Back in the Day
Title: Back in the Day
Characters: Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,200
Setting: Preseason, New York, 2002 (set a few couple years after Light Up and Reminiscences)
Summary: Peter gets busted at a club and has to call his big brother to bail him out.
It was one of those phone calls you never want to get. Four in the morning, fighting off sleep, Nathan hoped like hell it was a wrong number, but he had this feeling and that intuition drove him out of bed and over to the phone, leaving Heidi next to the cooling spot in the mattress, moaning something inarticulate about his job. It wasn’t his job. He knew that. While his clients might call him at all hours, he gave out a different number for them. This was personal.
The caller ID screen said simply ‘unavailable’ and his brain tried to convince his gut that it was just a telemarketer. What sane telemarketer would call in the middle of the night? He picked it up on the seventh ring. “Hello?” It came out as a threatening growl, trying to scare off whatever problem lurked on the other end.
“Uh … N-nathan?” Peter’s voice sounded raw and shaken.
Nathan’s gut clenched. What is it now? “Peter?” Last time Nathan had gone home, he’d gotten an earful about his little brother’s failing college grades. It had started in high school, when Nathan had been called upon to ‘straighten him out’, because their father was still angry about being overruled in sending Peter to military school to toughen him up. If Nathan wanted to take a stand that Peter wouldn’t improve under the strict discipline and formalized rules that Nathan himself had gone through, then Arthur was going to hold Nathan accountable for Peter’s performance - apparently until the end of time, too. Nathan had been rather rough on Peter, but he’d come to realize that Peter, small, sometimes effeminate and all-too-caring, was a lot tougher than most people gave him credit for. Honestly, that realization irritated the hell out of Nathan.
Peter’s tune changed as he tried to lay a line on him. That wasn’t about to work. “Hey, buddy, sorry I had to wake you up ...”
Nathan had heard that patter too often from his clients. “Cut the bullshit, Peter. What happened?” And how much is it going to cost me?
“Well, uh, I’m in jail. I was hoping you could get me out.”
Resentment shot through Nathan. Out partying all night again. Just what Dad said he was doing, flushing his education down the toilet. If he flunks another semester, they won’t take him in law school no matter how much money Dad gives them! My brother the loser won’t do my career any good. “Whatever you’re in there for, maybe you should stay there. Serves you right.”
There was a long moment of hurt, probably frightened silence on the other end. Nathan thought about hanging up. He’s alive. Let him cool his heels for a while and realize he’d got to get his head out of his ass, or the clouds, or wherever it’s at! Peter finally said, with remarkable clarity, “Nathan, they’re charging me with prostitution. Please help me.”
“What?” The word slipped out before Nathan could stop it, followed swiftly by laughter. “Prostitution?!? What the hell, Peter? You got rounded up on a john jerk? You’ll be out by noon.” This isn’t that bad. Hell, Dad will get a big laugh out of the whole thing, even if he’s publicly angry about it. For one thing, the idea that someone with Peter’s looks was trying to pick up hookers is hilarious.
“No,” Peter said, still in a disturbingly calm voice, “No, they’re trying to say I was the solicit-ee, not the solicit-or.”
Oh. Oh … shit. “I’ll be right down.” The idea that Peter was caught selling himself … and almost certainly not to women … okay, yeah, need to hurry. Nathan wrote down the location, got into his best monkey suit and headed out. He was unshaven, but it was already four-twenty and he knew this was going to take some time. He had to get him out by six, before the vultures woke up and smelled death on the wind.
By the time Nathan saw Peter, he’d already waded through enough police procedure, paperwork and bullshit that he knew all the salient facts of the case. A members-only gay club had been raided for underage drinking. They’d found minors on the premises, but only a few and only one of them failed a sobriety test. Embarrassed by their lack of success, the police had moved on to harassing the other patrons with semi-bogus charges ranging from indecent acts to prostitution. Peter looked good. He looked … well. He had the looks of the sort of young man who might be selling his services, but in actuality the police had no evidence whatsoever against him, not even an accusation. They were trying to rattle him though (and had succeeded), by claiming they had an accusation, and telling him he could cut a deal by confessing to something less.
What really mattered here was that no matter how trivial what they charged Peter with ended up being, he’d been caught attending a members-only gay club. For the general public, it wasn't a big deal and in some segments of society it was even less than that. But in the early 00's, it was still scandalous for a politician to simply admit they had a homosexual relative, much less were on good terms with them. If Nathan wanted to walk the career path his father had laid out for him, he couldn't have this in his past. As an ADA, he possessed a currency the police would honor. That didn’t mean Nathan didn’t have to pay, and pay he would, but it did mean that by the time he was shown to Peter’s cell, he knew it was all taken care of and appropriately swept under the rug. He was still furious, though. And mortified.
Nathan stopped in the doorway and glared. Peter was … well. Let’s just say Nathan could completely understand why the cops thought the charge would stick. If they had anything other than a mug shot, then Peter would be sunk, which Peter probably knew. Nathan should have waited. He knew he should have waited. But his temper got the best of him and he lit into Peter immediately with a fuming tirade about the family, reputation, honor, and dignity; how Nathan had a family now; how Peter should be thinking of one, regardless of whatever deviant personal preferences he might have; how he was fucking up his college and throwing away his future; how he was destined for better things than crawling around in the gutters like common trash.
Peter weathered it all, watching Nathan’s shoes the whole time, an occasional lonely tear marking his cheek. When Nathan demanded agreement, Peter meekly agreed. When he ordered him to straighten up his act, Peter quietly said he’d obey. When Nathan finally wound down, Peter whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry I’m not any good. Thank you for coming though.”
Nathan took a deep breath, let it out and hugged him, the first contact he’d made with him. “Peter, you could get hurt. You could get disowned.”
“I know,” he said simply. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it up to you. Please don’t tell Dad.”
“I won’t.” I’m not stupid.
“You promise?”
Of course. But, hey, what can I get out of this? “You promise to make it up to me?”
Peter gave a little hopeless laugh. “Yeah, promise. Someday I’ll be a big shot lawyer like you. I’ll make it up to you.”
Nathan rolled his eyes and mussed Peter’s hair. He was beginning to think it was this whole lawyer thing that was causing all the rebellion. Maybe he’d be better off if … I don’t know. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Characters: Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word count: 1,200
Setting: Preseason, New York, 2002 (set a few couple years after Light Up and Reminiscences)
Summary: Peter gets busted at a club and has to call his big brother to bail him out.
It was one of those phone calls you never want to get. Four in the morning, fighting off sleep, Nathan hoped like hell it was a wrong number, but he had this feeling and that intuition drove him out of bed and over to the phone, leaving Heidi next to the cooling spot in the mattress, moaning something inarticulate about his job. It wasn’t his job. He knew that. While his clients might call him at all hours, he gave out a different number for them. This was personal.
The caller ID screen said simply ‘unavailable’ and his brain tried to convince his gut that it was just a telemarketer. What sane telemarketer would call in the middle of the night? He picked it up on the seventh ring. “Hello?” It came out as a threatening growl, trying to scare off whatever problem lurked on the other end.
“Uh … N-nathan?” Peter’s voice sounded raw and shaken.
Nathan’s gut clenched. What is it now? “Peter?” Last time Nathan had gone home, he’d gotten an earful about his little brother’s failing college grades. It had started in high school, when Nathan had been called upon to ‘straighten him out’, because their father was still angry about being overruled in sending Peter to military school to toughen him up. If Nathan wanted to take a stand that Peter wouldn’t improve under the strict discipline and formalized rules that Nathan himself had gone through, then Arthur was going to hold Nathan accountable for Peter’s performance - apparently until the end of time, too. Nathan had been rather rough on Peter, but he’d come to realize that Peter, small, sometimes effeminate and all-too-caring, was a lot tougher than most people gave him credit for. Honestly, that realization irritated the hell out of Nathan.
Peter’s tune changed as he tried to lay a line on him. That wasn’t about to work. “Hey, buddy, sorry I had to wake you up ...”
Nathan had heard that patter too often from his clients. “Cut the bullshit, Peter. What happened?” And how much is it going to cost me?
“Well, uh, I’m in jail. I was hoping you could get me out.”
Resentment shot through Nathan. Out partying all night again. Just what Dad said he was doing, flushing his education down the toilet. If he flunks another semester, they won’t take him in law school no matter how much money Dad gives them! My brother the loser won’t do my career any good. “Whatever you’re in there for, maybe you should stay there. Serves you right.”
There was a long moment of hurt, probably frightened silence on the other end. Nathan thought about hanging up. He’s alive. Let him cool his heels for a while and realize he’d got to get his head out of his ass, or the clouds, or wherever it’s at! Peter finally said, with remarkable clarity, “Nathan, they’re charging me with prostitution. Please help me.”
“What?” The word slipped out before Nathan could stop it, followed swiftly by laughter. “Prostitution?!? What the hell, Peter? You got rounded up on a john jerk? You’ll be out by noon.” This isn’t that bad. Hell, Dad will get a big laugh out of the whole thing, even if he’s publicly angry about it. For one thing, the idea that someone with Peter’s looks was trying to pick up hookers is hilarious.
“No,” Peter said, still in a disturbingly calm voice, “No, they’re trying to say I was the solicit-ee, not the solicit-or.”
Oh. Oh … shit. “I’ll be right down.” The idea that Peter was caught selling himself … and almost certainly not to women … okay, yeah, need to hurry. Nathan wrote down the location, got into his best monkey suit and headed out. He was unshaven, but it was already four-twenty and he knew this was going to take some time. He had to get him out by six, before the vultures woke up and smelled death on the wind.
By the time Nathan saw Peter, he’d already waded through enough police procedure, paperwork and bullshit that he knew all the salient facts of the case. A members-only gay club had been raided for underage drinking. They’d found minors on the premises, but only a few and only one of them failed a sobriety test. Embarrassed by their lack of success, the police had moved on to harassing the other patrons with semi-bogus charges ranging from indecent acts to prostitution. Peter looked good. He looked … well. He had the looks of the sort of young man who might be selling his services, but in actuality the police had no evidence whatsoever against him, not even an accusation. They were trying to rattle him though (and had succeeded), by claiming they had an accusation, and telling him he could cut a deal by confessing to something less.
What really mattered here was that no matter how trivial what they charged Peter with ended up being, he’d been caught attending a members-only gay club. For the general public, it wasn't a big deal and in some segments of society it was even less than that. But in the early 00's, it was still scandalous for a politician to simply admit they had a homosexual relative, much less were on good terms with them. If Nathan wanted to walk the career path his father had laid out for him, he couldn't have this in his past. As an ADA, he possessed a currency the police would honor. That didn’t mean Nathan didn’t have to pay, and pay he would, but it did mean that by the time he was shown to Peter’s cell, he knew it was all taken care of and appropriately swept under the rug. He was still furious, though. And mortified.
Nathan stopped in the doorway and glared. Peter was … well. Let’s just say Nathan could completely understand why the cops thought the charge would stick. If they had anything other than a mug shot, then Peter would be sunk, which Peter probably knew. Nathan should have waited. He knew he should have waited. But his temper got the best of him and he lit into Peter immediately with a fuming tirade about the family, reputation, honor, and dignity; how Nathan had a family now; how Peter should be thinking of one, regardless of whatever deviant personal preferences he might have; how he was fucking up his college and throwing away his future; how he was destined for better things than crawling around in the gutters like common trash.
Peter weathered it all, watching Nathan’s shoes the whole time, an occasional lonely tear marking his cheek. When Nathan demanded agreement, Peter meekly agreed. When he ordered him to straighten up his act, Peter quietly said he’d obey. When Nathan finally wound down, Peter whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry I’m not any good. Thank you for coming though.”
Nathan took a deep breath, let it out and hugged him, the first contact he’d made with him. “Peter, you could get hurt. You could get disowned.”
“I know,” he said simply. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it up to you. Please don’t tell Dad.”
“I won’t.” I’m not stupid.
“You promise?”
Of course. But, hey, what can I get out of this? “You promise to make it up to me?”
Peter gave a little hopeless laugh. “Yeah, promise. Someday I’ll be a big shot lawyer like you. I’ll make it up to you.”
Nathan rolled his eyes and mussed Peter’s hair. He was beginning to think it was this whole lawyer thing that was causing all the rebellion. Maybe he’d be better off if … I don’t know. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”