35. Angela as a Mother
A/N: Michael Fitzgerald is a canon character. You can find him on the Heroes wiki.
It wasn't until after the party, after he'd talked to Peter and finally managed to thaw his chilly reception with the younger Petrelli, that Nathan was able to clear his head and focus on what was important. He wasn't sure where Maury had gone during the August board meeting, but he'd been present by teleconference. Nathan realized now that his thoughts had been muddled for some time. Maybe the long absence of Maury was what had cleared his head. Instead he thought it more likely it was renewed hope from getting a positive response from Peter.
He didn't wait for the September meeting to get started seeking answers. He was finding the meetings frustrating. He wasn't getting the explanations he'd expected from the position. He returned to the Petrelli house. Angela was out, which was inconsequential to him. He brushed off Mr. Grem's repeated suggestions that he wait in the parlor or entry or better yet, come back at a later time. The house was partly his. His mother even still kept his room. It was the first place he intended to check. Once there, he looked back over his shoulder at the tall, thin man hesitating in the hallway, trying to work himself up to insisting Nathan leave. The door closed of its own accord. Nathan began his studies. He started with his bed.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, being lost in memories as he was, but he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. His mother (and at this point he could hardly think of her as "Angela" after hours of wading through Nathan's past) stood silently in the doorway. Behind her was the butler and a blond, heavily muscled man with faintly glowing tattoos. Nathan looked at his mother. Her face had an expression he would call compassionate on anyone else. On her, he was unsure of what it meant. She lifted her hand and turned her head fractionally, obviously addressing the men behind her, "Leave us." Both did, Grem without question and the blond with one last suspicious look at him over Angela's shoulder.
Nathan sat down on a battered wooden chair that stood in front of a small, also well-used desk. He waited to find out what she wanted. She walked over towards Nathan and paused an arm's length away. He noticed she was wringing her hands together nervously. Seeing he was looking at her hands, she stilled them. He looked up at her in puzzlement, brows coming together. "Ma?"
She stepped next to him and hugged him to herself, putting his head sideways across her chest. He tensed and after a second pushed away from her. She started to back away with an ashen expression, afraid she had seriously misjudged his purpose in the room, handling his old things. She had known there would be a time when she could approach him, but knowing exactly when it would occur was another matter. If she had the wrong moment, then everything would fail. He reached out and caught her hand before she could retreat. "Ma? I don't understand."
His gentleness in the face of her weakness calmed her fears. Her voice was very soft, vulnerable, as she said, "Let me hug you, Nathan. You've never been my son as strongly as you are now - not since the change. I don't know when you will be again, that I will be near you. I am not as unfeeling as you imagine."
His face drew together as if in pain. He nodded and stood. She walked forward and hugged him. They stood together quietly for some time. He felt an overwhelming love for her. Eventually he stroked her hair for want of something to do. He wanted only to comfort her. There was an odd tingle in his hand. He thought about what she'd done to him. He loved her anyway, which surprised him. "Are you sorry you killed me?" he asked softly.
"No," she said in much the same tone. "It was necessary. So many things are, as I'm sure you're finding out."
He exhaled. "Ma," he finally broke the hug, but they still stood close. "I can't forgive you. Not yet."
She gave him a melancholy smile. "I know. Maybe you never will. I haven't seen it that you do. But there are more lives at stake than your own. I hope you understand that."
He breathed in and stepped back, sitting down in the chair again. He put his head in his hands. "Ma, you tried to kill Peter. You thought you'd killed Dad. You did kill me."
She knelt next to him and put her hand on his knee, looking up at him. "Nathan… this is important. Listen to me." Her voice was still gentle. "Peter survived. He would have survived the explosion no matter what. Your father was going to kill you. He'd already tried once. The next time he would have succeeded. And you are not dead."
He looked at her for a long moment, then rolled his eyes and looked away. She stood up stiffly at his rejection of her rationale. He said quickly, "Okay, I'll give you the first two. The last though, that's just a technicality."
Her voice hardened to closer to her normal tone, "The last is patently obvious. You have an identity. You are legally Nathan Petrelli. You are accepted by nearly everyone who knew him as being him. You have his memories, his affectations, his things, his family and his appearance. What more do you want?"
I wouldn't mind Peter. We both know what you mean by "nearly everyone." He shook his head wordlessly and looked at the floor.
She spoke, "Would you like something to eat? Mr. Grem says you've been up here all afternoon. You must be hungry."
"I'm not sure I trust your cooking, Ma." He said it without heat, just as passing conversation. He didn't look up.
She didn't seem to take offense at it. She harrumphed. "You've eaten here a half dozen times without incident. Come into the kitchen with me and watch then, if you feel uneasy tonight. You can help."
He looked up at her. He'd thought for sure he'd get a rise out of her with that barb. Her expression was placid though, like she was perfectly serious. She smiled when he looked up at her. She said, "Come on. You can come back here later. Besides, you're far too important to me to poison right now." She stepped forward and patted his shoulder before walking out. After waiting a moment, he rose and followed.
As they walked down the hall, he couldn't resist another attempt to shift her back to the hostile matron he was more familiar with. "So how do you plan to kill me, next time?"
"With darkness, but it's not my plan." She shook her head. "I don't know what it means. It's very open to interpretation. I don't have any plans to kill you, though I'll admit to making sure we have means available to restrain you, should the need arise. I don't foresee everything, especially those things common sense guards against." She started down the stairs.
Inside, he was wondering what had changed her. Why is she answering my questions? Was it a vision? Was it just seeing me in my room? Is there something else that's happened? "Is Peter okay?"
She stopped on the step and turned to him. After looking at him a moment, her eyes slid to the side, almost like she was trying to think of who he meant… or using a power to locate him. She looked back at him. "Yes, he's fine." She started back down the steps.
He decided to press his luck as far as it would go. "Do you have a power to see him? Right now? What did you just do?"
She didn't stop, but she glanced back at him. "I thought about the visions I've had of him, the ones that haven't come to pass yet. They seem as strong as they were before. They start to fade when the timeline changes. They distort and crack. His future is still clear, which means there's nothing happening to him right now that's much of a danger to him."
"What's going to happen to him?" he asked.
"The same thing that happens to everyone, Nathan. Don't obsess about it. One thing about seeing the future is that you see the end of everyone."
He wanted to ask more, but they had an audience as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The two men who had been with his mother before were waiting in the parlor. They came out and looked at Angela. Taylor nodded and left for other parts of the house without any visible signal. All he needed was to see his employer's face to know he didn't need to worry. Nathan wondered at that. He'd always had such a hard time reading her. Maybe if he spent every day working with her it would be different. Noah seemed to be a good read of her moods and now that he thought about it, so was Peter. Empathy's never been my strong suit.
She introduced the blond man to him, "Nathan, this is Michael Fitzgerald. Michael, this is my son, Nathan." The man's tattoos were no longer glowing. He shook Nathan's hand firmly. Angela went on, "I've retained him as a bodyguard for the time being. Perhaps in a few months we'll find other employment for him."
"A bodyguard? Who is he protecting you from?"
"Our business affairs have been noticed. It seemed prudent to take precautions." She turned to the tattooed man and said, "My sons are to have full access to the house and grounds whether I am here or not. In my absence, and lacking any conflicting directions from myself, you are to do as they say." Michael nodded. Nathan tilted his head slightly at that and applied Sylar's gift for understanding things. His eyes narrowed. Angela took two steps towards the kitchen and then looked back. Fitzgerald was scowling at Nathan, who was peering at him intently.
"Nathan? Please come with me," she said.
He turned and followed her. Once in the kitchen, he waited to see if Michael had followed them. When it was apparent he had not, Nathan turned to his mother and said, "So that's what you've been having Maury do? Pull on specials the same whammy you're having him do on the agents?" He wasn't happy. "I thought that was voted on by the board, on a case-by-case basis."
"Michael was incarcerated. Incarcerated members are to be rehabilitated whenever possible and practical. Maury rehabilitated him."
Nathan sat on a stool while Angela busied herself getting things out of the refrigerator and freezer. She handed him a small bag of jumbo shrimp and a knife. "Here, cut these. Small pieces," she said.
"That's what you're calling it now, 'rehabilitation'?" Am I 'rehabilitated'?
"Oh!" She sounded annoyed. "You sound just like Peter!"
"He's right most of the time, you know."
"Would you rather I had left Michael where he was for the last two years? He volunteered for the procedure, although to be honest I'm sure that was mostly due to being in solitary confinement for so long." She looked at the untouched bag of shrimp. "Cut them, Nathan. I want them bite-size."
He scratched his nose and looked around the room. There was no one there except them. It was a bit odd. He was sure the maid should be around somewhere and she usually doubled as a cook. He took his finger and drew a slit along the bag, then began to cut each shrimp into bite-size pieces using his ability. It took a lot more concentration than using a knife, but honestly he didn't get much opportunity to use his powers anymore. He certainly hadn't used this one in a long time. Hm. Last time was… on her, I think. If you don't count things I've done in fugue. It took a lot of precision to avoid scoring the cutting board. Practice makes perfect.
He glanced up to see her frowning at him. Seeing his look, she rolled her eyes at him and went on with preparing the vegetables and pasta. He grinned widely. Angela knew the moment had passed - the window to the son she had raised was closing. She was moved by it, but it had been a long time coming. It wasn't like she hadn't known, even though she'd been surprised by how some events had played out. She turned away to add the pasta to the boiling water.
Her vision had told her this was a pivot point. If she had failed, then within a month or two he would give up on himself and revert to Sylar after a bad encounter with Peter. Both of the remaining Petrellis would be killed. More importantly, he would go on to take control of the Company and use it for his appetites, ignoring the group's true purpose. When their rivals rose against them, he would be powerless, struck down and destroyed. A dark future would reign.
If she succeeded, then the inevitable reversion would be months away and it would be to Gabriel, not Sylar. Peter would live, which was important because he was as critical to the future as Gabriel. There was hope in that future, even if there was also great difficulty. She held her hand to her chest. It hurt with an ache that had been there for a very long time. Goodbye, Nathan, she thought.