Am I Still Nathan Petrelli?, Chapter 3: Peter Talks to Angela
The next morning, Rene was waiting for Peter as he arrived at work.
“Hi there,” Peter said guardedly.
Rene frowned deeply, looking like he was about to say something very unpleasant. “Your mother contacted me again. I told you the other day that the decision was yours. Have you made up your mind?”
Peter squared himself off across from Rene. The Haitian glanced at the confrontational body language, but he did not respond to it. He had learned that much could be deflected or defused by refusing to respond. He held himself still and narrowed his eyes slightly at Peter.
“Yeah, I’ve made up my mind. The answer’s no. Not at all. Leave him alone.”
The Haitian nodded and started to turn away.
“Wait. When did my mother contact you last?”
Rene turned his ebony face back towards Peter without moving the rest of his body. “Last night.” Seeing the blaze of anger on Peter’s face, the Haitian walked away. He was already deeply dissatisfied with the Petrelli family. No reason to make things worse. Perhaps this was a good time to go look up Bennet. When the Petrellis fought, the entire country seemed to quake. Bennet needed to know. This new generation of Petrellis seemed no better than the last. He did not like it.
Peter stalked into the locker room and slammed his door open. Hesam looked up sharply at him. He started to say something and realized that he’d never seen Peter this angry and he’d seen him in all kinds of crazy situations. He slipped outside without speaking. It was suddenly a really good time to go get a coffee. Emma snagged his sleeve on the way out and motioned inside. “Peter?”
“Yeah, Peter’s in there, but I don’t think you want to see him.” Emma furrowed her brow and cracked open the door. She’d decide that for herself. Peter jerked his paramedic shirt on over his undershirt. She stepped inside. He slammed the door shut on his locker and turned, noticing her for the first time. His expression softened. He wasn’t angry at her. Emma looked at the spray of colors, red and orange, from the sound. Why was it that only some things made colors? She was starting to think it had something to do with emotional intensity, because it wasn’t just music… Her eyes passed where Peter was standing, fists on hips, looking at her with a lop-sided smile. He dropped his arms to his side and walked up to her. “Hey, how you doin?”
“I’m good. What’s wrong?” She paired the words with signs, since Peter had been trying to learn sign language to talk to her better.
He smiled a bit more, realizing he’d forgotten to practice. “It’s my mother.” He rolled his eyes. “She makes me mad.” He looked off to the side and then back at Emma. He hadn’t forgotten to look directly at her when he talked, even though he didn’t want to be looking at anyone right now. Not in this mood. “I thought we had something… settled,” he signed the word ‘done’, although he knew it wasn’t quite what he was looking for, “and now I find out she’s going behind me to screw things up.” ‘Screw’ was signed more strongly and crudely, because of course one of the first things he’d learned in sign was curse words.
Emma smiled compassionately and nodded. “I’m sorry,” she signed without speaking. He nodded and glanced off to the side again. “I’m going to have to talk to her.” She nodded again. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve got to get to work. How about we catch lunch? I’ll be calmer by then. I’ve got to think about this.”
“Alright, Peter.”
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“Good evening to you too,” Angela said blandly as her youngest son stormed in that night, tossing his satchel on the table and knocking over a set of salt and pepper shakers as he did. He walked right up to where she sat, invading her space.
“What are you playing at this time, Mom?”
She put her papers in order, sliding to the bottom of the stack the ones she didn’t want Peter to see. She didn’t look at him and continued her level, almost bored tone. “Whatever do you mean, Peter?” She looked up at his angry face and frowned. She spoke much more quietly for a moment, much more seriously. “I’m not ‘playing’. I’m never ‘playing’.” She stood up next to him, very close.
“The Haitian came by today. He said you talked to him last night. Last night! What was all that you said at brunch yesterday? Was it just a bunch of lies?”
She shook her head slightly. “Oh, no, Peter. I wouldn’t lie to him, he’d hear it in an instant.” Her eyes slid to the side. “But there are ways to say things that get past that particular ability.”
Peter’s voice softened slightly. “He’s going to be fine. If you’d just leave him alone.”
“Oh, Peter!” Angela turned and tried to put her hands on either side of his face. He jerked his head away from her and his face hardened. Angela stepped away from him, facing away. She didn’t want to see Peter’s face when she said what she had to say next.
“It’s come to my attention that I must face the fact that Nathan’s dead. That person is not Nathan, even if he looks like him and even acts like him… some of the time.” She clasped her hands together and turned back towards Peter. “I made a terrible mistake, Peter.”
I’ve heard that before, Peter thought. He threw himself down in an overstuffed chair and rubbed his forehead. Why does she have to screw things up all the time? Nathan said she must have some sort of compulsion, probably linked to her power. Or maybe she’s just a bad person. Peter couldn’t hold that thought for long though. His belief in the inherent goodness of people was too strong.
Angela went on, “There is only so long that we will be able to manipulate him.” Peter furrowed his brow and looked up at her. He’d had a tingle and it seemed to have come from her, from what she’d said. It was wrong somehow. It was a lie.
“A man of his abilities is inherently unstable. You’ve seen it yourself, Peter. Too many abilities make a person… unstable.” She looked down at him with pursed lips. Peter cocked his head at her. “What are you getting at?”
She sat down in the chair across from him and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Like at Kirby Plaza. You had too many abilities and it was destroying you. Your father,” she made a face like she’d bitten a lemon, “did you a favor, really. When he took your abilities he saved you. Before that, it was only a matter of time. As it’s only a matter of time with Sylar. He can’t be reformed, Peter. Everyone who’s ever had that many abilities at once has self-destructed, one way or another.”
Peter sat up. “Why-“ He swallowed and looked away, then back at her out of the corner of his eyes. “You know what my ability is.”
“Yes, I know Peter. Which is why I thought… at Kirby Plaza… at least you would be serving a higher good. Rather than… something terrible.” Her eyes were distant, seeing something in the past or from one of her dreams.
He blinked at her. “You think I’m… safe now?” He tilted his head, listening, feeling for that tingle.
“Of course. You only have one ability at a time now. That’s stable. There have even been empaths with two or three and they never made it very long, but it was long enough. No one really has forever anyway.” She looked off into the distance again. Peter was glad she wasn’t looking at him. He’d realized today that he didn’t merely have Nathan’s flight. When he’d touched Nathan, he’d picked up Sylar’s entire complement of abilities, just like he had during the fight in the hotel. Anything that was going to happen to Sylar, was also going to happen to Peter. He looked at his hands. All he had to do, he knew, was touch someone else - lose Sylar’s powers and go back to having one power. Be “ordinary”, at least as such things passed among those with powers. But… he didn’t want to be that. He breathed out slowly. Wasn’t this the same megalomania he’d often criticized in Sylar? Wanting to be different? And what would happen to Sylar, to Nathan, who couldn’t get rid of his powers so easily?
His mother had pulled out of her fugue and noticed that Peter was deep in thought. “What is it, Peter?”
Sylar wasn’t the only one who had an uncanny ability to detect lies, but every Petrelli had long experience with ‘ways to say things’ to get past that ability. He said, “There’s got to be some way to fix Sylar. It worked for me.”
His mother shook her head. “Without Pinehearst, the formula is gone. And while I’m sure that someone will continue Suresh’s research, it hasn’t happened yet.” Peter twitched. That was a tingle. “The Haitian can only suppress powers for a short time. It’s ironic, really, that the only person I know of right now with the power to strip powers, is Sylar himself.” Another tingle.
Peter huffed. He was frustrated by the lies, but he couldn’t think of how to get her to tell the truth without revealing his own ability. If he did that, she’d watch her words even more carefully and he’d never get anywhere. “He has to kill people to strip powers. I’d rather not encourage that.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Peter looked at her intently. There was no tingle. “Most people are untrained in what they are able to do. Sylar’s no different. I have reason to believe he already knows how to take powers without opening the brain case.” She tilted her head like her sons often did. “I’m not sure if he knows how to take them without killing though.”
Peter inhaled sharply. This opened so many new possibilities. “You mean, he can take someone’s powers, like Dad did?” She nodded. “Then… how does he… how would he do that?”
Angela gave him an odd look. “I don’t think either one of us should do anything to enhance Sylar’s abilities. The less he knows, the better. We’re going to have to get rid of him. You’re going to have to face that fact, Peter. I know that’s hard for you. You’ve always been the sensitive one and that’s a facet of your own ability. I don’t know why you think he’s worth saving, after what he’s done to us. To you. But you have to understand, this can’t go on.”
Peter stood up. He hadn’t gotten what he’d came for, but he’d never expected to talk his mother out of whatever insane course she had planned. Nathan had taught him over a year ago that it worked better to try to get her to talk about what she was going to do and then go thwart her indirectly. Peter hated that approach, but he had to admit that he’d never seen anyone other than Dad change Mom’s mind once she made it up. He had a pretty good idea of how Dad had managed it. That wasn’t a tactic Peter was willing to resort to, no matter what his mother was trying to do to Sylar.
“I’ll think about it.” He walked off, stopping at the table to pick up his satchel. He reached out to right the spice shakers and they popped up and shifted into position of their own accord. He hesitated and looked at his fingers. He hadn’t meant to use telekinesis. It had just happened. His mind jumped to one of the many times when Nathan had urged him to be restrained in using his abilities, as if he was endangering himself somehow by using them too often. A cold feeling settled in his gut. What else had his brother known, that he wouldn’t tell him? And would he tell him now? A glance back at his mother showed she was busy resorting her papers, moving the ones on the bottom of the stack back to the top. She hadn’t noticed. He walked out, rubbing his fingers against each other uneasily.