fic: from the ashes, victory (nathan, pg, 855 words), by comeon-eileen
He stands on the balcony, staring out into the night, in a white dress shirt and black slacks; the taste of brandy is on his breath; there is star-spangled confetti in his hair.
He can clearly hear the music playing inside, with choruses of You Can't Keep a Good Man Down. There are accompanying cheers and clinking of champagne flutes, and long, happy benedictions for him - for Nathan, for United States Senator Petrelli. They call him the Phoenix now, with a new career born of the ashes of his past failures.
He thinks - if only they knew.
--------------
He can see death impending. He wishes it were different. They always say, you don’t know how you’ll really react until it’s actually happening to you, but he always imagined he’d be one of the strong ones, gritting his teeth and steeling his soul, and maybe reaching out to grasp Heidi’s hand, lending her in her panic an anchor of strength and resolve. He thinks he better die here, because how can he live, knowing that at his core all he’s only blind shock, fear, and paralysis? But never mind. He’s going to die. Oh, God. He’s a dead man. Gone and buried.
Except later, it turns out he’s alive.
---------------
He moves to the end of the balcony, peers down at the ground so many stories away. The Itch, as he calls it, starts again, and he imagines that he’s sailing off the end of the railing, the wind blowing his hair awry, un-polishing his looks. He pictures himself almost hitting the cement sidewalk, but not, pulling up and away at the very last second and flying out towards the stars.
He wonders if his guests will mind. He doubts they will - they don’t seem to miss him now, even though they’re toasting his win, surrounded by posters with his name and his face, and he imagines that that’s telling.
-------------
It’s weird to think he’s happier this time, flying off to his death with Peter in his arms. But this time, it’s better - there’s the daughter he’s wronged so much, finally seeing him do some good, and there’s the chance for him to finally be the man Peter’s always made him out to be, a hero, and he’s helping to save the city - it’s the kind of death worth having, if one has to die. And he’s beginning to think he does.
He’s never been very religious. Sure, he attends Mass and annually gives up some (usually pretend, insignificant) vice for Lent, but that’s because people like keeping tabs on where their politicians spend their Sundays. Still, he wonders if this will earn him a place behind pearl gates. If it’s enough atonement. It’s a brief thought, though, and then there’s no way to consider it further because Peter’s exploding into pure light and fire and Nathan’s burning and gasping and slipping away like a dying star.
He’s heard that dying stars are supposed to lead to black holes. What does it mean that he finds himself back in his life again?
----------------
He turns away from the balcony. Much as he’d like to jump off, successful as he was in reviving his career, he doesn’t think he wants to start all over again, should someone see him and declare him suicidal. It would hardly be a good argument to say that he’s not trying to die some more, just trying to live. He settles on a chair, drops his chin into his palm and shuts his eyes in hopes that the Itch will leave. His muscles relax; his thoughts clear, and the weeks of travel and campaigning catch up with him all at once, leaving him suddenly tired and nearly asleep.
--------------------
It is sort of like sleeping, only painfully, and he wants to press a hand against the wound, but he can’t really move anything. Without any choice in the matter, he collapses - someone catches him, probably Peter, but now he is fading away into a great nothingness, faster and faster like it’s the inside of a tornado, and the rest of the world is left far behind.
Isn’t there supposed to be a light? This time, he sees only a black, expansive nothingness. Even the pain stops. He just falls and falls, deeper and deeper, for what seems like forever. This must be it, he thinks. A final death.
He finds out much later that it isn’t.
-----------------------
A hand on his shoulder.
He opens his eyes quickly, suddenly, and it’s Parkman. “Call me crazy, but shouldn’t you be in there? At the party, you know. For you.”
Nathan says, “Shouldn’t you be out on patrol?”
“After you took all the credit for keeping the streets clean? Right.”
“I shook your hand and got your name in the paper.”
“And now I’m Senator Petrelli’s lackey. Nice.”
“You’re on the fast track to FBI AD.”
Matt gives a conceding nod and plops down into the chair next to Nathan’s. They both stare at the sky. Matt says, “You know, you really can’t keep a good man down.”
With a tired smile, Nathan adds, “Or a Petrelli.”
----------------
FIN
----------
Notes: Writing this made me happy. It's funny because a while ago I was telling
never_evil how Nathan was like the Phoenix. Then behold, this prompt! Incidentally, you may or may not know that I stole title from the super cool game X-Men Mutant Academy. Sometimes when Phoenix wins, she goes, "From the ashes... Victory!" And does this little fly-surge-swirl movement. Anywho, yay for the return of flashfic goodness!
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He can clearly hear the music playing inside, with choruses of You Can't Keep a Good Man Down. There are accompanying cheers and clinking of champagne flutes, and long, happy benedictions for him - for Nathan, for United States Senator Petrelli. They call him the Phoenix now, with a new career born of the ashes of his past failures.
He thinks - if only they knew.
--------------
He can see death impending. He wishes it were different. They always say, you don’t know how you’ll really react until it’s actually happening to you, but he always imagined he’d be one of the strong ones, gritting his teeth and steeling his soul, and maybe reaching out to grasp Heidi’s hand, lending her in her panic an anchor of strength and resolve. He thinks he better die here, because how can he live, knowing that at his core all he’s only blind shock, fear, and paralysis? But never mind. He’s going to die. Oh, God. He’s a dead man. Gone and buried.
Except later, it turns out he’s alive.
---------------
He moves to the end of the balcony, peers down at the ground so many stories away. The Itch, as he calls it, starts again, and he imagines that he’s sailing off the end of the railing, the wind blowing his hair awry, un-polishing his looks. He pictures himself almost hitting the cement sidewalk, but not, pulling up and away at the very last second and flying out towards the stars.
He wonders if his guests will mind. He doubts they will - they don’t seem to miss him now, even though they’re toasting his win, surrounded by posters with his name and his face, and he imagines that that’s telling.
-------------
It’s weird to think he’s happier this time, flying off to his death with Peter in his arms. But this time, it’s better - there’s the daughter he’s wronged so much, finally seeing him do some good, and there’s the chance for him to finally be the man Peter’s always made him out to be, a hero, and he’s helping to save the city - it’s the kind of death worth having, if one has to die. And he’s beginning to think he does.
He’s never been very religious. Sure, he attends Mass and annually gives up some (usually pretend, insignificant) vice for Lent, but that’s because people like keeping tabs on where their politicians spend their Sundays. Still, he wonders if this will earn him a place behind pearl gates. If it’s enough atonement. It’s a brief thought, though, and then there’s no way to consider it further because Peter’s exploding into pure light and fire and Nathan’s burning and gasping and slipping away like a dying star.
He’s heard that dying stars are supposed to lead to black holes. What does it mean that he finds himself back in his life again?
----------------
He turns away from the balcony. Much as he’d like to jump off, successful as he was in reviving his career, he doesn’t think he wants to start all over again, should someone see him and declare him suicidal. It would hardly be a good argument to say that he’s not trying to die some more, just trying to live. He settles on a chair, drops his chin into his palm and shuts his eyes in hopes that the Itch will leave. His muscles relax; his thoughts clear, and the weeks of travel and campaigning catch up with him all at once, leaving him suddenly tired and nearly asleep.
--------------------
It is sort of like sleeping, only painfully, and he wants to press a hand against the wound, but he can’t really move anything. Without any choice in the matter, he collapses - someone catches him, probably Peter, but now he is fading away into a great nothingness, faster and faster like it’s the inside of a tornado, and the rest of the world is left far behind.
Isn’t there supposed to be a light? This time, he sees only a black, expansive nothingness. Even the pain stops. He just falls and falls, deeper and deeper, for what seems like forever. This must be it, he thinks. A final death.
He finds out much later that it isn’t.
-----------------------
A hand on his shoulder.
He opens his eyes quickly, suddenly, and it’s Parkman. “Call me crazy, but shouldn’t you be in there? At the party, you know. For you.”
Nathan says, “Shouldn’t you be out on patrol?”
“After you took all the credit for keeping the streets clean? Right.”
“I shook your hand and got your name in the paper.”
“And now I’m Senator Petrelli’s lackey. Nice.”
“You’re on the fast track to FBI AD.”
Matt gives a conceding nod and plops down into the chair next to Nathan’s. They both stare at the sky. Matt says, “You know, you really can’t keep a good man down.”
With a tired smile, Nathan adds, “Or a Petrelli.”
----------------
FIN
----------
Notes: Writing this made me happy. It's funny because a while ago I was telling
never_evil how Nathan was like the Phoenix. Then behold, this prompt! Incidentally, you may or may not know that I stole title from the super cool game X-Men Mutant Academy. Sometimes when Phoenix wins, she goes, "From the ashes... Victory!" And does this little fly-surge-swirl movement. Anywho, yay for the return of flashfic goodness!
't