Fic: First in the Nation
I came home to Iowa to caucus last night (and by the way, I have never been so dang proud of my state-so much better than the last caucus), and it inspired this ficlet.
Title: First in the Nation
Rating: PG for slash implications
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Petrellicest (non-graphic), spoilers through Season 1
Summary: Nathan is following the 2008 Presidential race, and Peter assumes the worst.
Author's Note: For the Day 18 Quoteable Prompt at theyreitallian
Our politics are our deepest form of expression: they mirror our past experiences and reflect our dreams and aspirations for the future.
- Senator Paul Wellstone
It was late October when Peter caught Nathan at it for the first time. Peter was in the kitchen, but he clearly heard the television switch from The Simpsons to something else. His keen hearing caught the strident tones of a particular New York senator, and the words “affordable health care for every American.”
Peter put down the pot he was washing and listened for a moment. He hadn’t wanted to bring up politics with Nathan, thinking that it would be too painful now that they’d left their old lives behind in the wake of the bomb. Here in Nebraska, nobody recognized Peter and Nathan Parrish. There were few reminders of who they’d once been: the only things tying them to their past were each other and their memories.
Peter kept listening, wondering if Brian Williams’ questions to the candidates brought up good memories for Nathan, or bad memories. Peter remembered Nathan’s talking points from his Congressional campaign, and found himself imagining how Nathan would respond to each question. He had washed the pot in his hands four times before he realized what he was doing. The channel remained on the debate until Peter noisily set the pot in the dish drainer and headed back into the living room.
Nathan was sprawled in the overstuffed armchair, remote in hand, and The Simpsons were once again on the screen. Peter crawled over the arm of Nathan’s chair and snuggled up beside his brother. Nathan grunted in irritation and turned up the volume.
Instead of watching the television, Peter studied Nathan’s face. “Do you miss it?” he asked.
“Miss what?” Nathan asked innocently. He didn’t meet Peter’s eyes.
“Politics. The chance to be President.” Peter grabbed the remote and flipped the channel back to MSNBC. “That could be you up there.”
Nathan watched for a second, and then snorted at something one of the contenders said. “No. I was never going to be elected, Peter. Not fairly, anyway.” He grabbed the remote back from Peter and shut off the television. “Come on.” He hauled himself out of the depths of the chair, pulling Peter with him. “We’re going to bed.”
********
In December, Nathan spent a lot of time on the computer. Expert commentary: former campaign advisors sizing up each candidate’s chances. Statistics: hypothetical analysis of every possible permutation, match-up after match-up. Human interest stories: BBC reporters interviewing seed cap-wearing diner patrons and out-of-state college students, NPR correspondents chatting with little old ladies who hadn’t voted since Eisenhower, and so on. He got a subscription to the New York Times, and most evenings after dinner, he claimed the remote and kept the television tuned to C-SPAN.
Peter watched it all with morbid fascination. He began to wonder how long it would be before this life wouldn’t be enough for Nathan anymore. Peter loved his work at the hospital, but Nathan barely tolerated his position as a math teacher. Peter got the idea that Nathan didn’t really enjoy either the material or the company of teenagers. Peter might be enough of an empath to blend in with the turkeys, but there was no hiding the fact that Nathan was an eagle, and he couldn’t survive on the ground.
As the Iowa caucuses neared, Peter wondered how long it would be before Nathan left him.
One night after dinner, Nathan parked himself at the dining room table with the Times. Peter stood with a pile of dishes in his hands for six minutes waiting for Nathan to notice him. He eventually had to concede that it wasn’t going to happen, and said, “Isn’t it your turn to do dishes?”
“New electability numbers are out today,” Nathan muttered. He didn’t look up.
Peter sighed. Surely this obsession with the primaries meant Nathan was yearning for some of his old power. For a moment, Peter toyed with the idea of suggesting that Nathan run for city council or something, but he quickly decided that Nathan would find the idea insulting. After what he’d given up for Peter, after walking away from such a great destiny, a local office in a Midwest metropolis would be nothing short of torture for the intrepid Nathan Petrelli.
Peter retreated to the kitchen alone to do the dishes and tried to console himself with the fact that when Nathan left him, there would only be half as many dishes to do.
*********
On January third, as Peter was eating breakfast, he realized that Nathan hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. The Omaha public school system was no more forgiving than the hospital when it came to lateness, so Peter brought a cup of coffee with him upstairs to the bedroom. “Get up, lazy. You have to go earn us some money.” He set the cup of coffee on the nightstand and ruffled his hand in the sleeping Nathan’s hair.
Nathan slapped his hand away. “I feel like shit, Peter. Leave me alone,” he grumbled, and turned on his side, away from Peter.
Peter frowned in concern. “Did this start last night? Like shit how? Headache? Stomach ache? What?”
“It’s probably nothing,” Nathan muttered into his pillow. “Just a cold, okay?”
“Do you have a fever?” Peter reached for his brother. “Let me look at you.”
Nathan slapped his hand away again. “Get off me. Go to work.”
Peter was hit with a sinking feeling that went to the deepest part of him. “Okay.” He stood and went to the doorway. “I love you Nathan,” he said. Nathan just grunted in response.
********
Nathan’s pick-up wasn’t in the driveway when Peter came home. Nathan was always home before Peter. Always. He usually had dinner on the table. Or at least in the oven. He didn’t stop off for a beer after work, he didn’t go shopping. Nathan had no friends in town, and he didn’t care to make any; he went nowhere except work and home.
Peter sat in his car for twenty minutes, feeling a growing numbness that had nothing to do with the January cold that was seeping in now that he’d turned off the engine. Nathan was gone.
********
At 9:20, Nathan came home. “Hey,” he said. He brushed snow off his jacket and hung it up in the closet. He squinted into the living room, where Peter was staring at him from the couch. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” He flipped on the lights and went to sit next to his brother.
“Where have you been?” Peter asked as soon as he could speak.
“I went to Council Bluffs, and I caucused,” Nathan said. He began unlacing his boots.
“Caucused,” Peter repeated slowly. “You don’t live in Iowa.”
“Peter, we’re both living under false names anyway. Is it really that big a deal to drive twenty minutes and register to vote in a different state under a bogus address?” He toed off the snowy boots and kicked them aside.
“I guess not,” Peter said. “Isn’t it voter fraud? Something like that?”
Nathan shrugged as he propped his feet up on the coffee table. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to be there.”
“Just… be there?”
Nathan settled back on the couch, and Peter could tell he was ready to talk about this-whatever this was. “History,” Nathan said at last.
Peter waited.
“They’re making history. It’s some kind of turning point, everyone’s saying so. And I’m not a part of it.”
“You are now,” Peter said wryly. “Your vote counted.”
“Yeah, that’s the American dream. Democratic process. Blah blah blah. I’m not one of the little guys, Pete.” The was pain in his voice, showing behind the front of anger.
Peter slid onto the couch and wrapped his arms around his brother. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.
Nathan was rigid in his arms, staring straight ahead. “I’ll never be a part of it. Whatever destiny, whatever potential I had…” He trailed off.
Peter thought for a moment. “We could go back.”
Nathan shook his head. “I gave up my seat in Congress. I’ll never have another chance.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said softly. “If you hadn’t had to rescue me, you’d still be-.”
“Shut up.” Nathan cut him off, pulling out of his arms. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Politics are going to be all over the news until November. It hurts to look at it. That’s inevitable. But do not think for a second that I regret what I did. I love you.”
“But I’m not enough,” Peter said softly.
“That has nothing to do with it,” Nathan snapped. “It’s this,” he waved his hand at the world outside. “I’m not supposed to be teaching trigonometry in Omaha. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” Peter saw the effort it took for Nathan to rein himself in. “But things don’t always turn out the way they’re supposed to.” Nathan put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll try harder.”
“No.” Peter reached up to put his hand over Nathan’s. “It’s time to go back. Just… let me come with you?”
Nathan took a deep breath before speaking, and Peter told himself not to be upset if the answer was no. “Peter, if you don’t want to go back, I won’t go. I don’t-.”
“You need to go back,” Peter interrupted. “I’ve seen it. This was never going to be enough for you.”
Nathan shook his head, but Peter couldn’t tell if he was agreeing or disagreeing. Peter leaned forward, settling his arms around Nathan’s waist, and feeling Nathan’s arms pull him closer. “You saved me,” Peter whispered. “Let me save you.” Nathan nodded against his shoulder. Peter held on for another moment, until he felt his brother pull gently away.
“So, before we go rushing back into danger,” Nathan said. “Do we have time to watch the caucus returns?”
Title: First in the Nation
Rating: PG for slash implications
Word Count: 1500
Warnings: Petrellicest (non-graphic), spoilers through Season 1
Summary: Nathan is following the 2008 Presidential race, and Peter assumes the worst.
Author's Note: For the Day 18 Quoteable Prompt at theyreitallian
Our politics are our deepest form of expression: they mirror our past experiences and reflect our dreams and aspirations for the future.
- Senator Paul Wellstone
It was late October when Peter caught Nathan at it for the first time. Peter was in the kitchen, but he clearly heard the television switch from The Simpsons to something else. His keen hearing caught the strident tones of a particular New York senator, and the words “affordable health care for every American.”
Peter put down the pot he was washing and listened for a moment. He hadn’t wanted to bring up politics with Nathan, thinking that it would be too painful now that they’d left their old lives behind in the wake of the bomb. Here in Nebraska, nobody recognized Peter and Nathan Parrish. There were few reminders of who they’d once been: the only things tying them to their past were each other and their memories.
Peter kept listening, wondering if Brian Williams’ questions to the candidates brought up good memories for Nathan, or bad memories. Peter remembered Nathan’s talking points from his Congressional campaign, and found himself imagining how Nathan would respond to each question. He had washed the pot in his hands four times before he realized what he was doing. The channel remained on the debate until Peter noisily set the pot in the dish drainer and headed back into the living room.
Nathan was sprawled in the overstuffed armchair, remote in hand, and The Simpsons were once again on the screen. Peter crawled over the arm of Nathan’s chair and snuggled up beside his brother. Nathan grunted in irritation and turned up the volume.
Instead of watching the television, Peter studied Nathan’s face. “Do you miss it?” he asked.
“Miss what?” Nathan asked innocently. He didn’t meet Peter’s eyes.
“Politics. The chance to be President.” Peter grabbed the remote and flipped the channel back to MSNBC. “That could be you up there.”
Nathan watched for a second, and then snorted at something one of the contenders said. “No. I was never going to be elected, Peter. Not fairly, anyway.” He grabbed the remote back from Peter and shut off the television. “Come on.” He hauled himself out of the depths of the chair, pulling Peter with him. “We’re going to bed.”
********
In December, Nathan spent a lot of time on the computer. Expert commentary: former campaign advisors sizing up each candidate’s chances. Statistics: hypothetical analysis of every possible permutation, match-up after match-up. Human interest stories: BBC reporters interviewing seed cap-wearing diner patrons and out-of-state college students, NPR correspondents chatting with little old ladies who hadn’t voted since Eisenhower, and so on. He got a subscription to the New York Times, and most evenings after dinner, he claimed the remote and kept the television tuned to C-SPAN.
Peter watched it all with morbid fascination. He began to wonder how long it would be before this life wouldn’t be enough for Nathan anymore. Peter loved his work at the hospital, but Nathan barely tolerated his position as a math teacher. Peter got the idea that Nathan didn’t really enjoy either the material or the company of teenagers. Peter might be enough of an empath to blend in with the turkeys, but there was no hiding the fact that Nathan was an eagle, and he couldn’t survive on the ground.
As the Iowa caucuses neared, Peter wondered how long it would be before Nathan left him.
One night after dinner, Nathan parked himself at the dining room table with the Times. Peter stood with a pile of dishes in his hands for six minutes waiting for Nathan to notice him. He eventually had to concede that it wasn’t going to happen, and said, “Isn’t it your turn to do dishes?”
“New electability numbers are out today,” Nathan muttered. He didn’t look up.
Peter sighed. Surely this obsession with the primaries meant Nathan was yearning for some of his old power. For a moment, Peter toyed with the idea of suggesting that Nathan run for city council or something, but he quickly decided that Nathan would find the idea insulting. After what he’d given up for Peter, after walking away from such a great destiny, a local office in a Midwest metropolis would be nothing short of torture for the intrepid Nathan Petrelli.
Peter retreated to the kitchen alone to do the dishes and tried to console himself with the fact that when Nathan left him, there would only be half as many dishes to do.
*********
On January third, as Peter was eating breakfast, he realized that Nathan hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. The Omaha public school system was no more forgiving than the hospital when it came to lateness, so Peter brought a cup of coffee with him upstairs to the bedroom. “Get up, lazy. You have to go earn us some money.” He set the cup of coffee on the nightstand and ruffled his hand in the sleeping Nathan’s hair.
Nathan slapped his hand away. “I feel like shit, Peter. Leave me alone,” he grumbled, and turned on his side, away from Peter.
Peter frowned in concern. “Did this start last night? Like shit how? Headache? Stomach ache? What?”
“It’s probably nothing,” Nathan muttered into his pillow. “Just a cold, okay?”
“Do you have a fever?” Peter reached for his brother. “Let me look at you.”
Nathan slapped his hand away again. “Get off me. Go to work.”
Peter was hit with a sinking feeling that went to the deepest part of him. “Okay.” He stood and went to the doorway. “I love you Nathan,” he said. Nathan just grunted in response.
********
Nathan’s pick-up wasn’t in the driveway when Peter came home. Nathan was always home before Peter. Always. He usually had dinner on the table. Or at least in the oven. He didn’t stop off for a beer after work, he didn’t go shopping. Nathan had no friends in town, and he didn’t care to make any; he went nowhere except work and home.
Peter sat in his car for twenty minutes, feeling a growing numbness that had nothing to do with the January cold that was seeping in now that he’d turned off the engine. Nathan was gone.
********
At 9:20, Nathan came home. “Hey,” he said. He brushed snow off his jacket and hung it up in the closet. He squinted into the living room, where Peter was staring at him from the couch. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” He flipped on the lights and went to sit next to his brother.
“Where have you been?” Peter asked as soon as he could speak.
“I went to Council Bluffs, and I caucused,” Nathan said. He began unlacing his boots.
“Caucused,” Peter repeated slowly. “You don’t live in Iowa.”
“Peter, we’re both living under false names anyway. Is it really that big a deal to drive twenty minutes and register to vote in a different state under a bogus address?” He toed off the snowy boots and kicked them aside.
“I guess not,” Peter said. “Isn’t it voter fraud? Something like that?”
Nathan shrugged as he propped his feet up on the coffee table. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to be there.”
“Just… be there?”
Nathan settled back on the couch, and Peter could tell he was ready to talk about this-whatever this was. “History,” Nathan said at last.
Peter waited.
“They’re making history. It’s some kind of turning point, everyone’s saying so. And I’m not a part of it.”
“You are now,” Peter said wryly. “Your vote counted.”
“Yeah, that’s the American dream. Democratic process. Blah blah blah. I’m not one of the little guys, Pete.” The was pain in his voice, showing behind the front of anger.
Peter slid onto the couch and wrapped his arms around his brother. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.
Nathan was rigid in his arms, staring straight ahead. “I’ll never be a part of it. Whatever destiny, whatever potential I had…” He trailed off.
Peter thought for a moment. “We could go back.”
Nathan shook his head. “I gave up my seat in Congress. I’ll never have another chance.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said softly. “If you hadn’t had to rescue me, you’d still be-.”
“Shut up.” Nathan cut him off, pulling out of his arms. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Politics are going to be all over the news until November. It hurts to look at it. That’s inevitable. But do not think for a second that I regret what I did. I love you.”
“But I’m not enough,” Peter said softly.
“That has nothing to do with it,” Nathan snapped. “It’s this,” he waved his hand at the world outside. “I’m not supposed to be teaching trigonometry in Omaha. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” Peter saw the effort it took for Nathan to rein himself in. “But things don’t always turn out the way they’re supposed to.” Nathan put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll try harder.”
“No.” Peter reached up to put his hand over Nathan’s. “It’s time to go back. Just… let me come with you?”
Nathan took a deep breath before speaking, and Peter told himself not to be upset if the answer was no. “Peter, if you don’t want to go back, I won’t go. I don’t-.”
“You need to go back,” Peter interrupted. “I’ve seen it. This was never going to be enough for you.”
Nathan shook his head, but Peter couldn’t tell if he was agreeing or disagreeing. Peter leaned forward, settling his arms around Nathan’s waist, and feeling Nathan’s arms pull him closer. “You saved me,” Peter whispered. “Let me save you.” Nathan nodded against his shoulder. Peter held on for another moment, until he felt his brother pull gently away.
“So, before we go rushing back into danger,” Nathan said. “Do we have time to watch the caucus returns?”