Fic: What Country, Friends, Is This? (interlude 3 and chapter 7 of 12)
Title: What Country, Friends, Is This?
Author: Katta
Fandom: Heroes
Characters (in order of importance): Nathan Petrelli, a whole lot of OCs, Peter Petrelli, other canon characters
Rating: PG-13
Chapters: This story is written in 12 chapters and 5 interludes. Future chapters are written, but in the beta process.
Author's note on spoilers: This story was written during the summer, based on rumours and speculation. As you can see, I kind of got things backwards. :-) So, spoilers up to 1x23: How to Stop an Exploding Man, and complete AU for everything after.
Extra author's note: Sorry this chapter took so long!
Summary: The flying man has lost his home, his family, everything he knew about himself - and his clothes. What is left for him now?
Previous chapters: Chapters 1-2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Interlude 3: Peter, Molly and Mohinder
Peter waited weeks to get the call back from Mohinder. Even so, once that call came, it only took him 20 minutes to be standing by Mohinder's door, knocking like his life depended on it. It was possible he'd flown part of the way; everything was a haze except the certainty that he had to find his brother.
It seemed an unreasonably long time before Mohinder opened the door and ushered him inside. ”She's in the kitchen.”
Peter hurried into the kitchen, ready to ask right away about his brother's whereabouts, but the sight of Molly stopped him - she looked so thin and weak that he immediately sat down and asked, ”Are you all right?
”I'm feeling much better, thanks,” she said with a pale-lipped smile. He'd seen that heartbreakingly brave attitude in far too many dying children to take her word for it, but at a closer look, the hint of color in her cheeks and the calm strength in her shadowed eyes told him that she was telling the truth. She was improving, just improving from a situation far more severe than he'd realized.
There was a world map lying in front of her, and he touched the edge of it fearfully. ”Can you find him?”
”It's kind of hard.” She drew a small circle on the map with her finger. ”He's definitely around here.”
Peter leaned forward, seeing that she was pointing at an area in Northern Europe - the lower half of Sweden, Denmark, and the very north of Germany. ”So he's alive.” He had trouble keeping his voice steady, and his smile was so wide it hurt.
”Yes, but he's... vague.”
”Vague?”
”I don't know how else to describe it. It's like he's there but he's not there. I'm sorry.”
”She's been trying for half an hour straight,” Mohinder said from the door. There was a touch of warning in his voice.”I thought you had a right to know your brother is alive.”
”Yeah. Thanks.” Peter lay his hand on Molly's, his desire to find Nathan battling his instinct to take it easy on a sick child. ”Hey, Molly, is it okay if I help out? See if we can find him together?”
She nodded several times very quickly, and he thought of Nathan, the worry for his family that he tried to hide with that infuriating, condescending smile, the way he moved, the way he talked. He thought of that very last moment, how he had forced Nathan to let go. The panic in his brother's face before it disappeared into the distance, that split second before everything went white.
Their hands moved together over the paper, and he was reminded of those stupid Ouija board games. For a moment, he could see Nathan's face clear as day, shaggier than he'd ever seen it in life, but there - and then the image slid away and all he had was this general notion of Nathan-ness, so tangled up with other things that he couldn't make head or tail of it.
He looked down on his map. His and Molly's fingers were trying to squeeze into the same small area at the south of Sweden. Molly grabbed a pushpin from a little box at the end of the table, and held it over the point, waiting for something.
”Not getting any closer?” Peter asked.
Molly pursed her lips hard, and then asked Mohinder, ”Do you have a bigger map?”
”I'm afraid not.”
”Google Earth?” Peter suggested.
”Good idea.”
They downloaded Google Earth onto the laptop, and spent some time trying to find Nathan that way, but the scattered feeling remained. The most they could determine was that every zoom led to the same Swedish peninsula.
”Maybe it's the powers,” Peter said. ”If you're still sick, and I leach off you, maybe I can't use them to their full extent either.”
”But I feel fine,” Molly said impatiently.
Peter noticed that her hands were shaking a bit, and he forced himself to say, ”Let's take a break.”
”No, I can do it, I know I can.”
”Molly,” Mohinder said, ”maybe you should try to find someone else. Someone simpler. That way we'll know if it's the power, or...”
He didn't finish the sentence, for which Peter was grateful. The possibilities running through his head were bad enough.
They managed to find two of Molly's classmates without problem, as well as Claire - though he felt a twinge of guilty conscience asking for that one - the President, the Pope, and in a final attempt, a movie star called Yukta Mukhi.
”She's pretty,” Molly said, clicking back to the pictures on the screen once they'd pinpointed the girl on the satellite image. ”Do you know her?”
”No,” Mohinder said. ”She's just a movie star. I think she's pretty too.”
”You've got good taste,” Molly said matter-of-factly.
Mohinder laughed. It made his face brighten up in a way Peter found very soothing. It had been almost an hour, and they still were no closer to finding Nathan. He was starting to feel extremely tired.
”Want to give it another go?” he asked, trying to sound chipper.
Molly gave him a glance that indicated she found this idea as futile as he secretly did.
”Molly,” Mohinder said, ”can you find Officer Parkman?”
”But I know where Officer Parkman is,” she said, confounded. ”He's in the hospital.” She swallowed, and told Peter, ”He hasn't woken up yet.”
Peter threw Mohinder a glance. He'd been in touch with the hospital, and he knew there was a very real risk Parkman would never wake up at all.
”Can you try to find him anyway?” Mohinder asked softly.
Peter watched Molly take the mouse. He knew he should be helping her out, but he didn't have the stomach for it - he had a suspicion he knew what Mohinder was getting at.
Molly's clicks were slower than before, leading her down to the state of New York and then the city. When the pattern of streets and avenues became visible, she stopped and bit her lip. There were tears in her eyes, but they didn't fall. ”It's similar, but it's not the same. Officer Parkman is very faint. Your brother is stronger, but it's like he's not all there.”
”Yeah,” Peter said, feeling even more tired than before. He looked up at Mohinder. ”He's injured, isn't he?”
”There seems to be a very real possibility of that, yes. I'm sorry.”
Peter nodded, and then gave Molly a trembling smile. ”Want to go to Sweden?”
Molly's eyes widened, but she said neither yes or no, just stared at Peter dumbfounded.
”That is absolutely out of the question!” Mohinder protested.
”You can come too.”
”She's ill. I'm not dragging her halfway around the world, and neither are you.”
”I need her.”
”No you don't. You have her power, you can call on it like you did today.”
”Well, I need someone. If Nathan is alive, don't you want to know how he survived?”
Mohinder crossed his arms. ”I can wait until after you both come back.”
”I could go,” Molly suggested. ”I'm better now.”
”I won't let you,” Mohinder said, scowling at her. ”I'm responsible for you now, and it's much too risky.”
”Please,” Peter begged. ”I can't do this alone.”
”So don't. There has to be someone you can trust.”
”Who? Everyone I trusted is gone, or dead, or...” He didn't have words for the ways his mother had proven unsuitable to confide in.
Molly's expression suddenly brightened. ”Maybe you can find someone here,” she said, nodding towards the screen.
It was a naïve suggestion, but it gave him pause. ”I can do that?”
”You can try.”
She pushed the mouse over in his direction, and he took it, phrasing a wish as if he was about to blow out the candles on a birthday cake: Let me find someone to travel with. His series of clicks took him across the continent to the west coast, zooming further and further in until he found himself looking at a very familiar row of houses in Oxnard, California.
”That's where you were before,” Molly said. ”Are you looking for Claire again?”
He hadn't been looking for anyone in particular, but seeing the house, he suddenly knew the answer, and he sat back, stunned. ”Actually, no.”
Chapter 7
The air was getting colder, and the sun set so early he barely had time to see it some days, even if the rain clouds parted long enough for that to be a reasonable goal. Fortunately, people had started putting up lights and stars in the windows. The Christmas lights seemed a bit meager to him, but then, this was a mostly Muslim neighborhood.
”Why do you do it at all?” he'd asked Qais, when the boy had cooled down his temper enough to be back on friendly terms with him. ”You're not Christian.”
”It's dark,” he'd said, replacing a broken lightbulb. ”Do you think God will really be angry about us putting up some lights? Anyway, Jesus was cool. I don't mind celebrating his birthday a little.”
If the Mansours and their neighbors invested in a few decorations, the more Swedish parts of town seemed enthusiastic. There were Santa Clauses, Christmas trees, snowy landscapes, plastic reindeers. Even the enthusiasm, though, was muted. As public decorations went it all seemed a bit sparse. More like his mother's livingroom - and having that thought made him stop short in front of the window display and just stare, even though his shift started in two minutes and he was still a couple of blocks away from the restaurant.
”This isn't a department store,” he heard a dry voice say in his head, followed by a snap of fingers and a very quick, ”Less is more, dear. Go on, take it off.”
Looking back at the moment now, he saw her point - he'd had a horrible taste for candy-colored monstrosities. Still, he rather thought that was a right when you were six.
They really had been wealthy, his family, and definitely not Muslim. English speakers, and with an accent as American as his own. He lifted his hands up to his face and breathed deeply. Okay. Different world for certain - but this was the one he had to live in, and he was late for work. He resumed his pace, shaking off the memory as something he could always return to later.
Marcus caught him as he was changing clothes and asked, ”We're a few guys short for the late shift, it'd be great if you could stay for that, too.”
He paused in his dressing and carefully arranged his facial features so there was no hint of a frown, no sigh escaping past his lips. ”Sure, why not?”
”Excellent.”
”I'm going to need a break in between, though.”
”Sure!” Marcus agreed, sounding like it was the height of generosity to allow a second break for someone working double shifts. ”Take an hour to relax in between. No problem.”
”Thanks.” He waited until Marcus was almost by the door, and then casually asked, ”What's the policy on overtime again?”
Marcus offered a flashy grin. ”Hey, if you ask me, all that union stuff is just a way to stop people from getting decent pay to begin with. But I don't mind throwing in an extra 20 kronor an hour. What do you think?”
He thought someone should call the cops on this guy sooner rather than later, but he knew the difference between a deal he should haggle and one best left alone, and so he smiled thinly. ”Sounds great. Well. I'll get right to it, then.”
By now, he knew the routines pretty well without needing help, so when Rim showed up after school he was happy to see her more because she usually provided some entertainment than because he actually had any need for her.
This time, though, she scowled at him when he said hello, and declared, ”I'm not talking to you!”
”Yes you are,” he said calmly, picking up bottle tops from a plastic plant.
”I'm not!”
He spread his hands. ”And yet...”
”Oh, shut up!” But her mouth was twitching, and as he returned to the kitchen he heard her reluctant giggle behind him.
They were both busy for a while after that, but first thing they met up again, he said, ”All right, I'll bite. What did I do?”
”You know what you did.”
He breathed in between his teeth. ”You've been talking to Aisha.” No, that didn't ring true. Nothing in Aisha's behavior had implied that she'd go complaining to her baby sister, especially so late after the fact. ”Or to Qais.”
Her huff at that told him everything he needed to know.
”Nothing happened,” he said, feeling irritated at having to explain himself to a seventeen-year-old girl. For fuck's sake, even Qais wasn't angry anymore, was she going to start now? ”Nothing's going to happen either.”
”Why not?” she snapped. ”Is my sister not good enough for you?”
That definitely wasn't the angle he had expected. ”What? No! Yes - of course she is. What are you talking about? I thought you guys were against this.”
”You guys? Who is that, me and Qais? We don't have to have to have the same opinion on everything.”
”So what is your opinion?”
”Why do you give up so easy? She likes you.”
He felt a small sense of triumph at that - he wasn't yet so addle-brianed he couldn't tell when a woman found him attractive. But it didn't change anything, and he rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out a way to explain this without sounding like a jerk. ”Your sister has a very acute moral code, and I'm a married man.”
”Och?” she said with a shrug and a roll of her eyes. ”You knew that before. You don't even remember your wife. If you really loved Aisha, you would find a way.”
That was the pressing point, wasn't it? He didn't want to burst her little bubble, so he evaded the implied challenge. ”She's not interested in pursuing anything, and I respect that.”
”Well, of course not, if you come on to her just like that. You have to ease into these things.”
He had a very hard time keeping his face straight at her sententious advice. ”I really don't think she's waiting for me to woo her.”
”Well, I really don't think you should keep your head that far up your ass.”
The laughter he'd been trying to hold back burst forward at that, and he shook his head. ”I'm not having this conversation.”
”Well, good,” she said, snickering a little, ”because I'm not talking to you. And the people over at five seem ready to order, so...” She gestured aimlessly and started walking away, but stopped and called back: ”So, that's it, then?”
”That's it.”
”You suck so much.”
”Thank you. Go serve your customers.”
The only upside with the late shift was that the customers, busy entertaining each other, no longer cared if the tables were spotless. The main downside was that they were drunk and annoying. He returned after his break, his legs and back still feeling the weight of the first shift, and the first thing that met him when he stepped through the door was a puddle of vomit. Sticking out his head again, he asked the bouncers, ”Who the hell let a drunk through the door first thing?”
”It's Saturday,” Alexander protested. He was slightly smaller than his colleague and made up for it by being a loud-mouth. ”If we keep the drunks out, we won't get any money.”
”Maybe so, but I think ten thirty is a bit early to be puking at the floors.”
Josef, the other guy, snorted. ”Told you that blonde should have been sent home.”
”She was eighteen.”
”Eighteen and two minutes, and could hardly stand up.”
”Hey, who am I to deny a girl to celebrate her birthday?”
Josef shook his head mournfully. ”He can never resist a blonde. Sorry.”
”Just keep him reigned in for the rest of the evening, okay?”
He returned inside and fetched a mop and a bucket of water in the cleaning cupboard. One saving grace about having people go sick this early at night was that everyone else was still sober enough to walk around the mess rather than through it. It didn't take him long before all that remained was a wet spot on the floor.
”Do you need help?” Rawan crouched down beside him, brushing aside her salt-and-pepper curls.
”I've got it covered, thanks.” He stood up and held out the bucket for her to take. ”Though if you want to clean this out, I won't say no.”
”Nice.”
”You offered. Aren't you supposed to be serving drinks anyway?”
”I have a break. Can I spend it on a better way?” She took the bucket from him and grinned. That grin of hers was really catching, missing tooth and all.
”How long have you worked here?” he asked her as they got rid of the rags.
”Only since I divorced.”
”You're divorced?”
She looked surprised. ”Yes, Rim didn't say that? I lived with them after.”
”Oh, right. Qais mentioned a woman - I didn't know it was you.”
She shrugged and rinsed the bucket with water. ”It's me.”
”This was fairly recent, wasn't it?” He finished washing the mop and hung it up against the wall.
”Eight months.”
”Do you have children?”
”Four. All big now.” Having put the bucket away, she started walking towards the bathrooms to wash her hands, and he followed her. ”When my youngest girl leaved she told me to leave too, and to the end I did. She was right.”
”Good for you,” he said dryly. ”So now you're on your own?”
”Alone and happy. What about you? Do you have a family?”
He scrubbed his hands with soap, trying to figure out how to answer that one. Finally he decided on something resembling the truth. ”I lost them. Before I came here.”
”Did they die?”
”I don't know. It's complicated.”
He expected her to ask more questions, but she didn't, just watched him with so much sympathy it made him uncomfortable, while also making him want to take her right there, against the wall. That obviously wasn't an option, and so he settled for laying his hand on her arm. Her eyes remained calm, and the shadow of a smile tugged at her lips.
”I should get back to work,” he said.
”I should...” She pointed across her shoulder to the stalls.
”This is the men's room.”
She made a dismissive sound, and for a second let her hand touch his hip. ”You're the only man here, and you must work.”
”True enough.” He smiled. ”I'll leave you to it, then.”
He was still smiling as he returned to his duties, enough that some people gave him suspicious glances. Showing happiness - even meaningless signs of happiness like a smile - around strangers was one of those things he'd learned proved him a foreigner, and he did his best to stifle his contentment. With a job like this, it wasn't very hard. Soon the smile was wiped off his face, and later he had to remember to keep his frown to a minimum; neutral and nondescript was the way to go.
Around two o'clock he had long since regretted agreeing to double shifts, and he was working up a blistering headache. He was feeling so unforgiving towards the world that he didn't react to the guy in the corner who gave the woman next to him a heavy and clearly unwelcome groping. When the woman reacted by spitting in the guy's face, however, he felt a jolt of dark amusement.
The guy was drunk enough and mean enough to think this was a good reason to grab the wrists of his would-be paramour. It looked like things would turn ugly fast, and so he put down his tray of glasses and stepped up to the pair.
”Hey. Cut it out.”
The guy answered with something rude-sounding and pulled the woman closer. She kicked him in the shins and did her best to get her knee up to his balls.
”I said, cut it out.” With the woman's help, he managed to get the two of them separated. ”I think it's time for you to leave.”
”Jävla blatte,” the guy growled. ”You don't tell me what to do!”
”Porta han,” said the woman. ”Kick him out, that fucking scumbag!”
”She spit at me!”
”Yeah, well, you had it coming.” He took a step to the left as the guy made a move to sneak past. ”The way I see it, you have two choices. You can leave now and come back next week, or you can hang around for the manager to come and kick you out for good.”
The guy pondered this and opted for punching him in the face. It was a sloppy punch that didn't hurt much, and he found himself smiling - a wide, predatory smile at the sheer joy of getting to tell one of these littering, oxygen-wasting knuckle-draggers where to shove it. ”Well. It seems door number one just closed in your face. Now get the hell out.”
He didn't hit back, or even threaten to do so. All he did was smile, but the guy got an uncertain look in his eyes and started to back off, though still hurling insults in both languages. ”Din jävla skit, I'm gonna klaga... gonna complaint about you, fuck you...”
”Complain about what?”
He recognized Marcus's voice, but still glanced over his shoulder. The woman entered a long diatribe in Swedish, with some angry interjections from the guy. To his relief, Marcus listened attentively to the woman and then gave the guy some sharp orders that made reluctantly head for the door, still cursing. Well, what did you know. Apparently there were people in this world even Marcus found repulsive.
Since the matter seemed to be settled, he returned to his tray, only to be called back by Marcus.
”Hey, Kalle! Good work.”
He turned back, and couldn't help looking in the direction of the woman, who was now headed over to the bar. ”Thanks.”
”Get the little girl to help you brush up your Swedish, and I'll stick you by the door for Lucia night.”
By the door - as a bouncer, he realized. Thank God. Standing outside for hours in the sleet was hardly his idea of a good pastime, but it sure as hell beat wiping off vomit stains.
”Okay,” he said, vowing to get not just Rim on the job, but the whole family. ”Will do.”