Royal Dysfunctions
Title: Royal Dysfunctions
Heroes Fiction
Author: taxidryer
Rating: PG-13
Category: Pre-series for the most part.
Genre: General
Spoilers: Season 1 only
Characters/Pairings: The Petrellis, aka the quartet-made-of-awesome.
Summary: Even the lies she used to cover other lies had a purpose of their own.
Posted: heroes_fic, dona_petrelli.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Heroes. Heroes own me.
Thanks: to my personal hero, tracyj23, for the beta.
Author’s note: Everything about Angela’s ability is pure speculation.
Also, we don’t know what Mr. Petrelli’s first name was so I called him Arthur. I’ve read it in a fic but can’t remember where. Sorry if you’re the one I stole it from.
Royal Dysfunctions
‘Forgive me Father for I have sinned.’
‘What have you done, my boy?’ answered the priest on the other side of the partition, expecting an endless list of sins. Last time he had heard Peter Petrelli’s confession, the now full-grown man was just a boy and anybody who hasn’t confessed in twelve years must have a lot of things on his conscience.
‘Actually, I haven’t done it yet.’
‘Well, don’t do it then.’
‘I can’t. I don’t know how to stop it.’
‘I see. You will have to pray God to send you the strength to resist.’
‘But it’s not about strength. It’s… something I can’t control. Will I pay for a sin I have no control over?’
‘God will not subject you to a temptation you cannot resist.’
‘No, you don’t understand, it’s not about temptation. It’s about control.’
‘You’re right, I don’t understand.’
‘It’s… I don’t know how to explain it. If someone doesn’t stop me, something terrible will happen…’
‘Not if you find it within you…’
‘Wait!’ Peter exclaimed, his face transfigured by the sudden revelation. ‘Claire could do it!’
‘Who’s Claire?’
‘My niece.’
‘You have a niece?’
‘Yeah. Nathan’s illegitimate daughter’, Peter quickly answered.
‘Of course.’
‘Claire could shoot me!’
‘You want your niece to shoot you?’
‘Thank you, thank you, Father,’ said Peter as he ran out of the confessional.
He wants his niece to shoot him, thought the priest.
Only a Petrelli could come up with something like that.
*
Secrets of State
Like the pimple betraying the wickedness hidden behind the perfect face of an immaculate beauty, Peter had always been the symptom of all the dysfunctions of the Petrelli family.
His father had hidden a bottle of whiskey between two books in his library, his mother had hidden a picture of Kaito Nakamura in the back of a drawer and his brother had hidden porn magazines under his mattress, but Peter had always been an open book. It wasn’t that he had nothing to hide, he just had less than everyone else. People already knew he was the messed-up one, the one who refused to toe the line and broke the symmetry of a lineage of proud and strong men without any apology.
It’s not that Peter was not an expert in the art of manipulation. He knew he was indispensable - pus always had to escape somehow - and he knew how to use that to his advantage. The difference was that he never tried to show a pride and a strength he did not believe he possessed.
Or maybe did he possess a pride and strength he didn’t want to show. It didn’t matter. Everyone had something to hide.
*
Every ability has its limits.
Those who can move things cannot move all things. They cannot move buildings, mountains, or the sun.
Those who can read thoughts cannot read all the thoughts that jostle at every level of consciousness in one’s mind. They cannot read those who are too deep to be heard and that all too often are the more significant.
Angela Petrelli could see the future in her sleep. When she went to bed with an individual in mind and closed her eyes, she could see this person’s possible paths and their diverse outcomes, like a tree of possibilities in image form. Some have a multitude of paths while others are doomed with their paths all converging to a single branch.
If the future had been written in stone, her ability would have been limitless. She would have foreseen scenarios without missing any details during the night and they would have happened invariably the next day without any mistakes. If that were so, her ability would have been the most useless one of all. She would have been like Cassandra of Troy, granted a gift but cursed with a powerlessness to do anything with it.
Thus, what made her ability useful was also what made it limited. She could see most of one’s destinies but she couldn’t see all of them. Neither could she see all of their outcomes.
No, the future wasn’t written in stone and no one knew it better than she did. She just didn’t like people to know she had limits.
*
Some of the Twelve used to call the Petrellis austere because they had a tendency to wear black more often than not and had a general pessimistic attitude they called realism. The problem was they were usually right.
The Petrellis tended to underestimate people yet people still tended to disappoint. Even with their own family they were the incarnation of pride yet they still underestimated one another.
One thing that neither Angela nor Arthur Petrelli did underestimate was the power of words.
‘Deveaux is a fool,’ Angela said as Arthur started the car. ‘It’s no wonder his children will never have abilities.’
Arthur looked at her with the largest frown she’d ever seen on him. ‘You always said Peter would never have an ability,’ he answered, intrigued.
‘Then maybe Peter has a fool for father. Or maybe he’s not your son.’
Arthur Petrelli had his first "heart attack" that night.
That was one of Angela’s non-evolved abilities. Even the lies she used to cover other lies had a purpose of their own.
*
Passive women
Angela never asked to have a special ability. She woke up one morning at fourteen years old with the unwavering conviction that she knew who she was and what she wanted. In fact, she didn’t yet know everything she would want, but she knew there would be many things, paramount being the capacity to control her own destiny.
She knew that for her entire life she would be just like the trojan princess, surrounded with people - men - who would try to decide for her and who’s abilities would be more powerful than hers. Masculine powers by definition, that allowed to modify things and people, to have an impact on their environment. And above all, that allowed them to force her into doing things against her will.
The sharp awareness of having an essentially passive ability hit her.
That’s why she decided that she would use her passive ability in the most active way possible.
*
While everybody else was seduced by the charisma, intelligence and beauty of Nathan’s new girlfriend, Angela was the only one questioning Heidi’s potential as a future daughter-in-law. They claimed she was perfect, which was the precise reason why Angela saw her as a threat for her status as the woman in charge.
She dreamt of Heidi that night. The next morning, she woke early and told Arthur up the good news. ‘You were right. She’ll make a perfect wife for Nathan.’
‘What happened to you?’ Arthur moaned, his eyelids still glued together. ‘You saw her in a white dress?’
‘Sort of,’ she answered. ‘I saw things that made her more… sympathetic.’
She didn’t mention the wheelchair.
*
Spontaneous regeneration. Could there be a more passive ability?
Every time she laid eyes on her granddaughter Angela saw herself, and a part of her strongly felt like protecting the girl.
Ship her to Paris, now.
Claire had to go away. Because she had to be protected, because she was too young, because she could live innocently for a few more years, because she had the right to make a conscious decision, because…
And yet there was fear in Angela’s anxiousness to send her away. Claire was harmless but she could see in her the shadow of a menace greater than any masculine ability. She dreaded the girl’s crazy enthusiasm to run to a total stranger and the absolute trust she had in him. She despised Claire because in her eyes Peter was the hero she had always forbidden him to become.
Claire was dreadful because she could take any punishment, suffer terribly, endure anything and yet always rise. She feared her as an opponent for she knew very well what a passive woman could do.
*
Unfaithful men
‘Hello. Can I speak to Arthur, please?’
‘Arthur is not here at the moment. Who’s speaking?’
‘Uh… it’s not important. I’ll call back.’
Angela felt the urge to scream at the phone, to forbid this woman to ever call this number again because she had two young children who could very well answer and did not need to hear the voice of the bitch their father was dallying with.
‘Very well, miss. Have a nice day.’
But it was so much more satisfying to keep smiling and noting day after day how the bitch in question was stupid enough to believe that Arthur Petrelli would leave his family for her.
Why make a scene? Naive women weren’t the cuckold ones, Angela knew that much. Naive women were those who believed they were so fabulous they didn’t realize men were deceitful by nature and thought that whatever they didn’t like about those men could be changed.
Long before her destiny and Arthur Petrelli’s became one she knew he would deceive her. Her dreams had told her so with cruel clarity - it didn’t matter who he was, she would be deceived. Faking ignorance was the most dignified thing she could do.
She also knew that the best way to load the guilt on him was to deprive him the pleasure of reproaching her for being a jealous woman.
*
Nothing annoyed Arthur as much as his incapacity to affect his wife.
He’d tried everything : seduction, adultery, divorce threats. Even the suicide attempts never seemed to affect her enough. She would remain stonily indifferent and say, "I knew this would happen," or "you can’t blame me for accepting you the way you are."
The day Peter ran into her arms crying because he didn’t want them to split - curse him and his precocious understanding - he thought she would give out. But no, he knew she would remain firm and he would always give first.
Until that day. For the first time in 28 years of common life, she was incapable of holding his gaze. He could finally read surprise and emotion on her face and see a nerve shaking in the corner of her mouth.
He hadn’t said much. ‘Maybe you should have followed your heart instead of marrying me.’
*
There were a bunch of phrases that had been repeated to Nathan over and over early in his life. ‘Follow your heart’ wasn’t one of them.
His heart said blonde, naive and bohemian. Everything the Petrellis were not. And maybe that was the very reason why he was so in love with Meredith Gordon. But where did one draw the line between heart and mind? How could he reconcile the stranglehold tightening around his stomach at the idea of leaving her, and the pressure drop he felt at the idea of seeing his brilliant future ruined by a summer fling?
He still felt the urge to squeeze the young flower’s white shoulders and take her repeatedly, but he couldn’t stop the word ‘impossible,’ from invading his thoughts over and over.
He might have been a young man in love, but he was still Nathan fucking Petrelli. If there really was a line between heart and mind, then his heart lay with his brilliant future.
And when this brilliant future would become reality he would be free to have as many naive blonds as he wanted.
*
Ungrateful children
It’s not that he didn’t try. He did get accepted at Harvard and had started a law degree, persevering in his belief that one day he would be like Nathan. Of course, that was not exactly the way things looked in his mind. Rather he thought it would be cool to be the widow and orphan’s defender or that his path was to defend the criminals no one else could understand because they were the victims of their own vices. In his own mind he would become someone useful.
It was only upon waking up during a constitutional law lesson where he often fell asleep every week that Peter fully realized he did not belong. Not only was he one of the bottom of the class, he was also completely disillusioned with the profession and the system. Having finally faced the truth, he packed his gear and went home, mid-week, right in the middle of the year.
‘So, have you decided what you’ll do instead?’ Angela said lightly, as if her husband wasn’t about to lose his temper.
‘Nope.’
Peter cast a brief glance at his father who seemed hypnotized by the plate of smoking cauliflower in the middle of the table. He pulled a sorry face and cleared his throat.
‘I was thinking maybe I could travel a little…’
Arthur threw his fork noisily into his plate and his fancy napkin into the middle of the table. ‘Do you realize how much that wasted year in Harvard cost me?’
‘I know, Dad…’
‘No you don’t. You were spoiled like a prince and you have no idea what it means to be out on your own trying to survive. When my grandfather left everything he had in Italy…’
Both Peter and Angela rolled their eyes. Things never ended up well when he started talking about his grandfather.
‘…in order to settle here, all he had was 15$ in his pocket…’
Yeah, yeah, heard it already, thought Peter.
‘…he was poor but he was the proudest man to ever have walked this continent. Do you think he ever wondered about what he wanted to do? Do you think he ever stopped to take a break when he had four children to feed and this house’s mortgage to pay? How do you think my father got into college? By studying like a madman in order to get a scholarship. While you play some crazy Dungeons & Dragons games on weekends, some people your age work hard to…’
‘I know, all right,’ Peter cut him off. ‘I just don’t like law...’
‘No one forced you to do it.’
‘I know…’
‘Be a doctor, a scientist or an engineer, whatever. I don’t care, but don’t be a waste of your time and a waste of my money.’
‘Look I don’t know what I want to do yet, but I’ll figure it out. I just need to get out a little, see the world…’
‘That’s not a bad idea. He could go to my aunt in Paris or to the family in Palerma,’ Angela suggested while filling Arthur’s glass of wine.
‘Actually, I was thinking South America. There’s this program where I could work in sugar cane fields…’
‘Forget it.’
‘Dad!’ whined Peter.
‘You’re not getting a cent from me for this.’
‘I don’t need your money, all right? I can do whatever I want and I’ll go wherever I want to and I’ll manage by myself if I have to,’ he said on a firm note before leaving the table.
The next thing he did was call Nathan.
‘Hey, I need your help.’
*
Nathan was only six years old when his mother whispered ‘we’re going to do great things together’ to him for the first time.
Angela had always been very demanding of her elder son, so Nathan had always been demanding of his mother. With time and age, Nathan became demanding of himself and Angela didn’t need to be demanding of him anymore. She didn’t have to stand over him and make sure he did his homework or that he was presentable looking or that he always gave his best and more. Over was the era of ‘Nathan, behave yourself!’ ordered with authority. It was now an era of reproach. She reproached him for not calling often enough or for keeping her out of his plans while he reproached her for not minding her own business.
Things got worse when Nathan entered politics, as Angela became even more determined to interfere in his affairs while he had less and less time to give her. Nathan would have appreciated her help if she could have just been content with distributing cards and badges instead of booking interviews without his consent or resuming old connections he didn’t even know she’d had. For herself, she would have liked him to be a little bit more grateful for her wisdom and hard work since really, what would he have done without her?
Things started to reach a ridiculous level after Arthur’s death. Admitting that she was shattered by the death of the one who, according to her, had spent his entire life whining would have been inconceivable. She never fooled anyone, but every time she refused to get up in the morning or every time she adopted irrational and unprecedented behaviors, she always claimed ‘this has nothing to do with your father’s death.’
It was therefore with irritation yet satisfaction that Nathan once said to her one ‘Ma, behave yourself!’
*
Peter contemplated the New York-Paris plane ticket his father had just thrown at him and tried to hide his grin.
He’d never seriously thought about going to South America. He just wanted to make Europe sound like the less terrible option.
*
Soul poisonings
Arthur Petrelli was not in a good mood. He’d just lost a case - which he never did - and an undesirable new witness had just popped up out of nowhere in the Linderman affair. He was in one of those phases when he would get lost in the darkness of his thoughts, would drink a little or way too much and would shut himself up in his cigar room or office for hours, staring at the globe on his desk.
‘Arthur?’, Angela called before entering the room and spotting him in his catatonic state. ‘You’ve been here for three hours now. This isn’t going to get you anywhere.’
Still absorbed in the contemplation of his globe, he shook his head in defeat. ‘Why do you care? No one cares whether I succeed or not. I don’t even know why I keep trying to fight for this family.’
‘What are you talking about? I care. We all do.’
‘They why didn’t you warn me? You could have told me that would happen.’
‘Arthur, there are a lot of things I know and believe me, it’s better if I keep them to myself. You can’t blame me for the cases you lose.’
‘I am blaming you. You use your ability only when it suits you. You never do anything for me or the family.’
Maybe he’d gone a little too far and let his words go beyond his thoughts. If he’d taken his gaze off the globe at that very moment he would have seen something flash in her eyes.
‘I’ll tell you something I know. I know your sons will betray you. Both of them. Happy now?’ she said before leaving the room.
That night, Arthur Petrelli had his second "heart attack".
*
Why do birds migrate in groups? There has to be a reason why they always stay together. And why do they migrate at all? Wouldn’t it be easier to just stay home and adapt to winter or something? Do they miss home once they’re out there? Or maybe they don’t care since they’re with all of their siblings. Then why don’t we just fly away together when winter comes like birds do? Why can’t we…
‘Peter. PETER!’ called the teacher. ‘Could you please stop looking out the window and answer the question?’
That night, Peter came back home with a note from his teacher that said ‘your son lacks concentration and motivation. You should talk to him and make him go to bed earlier.’
Angela pouted and patted her son’s head. ‘You have to stop daydreaming, Peter. It’s affecting your grades, even your teacher says so. You’re smarter than the grades you get.’
‘I know mum. I’m just not as good as Nathan.’
In spite of the acute twinge of sorrow she felt, she caught Peter by the shoulders and forced him to look her straight in the eye. ‘Listen to me. You don’t have to be as smart and talented and great as Nathan. You don’t have to be the top of your class. All you have to do is keep being my dear boy, okay? You don’t go and try to do crazy things to be like Nathan. You don’t want to be like Nathan and you will never be like him. You understand me?’
Peter nodded silently as his eyes became watery.
God, what kind of mother was she? Yeah, that’s exactly what she was. A mother.
*
Sacrifices
There were many phrases Angela Petrelli had been told over and over again. ‘Be strong and don’t let anybody know when you’re not’ was one of them. So Angela grew up strong and surrounded herself with people who mirrored this image. People who would never spare or pity her. Only, such is life that those who strive to be the strongest often hide a great weakness. Peter was Angela’s weakness.
Thirteen minutes after his birth, the nurses were already claiming that he had a good temperament. ‘Unlike his father…’ Angela had thought. Two weeks later, he was already sleeping through the night and smiled more than he cried. At age two, he would let anyone babysit him without much mistrust, an omen of his future tendency to have faith in everyone, though no one would have faith in him. At age four, he was the one who reassured the adults when he was sick.
As much as she used to say ‘you can do even better’ to Nathan, she used to say ‘what would I do without you?’ to Peter. She knew she would always have Nathan to make her feel proud and Peter to make her feel good.
It is then no wonder that she woke up trembling and emotional after the very first dream she had about her younger son. She had seen with utter precision how he could become the most glorious hero and how that would lead him to die before she did. She then decided she would never ever let him accomplish that destiny. She preferred to be the anti-madonna and deprive the world from its savior so that he could keep saving her.
*
Arthur Petrelli had the ability to absorb people’s sadness and suffering. While he’d never been a very sympathetic or enthusiastic person, the very nature of his power was such that it made him grow bitter and angry as the years passed. Simply put, he was a pain in the ass and he knew it. He never apologized for it because he thought since using his ability was an everyday sacrifice, he’d earned the right to whine. However, he often thought it was unfair for his family to have to endure it. He looked at the family portrait and smiled his last smile. ‘Pretty amazing pains in the ass themselves.’
He then looked at the blurry picture of himself struck-out with the red symbol and thought ‘God, it’s about time. One can only bear so much distress. I’m going to explode if I go on.’
That night, Arthur Petrelli had his third and final "heart attack".
*
‘The world doesn’t want to save itself the way people want to save themselves. Then why can’t Peter just leave the world alone and just save himself?’
As he watched his mother’s lips articulate the it-can’t-be-stopped song for the thousandth time that day, it suddenly appeared to Nathan as an excuse for the very first time. It appeared to him as something one uses to justify oneself for all the laws and principles one breaks.
Then Nathan thought maybe it was time for him to justify the ones he did follow and follow the ones he could justify instead.
United in grief, my ass. That’s not a principle worth killing for.
Get your brother out of trouble. Now that’s a principle worth dying for.
The end.
Heroes Fiction
Author: taxidryer
Rating: PG-13
Category: Pre-series for the most part.
Genre: General
Spoilers: Season 1 only
Characters/Pairings: The Petrellis, aka the quartet-made-of-awesome.
Summary: Even the lies she used to cover other lies had a purpose of their own.
Posted: heroes_fic, dona_petrelli.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Heroes. Heroes own me.
Thanks: to my personal hero, tracyj23, for the beta.
Author’s note: Everything about Angela’s ability is pure speculation.
Also, we don’t know what Mr. Petrelli’s first name was so I called him Arthur. I’ve read it in a fic but can’t remember where. Sorry if you’re the one I stole it from.
Royal Dysfunctions
‘Forgive me Father for I have sinned.’
‘What have you done, my boy?’ answered the priest on the other side of the partition, expecting an endless list of sins. Last time he had heard Peter Petrelli’s confession, the now full-grown man was just a boy and anybody who hasn’t confessed in twelve years must have a lot of things on his conscience.
‘Actually, I haven’t done it yet.’
‘Well, don’t do it then.’
‘I can’t. I don’t know how to stop it.’
‘I see. You will have to pray God to send you the strength to resist.’
‘But it’s not about strength. It’s… something I can’t control. Will I pay for a sin I have no control over?’
‘God will not subject you to a temptation you cannot resist.’
‘No, you don’t understand, it’s not about temptation. It’s about control.’
‘You’re right, I don’t understand.’
‘It’s… I don’t know how to explain it. If someone doesn’t stop me, something terrible will happen…’
‘Not if you find it within you…’
‘Wait!’ Peter exclaimed, his face transfigured by the sudden revelation. ‘Claire could do it!’
‘Who’s Claire?’
‘My niece.’
‘You have a niece?’
‘Yeah. Nathan’s illegitimate daughter’, Peter quickly answered.
‘Of course.’
‘Claire could shoot me!’
‘You want your niece to shoot you?’
‘Thank you, thank you, Father,’ said Peter as he ran out of the confessional.
He wants his niece to shoot him, thought the priest.
Only a Petrelli could come up with something like that.
*
Secrets of State
Like the pimple betraying the wickedness hidden behind the perfect face of an immaculate beauty, Peter had always been the symptom of all the dysfunctions of the Petrelli family.
His father had hidden a bottle of whiskey between two books in his library, his mother had hidden a picture of Kaito Nakamura in the back of a drawer and his brother had hidden porn magazines under his mattress, but Peter had always been an open book. It wasn’t that he had nothing to hide, he just had less than everyone else. People already knew he was the messed-up one, the one who refused to toe the line and broke the symmetry of a lineage of proud and strong men without any apology.
It’s not that Peter was not an expert in the art of manipulation. He knew he was indispensable - pus always had to escape somehow - and he knew how to use that to his advantage. The difference was that he never tried to show a pride and a strength he did not believe he possessed.
Or maybe did he possess a pride and strength he didn’t want to show. It didn’t matter. Everyone had something to hide.
*
Every ability has its limits.
Those who can move things cannot move all things. They cannot move buildings, mountains, or the sun.
Those who can read thoughts cannot read all the thoughts that jostle at every level of consciousness in one’s mind. They cannot read those who are too deep to be heard and that all too often are the more significant.
Angela Petrelli could see the future in her sleep. When she went to bed with an individual in mind and closed her eyes, she could see this person’s possible paths and their diverse outcomes, like a tree of possibilities in image form. Some have a multitude of paths while others are doomed with their paths all converging to a single branch.
If the future had been written in stone, her ability would have been limitless. She would have foreseen scenarios without missing any details during the night and they would have happened invariably the next day without any mistakes. If that were so, her ability would have been the most useless one of all. She would have been like Cassandra of Troy, granted a gift but cursed with a powerlessness to do anything with it.
Thus, what made her ability useful was also what made it limited. She could see most of one’s destinies but she couldn’t see all of them. Neither could she see all of their outcomes.
No, the future wasn’t written in stone and no one knew it better than she did. She just didn’t like people to know she had limits.
*
Some of the Twelve used to call the Petrellis austere because they had a tendency to wear black more often than not and had a general pessimistic attitude they called realism. The problem was they were usually right.
The Petrellis tended to underestimate people yet people still tended to disappoint. Even with their own family they were the incarnation of pride yet they still underestimated one another.
One thing that neither Angela nor Arthur Petrelli did underestimate was the power of words.
‘Deveaux is a fool,’ Angela said as Arthur started the car. ‘It’s no wonder his children will never have abilities.’
Arthur looked at her with the largest frown she’d ever seen on him. ‘You always said Peter would never have an ability,’ he answered, intrigued.
‘Then maybe Peter has a fool for father. Or maybe he’s not your son.’
Arthur Petrelli had his first "heart attack" that night.
That was one of Angela’s non-evolved abilities. Even the lies she used to cover other lies had a purpose of their own.
*
Passive women
Angela never asked to have a special ability. She woke up one morning at fourteen years old with the unwavering conviction that she knew who she was and what she wanted. In fact, she didn’t yet know everything she would want, but she knew there would be many things, paramount being the capacity to control her own destiny.
She knew that for her entire life she would be just like the trojan princess, surrounded with people - men - who would try to decide for her and who’s abilities would be more powerful than hers. Masculine powers by definition, that allowed to modify things and people, to have an impact on their environment. And above all, that allowed them to force her into doing things against her will.
The sharp awareness of having an essentially passive ability hit her.
That’s why she decided that she would use her passive ability in the most active way possible.
*
While everybody else was seduced by the charisma, intelligence and beauty of Nathan’s new girlfriend, Angela was the only one questioning Heidi’s potential as a future daughter-in-law. They claimed she was perfect, which was the precise reason why Angela saw her as a threat for her status as the woman in charge.
She dreamt of Heidi that night. The next morning, she woke early and told Arthur up the good news. ‘You were right. She’ll make a perfect wife for Nathan.’
‘What happened to you?’ Arthur moaned, his eyelids still glued together. ‘You saw her in a white dress?’
‘Sort of,’ she answered. ‘I saw things that made her more… sympathetic.’
She didn’t mention the wheelchair.
*
Spontaneous regeneration. Could there be a more passive ability?
Every time she laid eyes on her granddaughter Angela saw herself, and a part of her strongly felt like protecting the girl.
Ship her to Paris, now.
Claire had to go away. Because she had to be protected, because she was too young, because she could live innocently for a few more years, because she had the right to make a conscious decision, because…
And yet there was fear in Angela’s anxiousness to send her away. Claire was harmless but she could see in her the shadow of a menace greater than any masculine ability. She dreaded the girl’s crazy enthusiasm to run to a total stranger and the absolute trust she had in him. She despised Claire because in her eyes Peter was the hero she had always forbidden him to become.
Claire was dreadful because she could take any punishment, suffer terribly, endure anything and yet always rise. She feared her as an opponent for she knew very well what a passive woman could do.
*
Unfaithful men
‘Hello. Can I speak to Arthur, please?’
‘Arthur is not here at the moment. Who’s speaking?’
‘Uh… it’s not important. I’ll call back.’
Angela felt the urge to scream at the phone, to forbid this woman to ever call this number again because she had two young children who could very well answer and did not need to hear the voice of the bitch their father was dallying with.
‘Very well, miss. Have a nice day.’
But it was so much more satisfying to keep smiling and noting day after day how the bitch in question was stupid enough to believe that Arthur Petrelli would leave his family for her.
Why make a scene? Naive women weren’t the cuckold ones, Angela knew that much. Naive women were those who believed they were so fabulous they didn’t realize men were deceitful by nature and thought that whatever they didn’t like about those men could be changed.
Long before her destiny and Arthur Petrelli’s became one she knew he would deceive her. Her dreams had told her so with cruel clarity - it didn’t matter who he was, she would be deceived. Faking ignorance was the most dignified thing she could do.
She also knew that the best way to load the guilt on him was to deprive him the pleasure of reproaching her for being a jealous woman.
*
Nothing annoyed Arthur as much as his incapacity to affect his wife.
He’d tried everything : seduction, adultery, divorce threats. Even the suicide attempts never seemed to affect her enough. She would remain stonily indifferent and say, "I knew this would happen," or "you can’t blame me for accepting you the way you are."
The day Peter ran into her arms crying because he didn’t want them to split - curse him and his precocious understanding - he thought she would give out. But no, he knew she would remain firm and he would always give first.
Until that day. For the first time in 28 years of common life, she was incapable of holding his gaze. He could finally read surprise and emotion on her face and see a nerve shaking in the corner of her mouth.
He hadn’t said much. ‘Maybe you should have followed your heart instead of marrying me.’
*
There were a bunch of phrases that had been repeated to Nathan over and over early in his life. ‘Follow your heart’ wasn’t one of them.
His heart said blonde, naive and bohemian. Everything the Petrellis were not. And maybe that was the very reason why he was so in love with Meredith Gordon. But where did one draw the line between heart and mind? How could he reconcile the stranglehold tightening around his stomach at the idea of leaving her, and the pressure drop he felt at the idea of seeing his brilliant future ruined by a summer fling?
He still felt the urge to squeeze the young flower’s white shoulders and take her repeatedly, but he couldn’t stop the word ‘impossible,’ from invading his thoughts over and over.
He might have been a young man in love, but he was still Nathan fucking Petrelli. If there really was a line between heart and mind, then his heart lay with his brilliant future.
And when this brilliant future would become reality he would be free to have as many naive blonds as he wanted.
*
Ungrateful children
It’s not that he didn’t try. He did get accepted at Harvard and had started a law degree, persevering in his belief that one day he would be like Nathan. Of course, that was not exactly the way things looked in his mind. Rather he thought it would be cool to be the widow and orphan’s defender or that his path was to defend the criminals no one else could understand because they were the victims of their own vices. In his own mind he would become someone useful.
It was only upon waking up during a constitutional law lesson where he often fell asleep every week that Peter fully realized he did not belong. Not only was he one of the bottom of the class, he was also completely disillusioned with the profession and the system. Having finally faced the truth, he packed his gear and went home, mid-week, right in the middle of the year.
‘So, have you decided what you’ll do instead?’ Angela said lightly, as if her husband wasn’t about to lose his temper.
‘Nope.’
Peter cast a brief glance at his father who seemed hypnotized by the plate of smoking cauliflower in the middle of the table. He pulled a sorry face and cleared his throat.
‘I was thinking maybe I could travel a little…’
Arthur threw his fork noisily into his plate and his fancy napkin into the middle of the table. ‘Do you realize how much that wasted year in Harvard cost me?’
‘I know, Dad…’
‘No you don’t. You were spoiled like a prince and you have no idea what it means to be out on your own trying to survive. When my grandfather left everything he had in Italy…’
Both Peter and Angela rolled their eyes. Things never ended up well when he started talking about his grandfather.
‘…in order to settle here, all he had was 15$ in his pocket…’
Yeah, yeah, heard it already, thought Peter.
‘…he was poor but he was the proudest man to ever have walked this continent. Do you think he ever wondered about what he wanted to do? Do you think he ever stopped to take a break when he had four children to feed and this house’s mortgage to pay? How do you think my father got into college? By studying like a madman in order to get a scholarship. While you play some crazy Dungeons & Dragons games on weekends, some people your age work hard to…’
‘I know, all right,’ Peter cut him off. ‘I just don’t like law...’
‘No one forced you to do it.’
‘I know…’
‘Be a doctor, a scientist or an engineer, whatever. I don’t care, but don’t be a waste of your time and a waste of my money.’
‘Look I don’t know what I want to do yet, but I’ll figure it out. I just need to get out a little, see the world…’
‘That’s not a bad idea. He could go to my aunt in Paris or to the family in Palerma,’ Angela suggested while filling Arthur’s glass of wine.
‘Actually, I was thinking South America. There’s this program where I could work in sugar cane fields…’
‘Forget it.’
‘Dad!’ whined Peter.
‘You’re not getting a cent from me for this.’
‘I don’t need your money, all right? I can do whatever I want and I’ll go wherever I want to and I’ll manage by myself if I have to,’ he said on a firm note before leaving the table.
The next thing he did was call Nathan.
‘Hey, I need your help.’
*
Nathan was only six years old when his mother whispered ‘we’re going to do great things together’ to him for the first time.
Angela had always been very demanding of her elder son, so Nathan had always been demanding of his mother. With time and age, Nathan became demanding of himself and Angela didn’t need to be demanding of him anymore. She didn’t have to stand over him and make sure he did his homework or that he was presentable looking or that he always gave his best and more. Over was the era of ‘Nathan, behave yourself!’ ordered with authority. It was now an era of reproach. She reproached him for not calling often enough or for keeping her out of his plans while he reproached her for not minding her own business.
Things got worse when Nathan entered politics, as Angela became even more determined to interfere in his affairs while he had less and less time to give her. Nathan would have appreciated her help if she could have just been content with distributing cards and badges instead of booking interviews without his consent or resuming old connections he didn’t even know she’d had. For herself, she would have liked him to be a little bit more grateful for her wisdom and hard work since really, what would he have done without her?
Things started to reach a ridiculous level after Arthur’s death. Admitting that she was shattered by the death of the one who, according to her, had spent his entire life whining would have been inconceivable. She never fooled anyone, but every time she refused to get up in the morning or every time she adopted irrational and unprecedented behaviors, she always claimed ‘this has nothing to do with your father’s death.’
It was therefore with irritation yet satisfaction that Nathan once said to her one ‘Ma, behave yourself!’
*
Peter contemplated the New York-Paris plane ticket his father had just thrown at him and tried to hide his grin.
He’d never seriously thought about going to South America. He just wanted to make Europe sound like the less terrible option.
*
Soul poisonings
Arthur Petrelli was not in a good mood. He’d just lost a case - which he never did - and an undesirable new witness had just popped up out of nowhere in the Linderman affair. He was in one of those phases when he would get lost in the darkness of his thoughts, would drink a little or way too much and would shut himself up in his cigar room or office for hours, staring at the globe on his desk.
‘Arthur?’, Angela called before entering the room and spotting him in his catatonic state. ‘You’ve been here for three hours now. This isn’t going to get you anywhere.’
Still absorbed in the contemplation of his globe, he shook his head in defeat. ‘Why do you care? No one cares whether I succeed or not. I don’t even know why I keep trying to fight for this family.’
‘What are you talking about? I care. We all do.’
‘They why didn’t you warn me? You could have told me that would happen.’
‘Arthur, there are a lot of things I know and believe me, it’s better if I keep them to myself. You can’t blame me for the cases you lose.’
‘I am blaming you. You use your ability only when it suits you. You never do anything for me or the family.’
Maybe he’d gone a little too far and let his words go beyond his thoughts. If he’d taken his gaze off the globe at that very moment he would have seen something flash in her eyes.
‘I’ll tell you something I know. I know your sons will betray you. Both of them. Happy now?’ she said before leaving the room.
That night, Arthur Petrelli had his second "heart attack".
*
Why do birds migrate in groups? There has to be a reason why they always stay together. And why do they migrate at all? Wouldn’t it be easier to just stay home and adapt to winter or something? Do they miss home once they’re out there? Or maybe they don’t care since they’re with all of their siblings. Then why don’t we just fly away together when winter comes like birds do? Why can’t we…
‘Peter. PETER!’ called the teacher. ‘Could you please stop looking out the window and answer the question?’
That night, Peter came back home with a note from his teacher that said ‘your son lacks concentration and motivation. You should talk to him and make him go to bed earlier.’
Angela pouted and patted her son’s head. ‘You have to stop daydreaming, Peter. It’s affecting your grades, even your teacher says so. You’re smarter than the grades you get.’
‘I know mum. I’m just not as good as Nathan.’
In spite of the acute twinge of sorrow she felt, she caught Peter by the shoulders and forced him to look her straight in the eye. ‘Listen to me. You don’t have to be as smart and talented and great as Nathan. You don’t have to be the top of your class. All you have to do is keep being my dear boy, okay? You don’t go and try to do crazy things to be like Nathan. You don’t want to be like Nathan and you will never be like him. You understand me?’
Peter nodded silently as his eyes became watery.
God, what kind of mother was she? Yeah, that’s exactly what she was. A mother.
*
Sacrifices
There were many phrases Angela Petrelli had been told over and over again. ‘Be strong and don’t let anybody know when you’re not’ was one of them. So Angela grew up strong and surrounded herself with people who mirrored this image. People who would never spare or pity her. Only, such is life that those who strive to be the strongest often hide a great weakness. Peter was Angela’s weakness.
Thirteen minutes after his birth, the nurses were already claiming that he had a good temperament. ‘Unlike his father…’ Angela had thought. Two weeks later, he was already sleeping through the night and smiled more than he cried. At age two, he would let anyone babysit him without much mistrust, an omen of his future tendency to have faith in everyone, though no one would have faith in him. At age four, he was the one who reassured the adults when he was sick.
As much as she used to say ‘you can do even better’ to Nathan, she used to say ‘what would I do without you?’ to Peter. She knew she would always have Nathan to make her feel proud and Peter to make her feel good.
It is then no wonder that she woke up trembling and emotional after the very first dream she had about her younger son. She had seen with utter precision how he could become the most glorious hero and how that would lead him to die before she did. She then decided she would never ever let him accomplish that destiny. She preferred to be the anti-madonna and deprive the world from its savior so that he could keep saving her.
*
Arthur Petrelli had the ability to absorb people’s sadness and suffering. While he’d never been a very sympathetic or enthusiastic person, the very nature of his power was such that it made him grow bitter and angry as the years passed. Simply put, he was a pain in the ass and he knew it. He never apologized for it because he thought since using his ability was an everyday sacrifice, he’d earned the right to whine. However, he often thought it was unfair for his family to have to endure it. He looked at the family portrait and smiled his last smile. ‘Pretty amazing pains in the ass themselves.’
He then looked at the blurry picture of himself struck-out with the red symbol and thought ‘God, it’s about time. One can only bear so much distress. I’m going to explode if I go on.’
That night, Arthur Petrelli had his third and final "heart attack".
*
‘The world doesn’t want to save itself the way people want to save themselves. Then why can’t Peter just leave the world alone and just save himself?’
As he watched his mother’s lips articulate the it-can’t-be-stopped song for the thousandth time that day, it suddenly appeared to Nathan as an excuse for the very first time. It appeared to him as something one uses to justify oneself for all the laws and principles one breaks.
Then Nathan thought maybe it was time for him to justify the ones he did follow and follow the ones he could justify instead.
United in grief, my ass. That’s not a principle worth killing for.
Get your brother out of trouble. Now that’s a principle worth dying for.
The end.