Heroes - Ducks in the Bathtub (Nathan, Peter, PG)
It's been a Petrelli kind of week around these parts. What can I say, I'm totally enamoured of Nathan and want to have his illegitimate babies (oh, wait).
Earlier this week slodwick and I posted Under the Influence of You, which is our first collaborative mix. Yesterday I wrote Jealousy, Man, It's a Bitch, which is either Peter & Nathan or Peter/Nathan, depending on your point of view. It has nothing to do with this. This might send you into sugar-shock, but I think it's worth it.
Heroes
Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli
Pre-series (very pre-series)
General. Rated PG. Your mother could read this. Hell, my mother could read this.
Ducks in the Bathtub
Nathan finally spies Peter kneeling by the side of the riverbank, and he can already hear his mother berating him for not keeping a closer eye on his brother. He curses softly under his breath as he tries to make his way down the hill without falling on his ass.
"Jesus, Pete, what are you doing playing in the mud?" he calls, irritation radiating from every pore as his loafers slide on the wet grass. "Mom's going to kill you -- we're already late for dinner -- and where the hell is Hilda? Haven't I told you not to be down here by yourself?"
Nathan can't believe this. Peter could've fucking drowned while his nanny is probably off blowing their dad, and what's the point in having nannies if they don't look after Peter at least some of the time?
At six years old, Peter is all big eyes and floppy hair, and crap, he's got mud all over his hands. "Shit," Nathan complains, losing traction for a moment before sliding to a halt mere inches from the riverbank.
If he'd gone into the water, someone would've had to die -- or at least heard about it for a very long time.
"Nathan, look!" Peter's pointing at something, but all Nathan can see is the mud smeared along the side of his face.
"Get up." Nathan's voice is sharp as he grabs Peter by the wrist and tries to pull him to his feet. He knows his voice is too harsh because Peter gives him this look that's all wobbling lower lip, and Nathan sighs audibly. "What do you want me to look at?" he asks, even as he yanks his handkerchief out of his pocket and tries to clean off Peter's filthy hands.
"The ducks," Peter says, "Look at the ducks."
Peter glances across the river, but doesn't see anything. "They're nice, Peter. Really nice. Quack," he adds at Peter's assessing look.
"Nathan," Peter's got that wheedling tone to his voice. It makes Nathan's chest hurt. Their mother is right -- he is a sucker for his kid brother. "Not there -- over there. Look'it, look'it."
Peter's a mess; he's got dirt on the knees of his pants, and they're never going to leave at this rate. Nathan crouches down to wet his handkerchief and is startled by a tiny quack. "Jesus!" he exclaims, falling back on his haunches.
Two tiny, fuzzy yellow ducks look at him curiously from the shallows as Peter's laugh trills across the water. "See," Peter commands, but Nathan has his own issues because he's just sat on the wet riverbank.
"Damnit, Peter," Nathan curses, getting to his feet and scooping Peter into his arms. Wonderful -- now they both have to change.
"But, Nathan," Peter squirms as Nathan carries him back up the bank, "I don't wanna go to smelly Aunt Rose's house -- I wanna play."
"Peter, enough," Nathan snaps after slipping and almost dropping Peter on the hill.
In his periphery Nathan can see Peter sulking, and he sighs. "Later," he promises, shifting Peter from one hip to the other. "You can play with the ducks later."
Peter sticks his thumb in his mouth as he rests his head on Nathan's shoulder. "Don't wanna go."
"Yeah, I know," Nathan says, sighing when he sees his mother standing on the balcony of the house and looking in their direction.
This is one thing he won't miss at Princeton -- the weekly dinners with his mother's side of the family. He flinches when one of Peter's filthy, wet hands wraps around his neck, but resolutely doesn't complain when Peter snuffles into his shoulder.
"You're getting too big for me to carry," he says gruffly.
Peter just snuffles again. "Wanna play with the ducks now."
"If you're good and eat all your peas at dinner."
Peter's head pops up off of Nathan's shoulder. "Promise?"
Nathan changes the subject by shifting Peter in his arms and flying him across the lawn like a plane. Peter's laughing sounds like drunken hiccups, and by the time they're back at the house and under the mildly disapproving eye of their mother, Nathan's forgotten all about the ducks.
He doesn't actually remember again until the next afternoon when Peter comes tearing into his bedroom in a tornado of howls and tears. Nathan's in the middle of trying to talk Anderson into borrowing the keys to his mom's house in the Hamptons when he finds himself covered with 50-odd pounds of snotty, drooling little brother.
He completely forgets about Anderson trying to fleece him for JFK Jr.'s phone number (again) and hangs up the phone.
Peter is all wet cheeks and dirty sneakers that kick Nathan in the shin, and it takes Nathan a good five minutes to figure out that there's nothing broken or bleeding. "Peter -- Peter, you have to calm down," Nathan says, shifting Peter on his lap while trying to discern what the hell is going on.
"They're gone! They're gone!" Peter's wailing into Nathan's polo shirt, slobbering and sniveling and breaking Nathan's heart with all this babbling that he can't understand for the life of him. "I went to see them and they're gone!"
"Peter, stop," Nathan commands, and instantly the wailing ceases. The sniffing continues, but at least the snot production is on the decline.
"Okay," Nathan begins, wrapping an arm around Peter's waist so he can shift and reach the Kleenex on his nightstand. "Let's take this from the beginning."
Grabbing several tissues, Nathan sits back up and begins wiping all sort of wet substances from his brother's face. "Blow," he commands again, and Peter's nose makes a honking noise.
And then Nathan gets it.
"The ducks?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
Peter sniffs as Nathan wipes his flushed cheeks. "They're gone," he whimpers. "I went to go feed them -- I got bread from Tanya and everything -- and they're gone."
Nathan doesn't know who Tanya is, but that's par for the course at their house. "They probably had to go home to their mom," Nathan tries. He probably shouldn't coddle Peter, but he'll grow up soon enough. All Petrellis do.
Their father keeps insisting that Peter's too soft; Nathan keeps pointing out that he only turned six last month.
"I wanted to play with them," Peter protests, swinging his legs and kicking Nathan in the shin again. "I thought they were my friends! Why'd they leave?"
Nathan's not going to touch that one; that's another lesson Peter will learn soon enough.
"I've got an idea," he announces, setting Peter on the ground and cupping the back of Peter's skull. "Why don't you go clean up, and I'll take you out."
Peter's eyes grow comically wide, and Nathan can't help but smile. "Really?" Peter asks dubiously. Clearly he knows Nathan well.
"No more crying though," Nathan amends. "And you have to wash your face."
Nathan never takes Peter anywhere, which is why this form of bribery works. Nathan can hear Peter hollering for Hilda as he tears out of the room.
Nathan doesn't know who this Tanya is that gave Peter the bread, but he hopes she likes kids because she just became Peter's new nanny.
Hilda is definitely getting sacked.
A decent nanny would never have let Peter go down to the river unsupervised, and then Nathan could've gotten some help on the duck thing, but of course he should know better than to let someone else look after Peter. This is really the only thing that worries Nathan about leaving for New Jersey.
Peter's the reason that Nathan turned down Harvard.
Clearly no one else can take care of Peter the way he can; and he finds himself back on the phone to Anderson before he even realizes what he's doing, because knowledge is currency. He has something Anderson wants, so maybe Anderson can give him something he wants in return.
When he tells Anderson what the terms are, there's a long pause down the line, and then Anderson laughs. "Okay, Nathan, I can do this - but are you sure you want them alive?"
Five hours, a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, two ice cream cones, and a dinner at Cipriani -- where Peter gets six meatballs instead of the regular three -- they're back at home. The lights are on, but the house is empty, and neither one of them is particularly surprised. Children of the well-to-do aren't latchkey kids -- they're independent states.
"All right, Pete," Nathan says, grabbing Peter's coat and hanging it on the end of the banister. It'll migrate to the closet magically later on. "You, upstairs, you need to wash your grubby little body before bed."
"'m not grubby," Peter protests, making grabbing motions with his hands. "What's grubby?"
Nathan laughs and picks Peter up in a fireman's carry. "It's you," he announces around Peter's peals of laughter as he carts him up the stairs. "You are grubby and stinky, and I can't believe I'm related to you."
"Mine! Mine!" Peter shrieks happily, wriggling around and smacking Nathan on the back with his hands.
Nathan snorts, holding Peter a little tighter so he doesn't fall, "Yeah, okay, whatever."
By the time they're at Peter's bathroom on their side of the house, Peter's a giggling, shrieking mess, and Nathan shakes his head as he sets Peter on his feet in front of the door. There's no way Peter's going to get to sleep now, and when Nathan sees the crack of light under the door, he smiles.
John probably won't forgive him for a while, but the trade was definitely worth it.
"Okay, monster," he says, pushing the door of the bathroom open. "Go get'em."
Peter take three steps into the bathroom and shrieks loud enough to make Nathan's eardrums ache. Nathan hesitates for a moment -- he has this natural instinct to run to the rescue when Peter calls -- and then he realizes that of course Peter's going to need supervision.
Anderson has delivered just like he said he would, and Nathan stands in the middle of the cavernous bath while Peter shrieks "Ducks! Ducks!" over and over again, and runs around Nathan like he's a flagpole.
"For me?" Peter asks, attaching himself to Nathan's leg and giving Nathan this blinding grin of delight. Nathan's heart does this weird jump in his chest, which he should be used to by now, but Peter does this to Nathan every time -- there's a reason he's the most important thing in Nathan's life.
"For tonight," Nathan says firmly, glancing at the two baby ducks paddling in the bathtub. "Just for tonight."
Peter exhales through his nose. "Love you," he says, squeezing Nathan's leg extra hard.
Nathan smiles despite seventeen years of training. "Yeah, I know you do."
Earlier this week slodwick and I posted Under the Influence of You, which is our first collaborative mix. Yesterday I wrote Jealousy, Man, It's a Bitch, which is either Peter & Nathan or Peter/Nathan, depending on your point of view. It has nothing to do with this. This might send you into sugar-shock, but I think it's worth it.
Heroes
Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli
Pre-series (very pre-series)
General. Rated PG. Your mother could read this. Hell, my mother could read this.
Ducks in the Bathtub
Nathan finally spies Peter kneeling by the side of the riverbank, and he can already hear his mother berating him for not keeping a closer eye on his brother. He curses softly under his breath as he tries to make his way down the hill without falling on his ass.
"Jesus, Pete, what are you doing playing in the mud?" he calls, irritation radiating from every pore as his loafers slide on the wet grass. "Mom's going to kill you -- we're already late for dinner -- and where the hell is Hilda? Haven't I told you not to be down here by yourself?"
Nathan can't believe this. Peter could've fucking drowned while his nanny is probably off blowing their dad, and what's the point in having nannies if they don't look after Peter at least some of the time?
At six years old, Peter is all big eyes and floppy hair, and crap, he's got mud all over his hands. "Shit," Nathan complains, losing traction for a moment before sliding to a halt mere inches from the riverbank.
If he'd gone into the water, someone would've had to die -- or at least heard about it for a very long time.
"Nathan, look!" Peter's pointing at something, but all Nathan can see is the mud smeared along the side of his face.
"Get up." Nathan's voice is sharp as he grabs Peter by the wrist and tries to pull him to his feet. He knows his voice is too harsh because Peter gives him this look that's all wobbling lower lip, and Nathan sighs audibly. "What do you want me to look at?" he asks, even as he yanks his handkerchief out of his pocket and tries to clean off Peter's filthy hands.
"The ducks," Peter says, "Look at the ducks."
Peter glances across the river, but doesn't see anything. "They're nice, Peter. Really nice. Quack," he adds at Peter's assessing look.
"Nathan," Peter's got that wheedling tone to his voice. It makes Nathan's chest hurt. Their mother is right -- he is a sucker for his kid brother. "Not there -- over there. Look'it, look'it."
Peter's a mess; he's got dirt on the knees of his pants, and they're never going to leave at this rate. Nathan crouches down to wet his handkerchief and is startled by a tiny quack. "Jesus!" he exclaims, falling back on his haunches.
Two tiny, fuzzy yellow ducks look at him curiously from the shallows as Peter's laugh trills across the water. "See," Peter commands, but Nathan has his own issues because he's just sat on the wet riverbank.
"Damnit, Peter," Nathan curses, getting to his feet and scooping Peter into his arms. Wonderful -- now they both have to change.
"But, Nathan," Peter squirms as Nathan carries him back up the bank, "I don't wanna go to smelly Aunt Rose's house -- I wanna play."
"Peter, enough," Nathan snaps after slipping and almost dropping Peter on the hill.
In his periphery Nathan can see Peter sulking, and he sighs. "Later," he promises, shifting Peter from one hip to the other. "You can play with the ducks later."
Peter sticks his thumb in his mouth as he rests his head on Nathan's shoulder. "Don't wanna go."
"Yeah, I know," Nathan says, sighing when he sees his mother standing on the balcony of the house and looking in their direction.
This is one thing he won't miss at Princeton -- the weekly dinners with his mother's side of the family. He flinches when one of Peter's filthy, wet hands wraps around his neck, but resolutely doesn't complain when Peter snuffles into his shoulder.
"You're getting too big for me to carry," he says gruffly.
Peter just snuffles again. "Wanna play with the ducks now."
"If you're good and eat all your peas at dinner."
Peter's head pops up off of Nathan's shoulder. "Promise?"
Nathan changes the subject by shifting Peter in his arms and flying him across the lawn like a plane. Peter's laughing sounds like drunken hiccups, and by the time they're back at the house and under the mildly disapproving eye of their mother, Nathan's forgotten all about the ducks.
He doesn't actually remember again until the next afternoon when Peter comes tearing into his bedroom in a tornado of howls and tears. Nathan's in the middle of trying to talk Anderson into borrowing the keys to his mom's house in the Hamptons when he finds himself covered with 50-odd pounds of snotty, drooling little brother.
He completely forgets about Anderson trying to fleece him for JFK Jr.'s phone number (again) and hangs up the phone.
Peter is all wet cheeks and dirty sneakers that kick Nathan in the shin, and it takes Nathan a good five minutes to figure out that there's nothing broken or bleeding. "Peter -- Peter, you have to calm down," Nathan says, shifting Peter on his lap while trying to discern what the hell is going on.
"They're gone! They're gone!" Peter's wailing into Nathan's polo shirt, slobbering and sniveling and breaking Nathan's heart with all this babbling that he can't understand for the life of him. "I went to see them and they're gone!"
"Peter, stop," Nathan commands, and instantly the wailing ceases. The sniffing continues, but at least the snot production is on the decline.
"Okay," Nathan begins, wrapping an arm around Peter's waist so he can shift and reach the Kleenex on his nightstand. "Let's take this from the beginning."
Grabbing several tissues, Nathan sits back up and begins wiping all sort of wet substances from his brother's face. "Blow," he commands again, and Peter's nose makes a honking noise.
And then Nathan gets it.
"The ducks?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
Peter sniffs as Nathan wipes his flushed cheeks. "They're gone," he whimpers. "I went to go feed them -- I got bread from Tanya and everything -- and they're gone."
Nathan doesn't know who Tanya is, but that's par for the course at their house. "They probably had to go home to their mom," Nathan tries. He probably shouldn't coddle Peter, but he'll grow up soon enough. All Petrellis do.
Their father keeps insisting that Peter's too soft; Nathan keeps pointing out that he only turned six last month.
"I wanted to play with them," Peter protests, swinging his legs and kicking Nathan in the shin again. "I thought they were my friends! Why'd they leave?"
Nathan's not going to touch that one; that's another lesson Peter will learn soon enough.
"I've got an idea," he announces, setting Peter on the ground and cupping the back of Peter's skull. "Why don't you go clean up, and I'll take you out."
Peter's eyes grow comically wide, and Nathan can't help but smile. "Really?" Peter asks dubiously. Clearly he knows Nathan well.
"No more crying though," Nathan amends. "And you have to wash your face."
Nathan never takes Peter anywhere, which is why this form of bribery works. Nathan can hear Peter hollering for Hilda as he tears out of the room.
Nathan doesn't know who this Tanya is that gave Peter the bread, but he hopes she likes kids because she just became Peter's new nanny.
Hilda is definitely getting sacked.
A decent nanny would never have let Peter go down to the river unsupervised, and then Nathan could've gotten some help on the duck thing, but of course he should know better than to let someone else look after Peter. This is really the only thing that worries Nathan about leaving for New Jersey.
Peter's the reason that Nathan turned down Harvard.
Clearly no one else can take care of Peter the way he can; and he finds himself back on the phone to Anderson before he even realizes what he's doing, because knowledge is currency. He has something Anderson wants, so maybe Anderson can give him something he wants in return.
When he tells Anderson what the terms are, there's a long pause down the line, and then Anderson laughs. "Okay, Nathan, I can do this - but are you sure you want them alive?"
Five hours, a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, two ice cream cones, and a dinner at Cipriani -- where Peter gets six meatballs instead of the regular three -- they're back at home. The lights are on, but the house is empty, and neither one of them is particularly surprised. Children of the well-to-do aren't latchkey kids -- they're independent states.
"All right, Pete," Nathan says, grabbing Peter's coat and hanging it on the end of the banister. It'll migrate to the closet magically later on. "You, upstairs, you need to wash your grubby little body before bed."
"'m not grubby," Peter protests, making grabbing motions with his hands. "What's grubby?"
Nathan laughs and picks Peter up in a fireman's carry. "It's you," he announces around Peter's peals of laughter as he carts him up the stairs. "You are grubby and stinky, and I can't believe I'm related to you."
"Mine! Mine!" Peter shrieks happily, wriggling around and smacking Nathan on the back with his hands.
Nathan snorts, holding Peter a little tighter so he doesn't fall, "Yeah, okay, whatever."
By the time they're at Peter's bathroom on their side of the house, Peter's a giggling, shrieking mess, and Nathan shakes his head as he sets Peter on his feet in front of the door. There's no way Peter's going to get to sleep now, and when Nathan sees the crack of light under the door, he smiles.
John probably won't forgive him for a while, but the trade was definitely worth it.
"Okay, monster," he says, pushing the door of the bathroom open. "Go get'em."
Peter take three steps into the bathroom and shrieks loud enough to make Nathan's eardrums ache. Nathan hesitates for a moment -- he has this natural instinct to run to the rescue when Peter calls -- and then he realizes that of course Peter's going to need supervision.
Anderson has delivered just like he said he would, and Nathan stands in the middle of the cavernous bath while Peter shrieks "Ducks! Ducks!" over and over again, and runs around Nathan like he's a flagpole.
"For me?" Peter asks, attaching himself to Nathan's leg and giving Nathan this blinding grin of delight. Nathan's heart does this weird jump in his chest, which he should be used to by now, but Peter does this to Nathan every time -- there's a reason he's the most important thing in Nathan's life.
"For tonight," Nathan says firmly, glancing at the two baby ducks paddling in the bathtub. "Just for tonight."
Peter exhales through his nose. "Love you," he says, squeezing Nathan's leg extra hard.
Nathan smiles despite seventeen years of training. "Yeah, I know you do."