There was pain. It was throbbing, all consuming, and just unpleasantBut he'd have to open his eyes eventually. Nathan knew that much. Whether or not he wanted to wasn't a question, he had to get up. Claire was... Claire was somewhere. She was somewhere, doing something, and it wasn't very safe for her to be alone. It didn't matter how well she'd
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"You were kidnapped and dumped in a hotel room in a city that shouldn't exist," she explained, walking over to help the man steady himself. He wasn't doing a good job of staying upright on his own, and he smelled like tequila and peanuts. "And you totally had too much to drink last night." She didn't have to know him to be sure of that.
"I'm Sasha. I think we're supposed to be roomies." He didn't look like the type to go for that, but she wasn't giving up her room, so he'd have to take it up with management. "Easy, tiger. Puking on me would make a horrible first impression."
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God, it'd be nice if his head wasn't hurting right now.
"... Nathan Petrelli." She was helping him, why would he fight with her? If she was part of the plan, put there strictly to mess with him, then he'd deal with that when he could think straight. It wouldn't be the first time it'd happened.
"I was with my daughter." She had to be somewhere, right? If he'd been taken, Claire couldn't be far. Right. "We were in Mexico, there were these college kids..." Anyway. She really didn't need to know about that.
"Her name is Claire." Going to-- Nope, not yet. "She's short and blonde. Very short. Skinny. Looks like a cheerleader. Have you seen her?"
He really thought he was doing well, under the circumstances.
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"Sorry, I'm new here. I don't know a lot of people yet." And hopefully, she'd find her way home before she needed to get to know anyone else. Some of the people seemed nice, but she wasn't looking to relocate again. The move to Gotham from Los Angeles had been hard enough. "Maybe you should sit down." Or sleep until he felt like he could walk a straight line again, whatever worked for him.
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"Sitting would be great." At least for a minute. He's now confirmed with himself for the most part that he's not going to throw up. Almost something to be proud of, when you think about it. "You said your name was Sasha, right?" Right. Right? Right.
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It's a dream, right?
No, no it's not. Nathan knows that when he looks up, because he doesn't dream about these things. Especially when he's hungover. If he's going to dream about a parent, it's going to be his father, and not with these circumstances set for him in advance. This would be pleasant compared to what he'd dream up.
So his mother was here. Crap. "Where's Peter?" And why them, and no one else? And why couldn't she have shown up when he didn't feel like he was going to pass out? Ten more minutes to figure things out would've been fine. "How did we get here?"
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No, she appeared to be dangerously close to crying. Nathan stared at his mother in disbelief while she seemed to check if he was actually there, and by the time she was holding onto his arm, he felt an annoying surge of guilt for being suspicious of her in the first place.
He didn't have the energy for this. "Ma, it's alright. We'll figure it out." And even if they couldn't, lying to themselves was better than her breaking down into tears, wasn't it?
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