Heroes - You Can Be Mean and I'll Drink All the Time (PG-13)
I was gonna say something here, but everybody seems to be in a craptastic mood about the election, so you know, just hey, Heroes!
Heroes
Missing scene from 1.05 'Hiros'
Spoilers through 1.07
Nathan Petrelli. Hiro Nakamura.
You Can Be Mean and I'll Drink All the Time
The back of the town car is air conditioned and dark, almost too much so after Nathan’s trip through the arid Nevada desert. His eyes ache a little from the lighting readjustment; he's never flown that close to the sun. In New York there's always the smog and cloud cover, and right now he has grit in weird places, like in the corners of his eyes and the shell of his ears -- it’s probably embedded in his toes too -- although that is almost certainly from his landing and not from the flying.
Nathan's going to have to work on the landing part, the skidding is still too amateurish, but this was a lot better than the time he landed on his ass in the middle of Central Park at 4 o'clock in the morning, freaking out two winos and entirely too many pigeons.
He tries to settle himself against the plush leather interior of the town car, but he just -- he was fucking flying. Not those little hops and leaps that he does around Manhattan at night, like his name was Spider-Man Petrelli, this was -- this was soaring. This was like the comic books Nathan used to keep under his mattress to protect them from Peter‘s tiny sticky fingers.
This was real flying -- he broke the fucking sound barrier. Ohgodohgod, thank god he's good in a crisis, not like Peter at all. He needs a drink -- hell, he needs two. Of course his stupid Town Car only has bottled water and this shabby excuse for a wet bar behind the armrest. Still, something is better than nothing, and Nathan refuses to acknowledge his fingers shaking as he puts ice in the glass.
He doesn't fumble the stopper of the decanter either. He licks at the liquid that spills over his fingers as he sloppily fills the glass and grimaces -- he hates scotch.
"You go swish swish -- like Superman," the person next to him says amiably, and Nathan doesn't jump, not enough for anybody else to notice. Except that this person -- Hiro -- right, Hiro Nakamura bobs his head like he gets rides from flying men at diners every day.
He doesn't look like a Vegas hustler, but who knows with the day Nathan's been having, so Nathan gives Hiro his candidate smile.
Hiro Nakamura didn't just land in the middle of the Nevada desert, but he did see Nathan do just that. This means that he knows what Nathan can do, he knows Nathan’s secret. It doesn't matter that he seems moderately harmless -- hell, Nathan's mother seems completely harmless until she shows her teeth and takes off your forearm.
Nathan makes a note to himself to have someone pull together a jacket on his new friend just to be on the safe side. This isn’t a situation, not just yet. "Konichiwa," Nathan says perfunctorily, because he's a Petrelli and they are nothing if not well bred.
"Konichiwa," Hiro replies, cocking his head to the side like the puppy Peter had when he was eight -- and then he starts talking a mile a minute and yeah, no. Nathan's Japanese proficiency goes from 'konichiwa' to 'yen' to 'sushi' and that's about it.
"I. Don't. Speak. Japanese," Nathan says slowly, because isn't that what you do when people don't understand you? Even if you're in you're in your pajamas in the desert.
Yeah, this is just a regular pit stop for the congressional candidate from New York. "Ah, I so sorry, I speak too fast."
Nathan blinks because, "You were speaking English?"
"I speak very okay -- not so good English -- wassup man?"
Nathan can't help laughing, because that was just strange. Kind of like his entire day. One minute he‘s in Vegas soliciting sketchy people for campaign funds, the next he’s meeting the woman of his pornographic dreams, who fucks like it’s going out of style and she has to get one last ride. Then he‘s being kidnapped and flying across the desert -- getting dirt in his navel, if the discomfort is anything to go by -- and now he‘s hanging with some random Japanese could-be-hustler tourist. "Not too much, I'm just barefoot in my pyjamas in the back of a limo, wearing a shirt from a greasy spoon,’ he says stretching out a bit.
The shirt says Fly By Night. Right. Everybody's a comedian.
Hiro peers at him curiously. "Greasy spoon? There is no spoon. Like in Matrix," he claps gleefully for a moment and Nathan's eyes go a little wide.
The Japanese are in charge of everything, and this is what America has contributed to their domination -- 'wassup' and The Matrix. "No, a greasy spoon," he corrects, "like a diner?"
"Din-ner? Like you eat?"
"No, like that place where I found you, with the hicks and the random people -- do you know what grease is?"
"Grease?"
Hiro says something else in Japanese and Nathan raises an eyebrow. "Hey, if you're going to talk in Japanese, you can just leave me out of it."
Hiro blinks as though he doesn't realize what he's done. "Have you been 'whish whish' for very long?" he asks curiously, and it's Nathan's turn to blink. Instead he takes another sip of his scotch, because drinks are a prop, a distraction made to stall for time. Lex taught him that.
"Whish whish?" Nathan asks blankly.
Hiro holds his arms out above his head like a cheerleader and says in a very soft voice. "I Super Hiro -- you have be super hero, too, yes?"
Nathan just stares. "Have I been super --" and then he gets it. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not a super anything."
Nathan doesn't know when he learned how to fly. He doesn't even remember why he thought he could -- he just, he woke up one day and he knew he could do it, just like he knows he's going to win this election. Peter‘s never understood that. Peter‘s always asked too many questions; Nathan‘s a doer, Peter‘s a feeler.
Nathan loves his brother, but Peter, Peter's not like him. When Nathan thinks about what would've happened if he hadn't caught Peter mid-jump.
He just -- he can't think about that.
"I am thinking you very good at whish whish," Hiro says conversationally, "I practice and go to Times Square.”
Nathan glances up sharply at the driver, but he's listening to The Dixie Chicks and doesn't seem to be the slightest bit interested in their conversation. Smart man. Nathan's going to have to get his name anyway.
"You go whish whish to Times Square?" Nathan asks after a long pause. He doesn’t even talk this way to his children. Ten minutes with this guy and he sounds like he’s five -- and of course he’s been practicing his flying.
This is not the sort of thing he discusses during campaign strategy meetings, but yes, he's been practicing, because he can fucking fly, and he's pretty sure none of the other candidates can do that. Of course, Nathan's always been able to do what the other boys can't. He's always been one step above, one step faster, one thousand times smarter, he has to with a brother like Peter.
“No, I teleport to Times Square,” Hiro says. His voice is low, but the pride is evident and Nathan pauses because for a moment he almost believes him. This guy is good. If he's not a hustler, he's a con artist -- Hiro has to be, because Nathan doesn’t even believe in what he can do -- but Hiro sounds so convinced. Why does Nathan attract all the nutjobs? Maybe Hiro wants to go into politics -- but Nathan pushes that thought out of his mind and takes another sip of his scotch, which is lukewarm. Nathan hates warm liquor.
He plasters an inane 'Vote For Petrelli' smile on his face and lets another vertebra sink into the leather encapsulating him. He can feel the cars tires rolling smoothly underneath him, too. He needs a change of clothes, he should probably call Heidi when they get back to the hotel.
“Okay, Houdini,” he says placatingly.
“No, not How -- Howdini -- Hiro. Hiro Nakamura.”
Nathan makes a dismissive wave. “Whatever.”
“Yes!” Hiro says brightly, “Whatever, man!”
And then Nathan has to laugh again, and the ice cubes in his glass clink against the sides at the vibrations. He doesn’t laugh that often, but between Niki and Hiro -- Christ, he doesn’t even want to think about Niki - and now, Hiro seems to be talking about poker and Lando Calrissian.
Nathan can’t make sense of it. “Are you talking about Star Wars?” he asks.
“Luke, I am your father!" Hiro claps again, and Nathan face is starting to hurt from all the smiling. He'd thought he'd permanently stretched those muscles with all the campaigning, but apparently not.
“I was thinking you meant Lando -- Luke was kind of a pussy,” Nathan points out, because when was the last time he talked to someone about Star Wars? Probably when the movie originally came out.
Hiro looks confused again, which seems to be par for the course with him. “Pussy -- pussy cat? Ando? No, Ando no pussy--” there's a pause, "Actually, yes, Ando pussy. He go to internet stripper!"
“Internet strippers, huh?" Just what Nathan needs in his life -- another hustler. At this rate they'll need a union, which is sort of fitting since they’re finally back in Vegas proper. Nathan knows because they’ve just passed the Welcome to Las Vegas sign.
“I stop time for poker and end up in greasy spoon,” Hiro insists, which proves Hiro can be taught, but Nathan’s not listening. This has been -- interesting -- but vacation time is over, and he’s already looking for someplace that he can get some clothing.
He pushes himself upright, balancing his glass on the seat between them, and leans forward to tap the driver on the shoulder. “Stop at the Bellagio,” he says, “I have to get something to wear before we go back to the hotel.”
Nathan’s wife used to love to shop at the stores at the Bellagio; he would get her something this time, but that would probably just lead to more questions than he wants to deal with, and they have enough problems already. Regardless, Nathan can’t be seen looking like this, because what happens in Vegas may stay there for most people, but Nathan’s not most people.
The limo pulls up the Bellagio’s impossibly long driveway, past the fountains and the tourists. “Okay, Houdini,” Nathan says to Hiro. “This is where you get off.”
“Vegas, yay!” Hiro pumps his fists in the air, and Nathan would be charmed, but he’s been charming people his whole life, so he doesn't fall for it.
"You're not going to tell anybody about today, are you?" Nathan has to be sure, because the American public can barely accept minority or homosexual candidates, a candidate who could FLY, well, that probably wouldn't fly at all.
Nobody could fake looking as solemn as Hiro does when he says, “Hiro help other heroes.”
And Nathan just rolls his eyes because a little discretion could go a long way, but when he shifts in his seat, his glass slips off the leather --
And doesn't spill at all.
And then Nathan blinks, because there’s blue Oxford shirt and khakis next to him on the seat. It’s a good shirt. Brooks Brothers. It wasn’t there five seconds ago, and suddenly he has to reconsider everything he’s thought about the guy across from him.
Hiro's smile is broad, and Nathan can feel his eyes widening. Everyone outside the Town Car has stopped; there's no music coming from the radio; the driver is frozen halfway out of the car. More impressively, Nathan's scotch glass is balanced in mid-air, and it's strange to realize that maybe he's not so alone after all.
There's this feeling that he's never had before, he wonders if this is what Peter means when he talks about hope for the future.
--end--
Beta by serialkarma who really tried to save me from over thinking this, but yeah, all remaining fuck-ups are mine.
Title obviously taken from 'Heroes' by David Bowie, because how could I not? Really?
Heroes
Missing scene from 1.05 'Hiros'
Spoilers through 1.07
Nathan Petrelli. Hiro Nakamura.
You Can Be Mean and I'll Drink All the Time
The back of the town car is air conditioned and dark, almost too much so after Nathan’s trip through the arid Nevada desert. His eyes ache a little from the lighting readjustment; he's never flown that close to the sun. In New York there's always the smog and cloud cover, and right now he has grit in weird places, like in the corners of his eyes and the shell of his ears -- it’s probably embedded in his toes too -- although that is almost certainly from his landing and not from the flying.
Nathan's going to have to work on the landing part, the skidding is still too amateurish, but this was a lot better than the time he landed on his ass in the middle of Central Park at 4 o'clock in the morning, freaking out two winos and entirely too many pigeons.
He tries to settle himself against the plush leather interior of the town car, but he just -- he was fucking flying. Not those little hops and leaps that he does around Manhattan at night, like his name was Spider-Man Petrelli, this was -- this was soaring. This was like the comic books Nathan used to keep under his mattress to protect them from Peter‘s tiny sticky fingers.
This was real flying -- he broke the fucking sound barrier. Ohgodohgod, thank god he's good in a crisis, not like Peter at all. He needs a drink -- hell, he needs two. Of course his stupid Town Car only has bottled water and this shabby excuse for a wet bar behind the armrest. Still, something is better than nothing, and Nathan refuses to acknowledge his fingers shaking as he puts ice in the glass.
He doesn't fumble the stopper of the decanter either. He licks at the liquid that spills over his fingers as he sloppily fills the glass and grimaces -- he hates scotch.
"You go swish swish -- like Superman," the person next to him says amiably, and Nathan doesn't jump, not enough for anybody else to notice. Except that this person -- Hiro -- right, Hiro Nakamura bobs his head like he gets rides from flying men at diners every day.
He doesn't look like a Vegas hustler, but who knows with the day Nathan's been having, so Nathan gives Hiro his candidate smile.
Hiro Nakamura didn't just land in the middle of the Nevada desert, but he did see Nathan do just that. This means that he knows what Nathan can do, he knows Nathan’s secret. It doesn't matter that he seems moderately harmless -- hell, Nathan's mother seems completely harmless until she shows her teeth and takes off your forearm.
Nathan makes a note to himself to have someone pull together a jacket on his new friend just to be on the safe side. This isn’t a situation, not just yet. "Konichiwa," Nathan says perfunctorily, because he's a Petrelli and they are nothing if not well bred.
"Konichiwa," Hiro replies, cocking his head to the side like the puppy Peter had when he was eight -- and then he starts talking a mile a minute and yeah, no. Nathan's Japanese proficiency goes from 'konichiwa' to 'yen' to 'sushi' and that's about it.
"I. Don't. Speak. Japanese," Nathan says slowly, because isn't that what you do when people don't understand you? Even if you're in you're in your pajamas in the desert.
Yeah, this is just a regular pit stop for the congressional candidate from New York. "Ah, I so sorry, I speak too fast."
Nathan blinks because, "You were speaking English?"
"I speak very okay -- not so good English -- wassup man?"
Nathan can't help laughing, because that was just strange. Kind of like his entire day. One minute he‘s in Vegas soliciting sketchy people for campaign funds, the next he’s meeting the woman of his pornographic dreams, who fucks like it’s going out of style and she has to get one last ride. Then he‘s being kidnapped and flying across the desert -- getting dirt in his navel, if the discomfort is anything to go by -- and now he‘s hanging with some random Japanese could-be-hustler tourist. "Not too much, I'm just barefoot in my pyjamas in the back of a limo, wearing a shirt from a greasy spoon,’ he says stretching out a bit.
The shirt says Fly By Night. Right. Everybody's a comedian.
Hiro peers at him curiously. "Greasy spoon? There is no spoon. Like in Matrix," he claps gleefully for a moment and Nathan's eyes go a little wide.
The Japanese are in charge of everything, and this is what America has contributed to their domination -- 'wassup' and The Matrix. "No, a greasy spoon," he corrects, "like a diner?"
"Din-ner? Like you eat?"
"No, like that place where I found you, with the hicks and the random people -- do you know what grease is?"
"Grease?"
Hiro says something else in Japanese and Nathan raises an eyebrow. "Hey, if you're going to talk in Japanese, you can just leave me out of it."
Hiro blinks as though he doesn't realize what he's done. "Have you been 'whish whish' for very long?" he asks curiously, and it's Nathan's turn to blink. Instead he takes another sip of his scotch, because drinks are a prop, a distraction made to stall for time. Lex taught him that.
"Whish whish?" Nathan asks blankly.
Hiro holds his arms out above his head like a cheerleader and says in a very soft voice. "I Super Hiro -- you have be super hero, too, yes?"
Nathan just stares. "Have I been super --" and then he gets it. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not a super anything."
Nathan doesn't know when he learned how to fly. He doesn't even remember why he thought he could -- he just, he woke up one day and he knew he could do it, just like he knows he's going to win this election. Peter‘s never understood that. Peter‘s always asked too many questions; Nathan‘s a doer, Peter‘s a feeler.
Nathan loves his brother, but Peter, Peter's not like him. When Nathan thinks about what would've happened if he hadn't caught Peter mid-jump.
He just -- he can't think about that.
"I am thinking you very good at whish whish," Hiro says conversationally, "I practice and go to Times Square.”
Nathan glances up sharply at the driver, but he's listening to The Dixie Chicks and doesn't seem to be the slightest bit interested in their conversation. Smart man. Nathan's going to have to get his name anyway.
"You go whish whish to Times Square?" Nathan asks after a long pause. He doesn’t even talk this way to his children. Ten minutes with this guy and he sounds like he’s five -- and of course he’s been practicing his flying.
This is not the sort of thing he discusses during campaign strategy meetings, but yes, he's been practicing, because he can fucking fly, and he's pretty sure none of the other candidates can do that. Of course, Nathan's always been able to do what the other boys can't. He's always been one step above, one step faster, one thousand times smarter, he has to with a brother like Peter.
“No, I teleport to Times Square,” Hiro says. His voice is low, but the pride is evident and Nathan pauses because for a moment he almost believes him. This guy is good. If he's not a hustler, he's a con artist -- Hiro has to be, because Nathan doesn’t even believe in what he can do -- but Hiro sounds so convinced. Why does Nathan attract all the nutjobs? Maybe Hiro wants to go into politics -- but Nathan pushes that thought out of his mind and takes another sip of his scotch, which is lukewarm. Nathan hates warm liquor.
He plasters an inane 'Vote For Petrelli' smile on his face and lets another vertebra sink into the leather encapsulating him. He can feel the cars tires rolling smoothly underneath him, too. He needs a change of clothes, he should probably call Heidi when they get back to the hotel.
“Okay, Houdini,” he says placatingly.
“No, not How -- Howdini -- Hiro. Hiro Nakamura.”
Nathan makes a dismissive wave. “Whatever.”
“Yes!” Hiro says brightly, “Whatever, man!”
And then Nathan has to laugh again, and the ice cubes in his glass clink against the sides at the vibrations. He doesn’t laugh that often, but between Niki and Hiro -- Christ, he doesn’t even want to think about Niki - and now, Hiro seems to be talking about poker and Lando Calrissian.
Nathan can’t make sense of it. “Are you talking about Star Wars?” he asks.
“Luke, I am your father!" Hiro claps again, and Nathan face is starting to hurt from all the smiling. He'd thought he'd permanently stretched those muscles with all the campaigning, but apparently not.
“I was thinking you meant Lando -- Luke was kind of a pussy,” Nathan points out, because when was the last time he talked to someone about Star Wars? Probably when the movie originally came out.
Hiro looks confused again, which seems to be par for the course with him. “Pussy -- pussy cat? Ando? No, Ando no pussy--” there's a pause, "Actually, yes, Ando pussy. He go to internet stripper!"
“Internet strippers, huh?" Just what Nathan needs in his life -- another hustler. At this rate they'll need a union, which is sort of fitting since they’re finally back in Vegas proper. Nathan knows because they’ve just passed the Welcome to Las Vegas sign.
“I stop time for poker and end up in greasy spoon,” Hiro insists, which proves Hiro can be taught, but Nathan’s not listening. This has been -- interesting -- but vacation time is over, and he’s already looking for someplace that he can get some clothing.
He pushes himself upright, balancing his glass on the seat between them, and leans forward to tap the driver on the shoulder. “Stop at the Bellagio,” he says, “I have to get something to wear before we go back to the hotel.”
Nathan’s wife used to love to shop at the stores at the Bellagio; he would get her something this time, but that would probably just lead to more questions than he wants to deal with, and they have enough problems already. Regardless, Nathan can’t be seen looking like this, because what happens in Vegas may stay there for most people, but Nathan’s not most people.
The limo pulls up the Bellagio’s impossibly long driveway, past the fountains and the tourists. “Okay, Houdini,” Nathan says to Hiro. “This is where you get off.”
“Vegas, yay!” Hiro pumps his fists in the air, and Nathan would be charmed, but he’s been charming people his whole life, so he doesn't fall for it.
"You're not going to tell anybody about today, are you?" Nathan has to be sure, because the American public can barely accept minority or homosexual candidates, a candidate who could FLY, well, that probably wouldn't fly at all.
Nobody could fake looking as solemn as Hiro does when he says, “Hiro help other heroes.”
And Nathan just rolls his eyes because a little discretion could go a long way, but when he shifts in his seat, his glass slips off the leather --
And doesn't spill at all.
And then Nathan blinks, because there’s blue Oxford shirt and khakis next to him on the seat. It’s a good shirt. Brooks Brothers. It wasn’t there five seconds ago, and suddenly he has to reconsider everything he’s thought about the guy across from him.
Hiro's smile is broad, and Nathan can feel his eyes widening. Everyone outside the Town Car has stopped; there's no music coming from the radio; the driver is frozen halfway out of the car. More impressively, Nathan's scotch glass is balanced in mid-air, and it's strange to realize that maybe he's not so alone after all.
There's this feeling that he's never had before, he wonders if this is what Peter means when he talks about hope for the future.
--end--
Beta by serialkarma who really tried to save me from over thinking this, but yeah, all remaining fuck-ups are mine.
Title obviously taken from 'Heroes' by David Bowie, because how could I not? Really?