protect Claire, and that makes Mohinder worry for Molly all the more. Exactly what were these children being dragged into? And did his father have any inkling of the scope of what was happening around them before Sylar murdered him?
Sylar. Mohinder still tenses as the name crosses his mind, expecting the man to rise from the ashes like some phoenix, always following him, always watching. His death may be something he will never accept because he should have been the one to do it, because he felt robbed of the privilege… or maybe simply because Sylar seemed so unstoppable. Somewhere, in the recesses of Mohinder’s mind, maybe he thought he would always be there, and was, for one reason another, reassured by that thought.
Silently scoffing at the flow of his thoughts, Mohinder makes his way down the crowded hallway through hundreds of desperate citizens hoping for proof that their loved ones are alive, when he catches sight of a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. Spinning around quickly, he sees Bennet skirting the edges of the crowd, moving toward the front doors.
Pushing through the crowd, Mohinder follows, hoping to catch the man before he is as lost to him as Peter.
“Excuse me,” he apologizes as he knocks into one woman a little more roughly than intended, but he doesn’t slow down to check on her, mumbling three more apologies before he reaches the door. “Bennet!” He calls out, pushing the door wide as he hurries outside.
Turning at the sound of his name, Bennet frowns as he glances through the throng of people before noticing Mohinder. There is another man who stops with him; they’re both dressed in green scrubs, and Bennet is wearing a pair of thick-framed glasses that seem out of place on his face.
“Dr. Suresh.” The surprise is evident in Bennet’s voice as Mohinder reaches them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you around here. You wouldn’t happen to have a car you could loan us, would you?”
So much for niceties. “I can do better than that,” Mohinder says, nodding toward the street and indicating they should follow. “How will a plane out of here do?”
“Plane?” The man with Bennet furrows his brow for a moment, glancing over at Mohinder. “Wait. Petrelli sent you?”
Mohinder pulls up at the words. “How did you know?”
“You’re working with Nathan now?” Bennet asks, eyeing Mohinder warily.
“He sent him here to find us,” the other responds. “And… Peter?”
“Are you reading my mind?” Mohinder demands, alternately unsettled and fascinated by the idea.
“Dr. Mohinder Suresh, Matt Parkman - mind reader,” Bennet introduces. “Parkman, Dr. Suresh here has been tracking down and researching others like you. Now, back to my question, you’re working with Nathan?”
“He sent me to New York to find his brother,” Mohinder tells them, turning to continue to the jeep as he explains. “He also requested that I track you down, Bennet, so that he could get you to Vegas.” Mohinder pauses, not really certain how to refer to Claire. He finally goes with what makes the most sense at the moment. “Your daughter is in danger, it seems. He wants you to get her out of there.”
“Claire is still with him?” Bennet seems to consider this information. “And why does he suddenly care about her welfare? He didn’t seem quite so concerned when he was forcing her to stay with him against her well.”
Mohinder has no idea what to say to that. “The landscape has changed since the explosion from what I understand. The organization you work for -“
“Worked for.”
“Excuse me. Worked for seems to have had a bigger hand in what has occurred than anyone would suspect.”
“Hold up.” It’s Parkman’s turn to stop in midstride, confusion clouding his expression. “Linderman was somehow behind the explosion? I thought it was Peter who blew up? What the hell do they have to do with one another?”
“I wish I knew,” Mohinder says, moving ahead to the car. He reaches in to grab the satellite phone, growing silent as he dials the number and waits.
Beside him, Bennet is staring off into the distance, either taking in the view of the devastation along southern Manhattan or thinking about the safety of his daughter. Maybe both. Mohinder turns his gaze to Matt Parkman, vaguely remembering the name from the list, considering what an amazing ability the man possesses when the other end of the line is finally answered.
“Petrelli.”
“Senator, I found Bennet.”
“Put him on, please.”
Frowning at the abrupt dismissal, he holds the phone over to Bennet. “He wants to speak with you.”
Mohinder turns his attention to Parkman as Bennet moves away with the phone. “What were the two of you doing in New York?”
“Bennet said that Linderman’s group has some kind of tracking system to hunt people down and we needed to take it out in order to be safe. So that’s what we came here to do.”
“Tracking system?” Mohinder looks over his shoulder toward Bennet, glaring. “Molly? You were here to kill Molly?”
“Molly?” Parkman reaches out for Mohinder’s arm, pulling his gaze back to him. “Wait, Molly Walker, the girl I saved from Sylar. She’s the tracking system?”
Mohinder feels relief at the realization that Parkman didn’t know. Since the man can read minds, he hopes that means Bennet didn’t really know either, else they’d be having some real problems real fast.
“Yeah. Linderman has her in Vegas right now. I was working with her when they flew us out of here. Now they won’t let me near her for one reason or another.”
“I didn’t know,” Parkman says softly, running a hand over his face. “I guess I should have realized…”
Of course, this changes everything. As much as he knows he should get back to contacting the people on the list, he can’t leave Molly alone like that. Not when there are men like Linderman using her, men like Bennet out to kill her. He certainly didn’t save her just to put her in danger all over again. She needs him. The people on the list, they could wait.
He glances over to find Parkman watching him carefully, brow furrowed. He gives him a hard look, not completely appreciating someone intruding on his thoughts.
“You really know of other people like me?” Parkman asks. “I mean, you’ve been trying to find us?”
Mohinder looks away. “Trying and failing.”
“But, you know what’s going on. You know what’s happening, right?”
He shrugs, bringing his gaze back to the man beside him. “Yes, I suppose. It was my father’s research, really. A genetic change in the evolutionary development of the human race. Unfortunately, most people either want to ignore it or are simply afraid to talk to me.”
“And that’s why you can’t give up.”
“Molly needs me. I’m not going to let Bennet or you or anyone else hurt her.”
“I’ll take care of Molly.” Parkman grabs his arm, shaking him a little. “Look, when this first started happening to me, I didn’t know what was going on. It scared the hell out of me. I thought I was going crazy or something. I ruined my career, almost lost my wife - I didn’t understand any of it. Hell, maybe I still don’t. But it’s a nice thought to think that maybe if I’d had you to explain it to me, transitioning might have been a little easier. And you know there’s got to be a lot of others out there, just like me, who could use your help in understanding what the hell is going on with them.”
If only it were so simple, Mohinder thinks, dropping his gaze as he considers Parkman’s words. It’s the trying to convince people he really wants to help that makes it most difficult. When Zane had been there - correction. When Sylar had been posing as Zane, it seemed like the simplest solution to have someone with special abilities along with him to gain trust. Of course, that hadn’t exactly ended in rainbows and hugs. Mohinder is as much responsible for Dale’s murder as the man who actually committed the crime.
“You led Sylar to one of us?”
Mohinder’s head whips around to flash a sharp look at Parkman. “I don’t appreciate that.”
“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, though he’s looking at Mohinder a little differently now. “I just -“
“We need to get to Jersey,” Bennet interrupts, apparently finished with the call. He tosses the phone into the backseat. “There’s a plane waiting to take us to Vegas.”
Mohinder quickly makes his decision. He’ll grab what’s left of his research, go back to Vegas for Molly, and then continue his work. “I’m heading into Brooklyn first -“
“No time, Suresh,” he interrupts. “I’ve warned Petrelli about Candice but the longer we take, the bigger the chance that Linderman catches wind of us communicating, and then it all gets a hell of a lot more complicated.”
“Who’s Candice?” Mohinder asks.
“She works with Thompson and has the ability to make you see what she wants you to see,” Parkman says.
“She’s used it against me more than once.” Bennet is already pulling the door to the jeep open. “I’m not letting it happen again.”
“But I need to grab some of my research - “
“Then you’re doing it on foot, doctor,” Bennet says, and he’s not joking. “I don’t think you realize how important this is.”
Mohinder starts to continue his protest and then reconsiders. Once out of reach of the phone, Nathan no longer controls him. He glances up to find Parkman watching him again, giving him a little nod of assurance. Maybe it’s possible to get back to the work that needs to be done, after all. Parkman is right. There are a lot of scared people out there, and who knows what Linderman ultimately has planned? He can eventually get to Molly as long as they don’t see him coming. All he needs to do is grab some of the items he left behind at the apartment, and get transportation back to Las Vegas. It’s possible that Parkman will even help, since he seems to care about Molly’s welfare as well. Bennet and Nathan can worry about Linderman; Mohinder has a whole lot of other people on the list who need him first.
Reaching into the back, he grabs his bag. “Take the jeep. Head up 87 to get out of here, you should only hit two major checkpoints. I figure the senator already has the call out for you anyway, but it’s less of a hassle.”
“You gonna be all right?” Parkman is back to watching him, this time with concern.
Mohinder nods. “Yes. Just… look after Molly for me. Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Parkman nods. “I promise.”
Stepping back, Mohinder watches as they both climb into the jeep and soon speed away, disappearing from sight as they merge with the unending exodus from New York.
****
“Nathan!”
He barely has his overcoat off before Heidi has him wrapped in a hug, peppering his face with kisses of relief. He aims to toss the coat toward the settee in the hall, misses, but ignores it as he returns his wife’s embrace. She clutches him, burying her face against his neck, and he takes a brief moment to enjoy it - holding her like this as she stands on her own two feet, a miracle for which he owes thanks to Linderman.
Dammit.
“I was so scared for you,” Heidi whispers, and he wonders if she’d be saying those words if she knew the truth about everything.
“I’m all right. Everything’s all right.” He pulls back from her, brushing the strands of dark hair from her cheeks, cupping her face. “The family’s together, and safe.”
Her brow creases with concern. “But what about Peter? Have you heard anything?”
“Peter’s fine,” Nathan says with a smile. “He was nowhere near the blast. He’s staying with some friends, helping out with things. You know my brother. He’ll join us when he runs out of hard-luck cases.”
She smiles, and Nathan’s certain he’s never seen anything quite so beautiful. He kisses her softly, closing his eyes, thinking how this moment wasn’t supposed to be quite so complicated. He was supposed to win an election, become state senator, celebrate his accomplishment with his wife and family. Nathan supposes that life will never be simple again; hasn’t been since the moment he learned he could fly.
“Where are the boys?” he asks after the kiss, pulling away to hang his coat up.
“Upstairs playing. Your mother brought some puzzles back with her.” Heidi pauses, crossing her arms over her chest as if suddenly uncomfortable. “She’s waiting for you in your office.”
His wife and mother once got along very well. Heidi was born into money; an established New York family who could trace their roots to the Mayflower. She was used to lawyers and doctors and politicians. Used to hosting elaborate dinner parties and receptions, and barely blinking an eye when introduced to the richest and most powerful men in the country. She and Angela Petrelli understood one another on that level, how to put on the best face for both cameras and guests, how to make the powerful men around them appear even more admirable and impressive. Heidi had dedicated her life to being proper hostess and mother long ago, just as Nathan believed his mother always had.
Of course, now he is waiting to find out his wife harbors just as many secrets as Angela Petrelli.
Over the last few months, Nathan has watched his wife’s relationship with his mother grow slightly more icy and stilted. When asked, Heidi would simply reply that she felt his mother was becoming too involved in his political career. As right as she may be in that assessment, Nathan can’t help but wonder if there is something else going on between the two women.
“I’d better go and speak with her.” He leans in to kiss Heidi’s cheek. “Tell the boys I’ll read a story to them after dinner.”
When he enters the office, his mother is seated on the couch, flipping through the latest issue of Social Life magazine, barely affording him a glance. “Have you finally come to your senses, Nathan?”
He ignores the question, moving over to the wet bar to pour himself a drink. He needs it. “I thought you’d be staying with Claire.”
“Linderman will take good care of her,” she says, laying the magazine to the side as she folds her hands in her lap and looks up at him. “I’ll return to Las Vegas in a few days, after you’re all settled, and we’ll leave for Paris. I feel it’s important that you focus on the needs of your constituents right now. When the time comes, Claire will be a part of this family as much as any other.”
“Here’s to hoping she gets better treatment than Peter.” Nathan can’t help but raise his glass in a mocking salute.
His mother’s expression turns to granite. “Peter had a destiny, Nathan. We all do, whether you choose to accept this now or not. He’s done a great service for the future of humanity, and I hope that one day he realizes this.”
“Then, you know he’s all right.”
She brushes her bangs from her forehead in a delicate, sweeping motion. “Of course, I do. Do you honestly believe I care so little for my youngest son? Just because he doesn’t have your strength doesn’t mean I love him any less. If I could have spared him this pain - “
“What? You would have?”
“You know very well that nothing about this plan has been left to chance.”
She straightens her shoulders, somehow making it seem as though she were towering over Nathan while she was still seated. He’s always wondered how she does that.
“Believe me when I say that originally we had counted on a different source but then - “ She waves a hand, dismissing it. “Well, somewhere along the way, we lost control. The task fell to your brother, and now it falls to you.”
Nathan frowns at her words, eyes drawn to the scotch in his glass. He swirls the liquid silently, considering what she’s said, wondering if he’ll ever get the pieces to fit. “And what if I don’t want it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nathan.” She stands and walks over to him, the soft scent of Chanel bringing memories of childhood, of fascination with his newborn baby brother, and promises to always look after him.
“You want this. You always have. Your father and I noticed it early on when you were always the first to reach for your gifts under the tree, always the first to reach for dinner, always the first to take what you wanted. You’ve always outshone anyone around you, even if you hated every moment of it. You can’t help yourself. There’s a need in you for control, for power. It’s your strength - never doubt that. It’s gotten you this far, and it will take you much further.” She smiles as she touches his face. “My son, the president.”
The soft expression that touches her eyes lingers only a moment before she continues. “I recognize that Peter has helped shape you over the years, teaching you to bend when you might otherwise break, softening edges that might have grown too sharp. Without him, you might have become like - “
Nathan waits for her to finish the sentence but she compresses her lips and turns away, moving back to the couch to pick up the magazine.
“Like who?”
“Other than whom you are.” She smiles as she dances around the question. “I love you, Nathan. And I love Peter. You have both made me enormously proud. I promise you that as you give your speech on Wednesday, when you look out at all of those reaching out to you for direction, for purpose and meaning, you’ll understand what we’re trying to achieve. You’ll begin to understand the sacrifices that have been made by so many of us to get to this point. And you’ll realize that this was the only direction for us to take to preserve the future for your children, and your children’s children.”
Part Three: A Mad Tea-Party