it would take an acrobat
TITLE: No Flying in the House
CATEGORY: Heroes/The West Wing crossover, Nathan Petrelli & Will Bailey
RATING: PG, but only for language, I promise.
NOTES: Begun as comment-fic for mandysbitch, so this is for her with love. Title borrowed from this book I adored when I was a kid. Quickie sorta-beta by baked_goldfish. Forgive us our typos, as we forgive those who typo against us. Feedback=love!
SUMMARY: Things get extraordinarily weird for a couple of freshmen in Congress.
Something is a little strange about the representative from the New York 14th District, something that Will Bailey notices both incrementally and suddenly, the way clouds roll out on an afternoon wind until all at once the sun is completely revealed and the world looks different.
Incrementally: Will notices the way Rep. Petrelli looks one Tuesday morning in December, when the Armed Services committee is in session. He looks great, perfectly pressed and dressed and healthy and handsome, like a man who slept eight hours in a warm bed and ate a balanced breakfast. This isn't something Will would find objectionable, except that he happens to know that every airport on the East Coast was snowed under until two a.m., and Will and the other 400 members of Congress who had to fly in from their districts all look, feel, and smell what C.J. Cregg once called rode hard and put away wet.
A month later, Will is looking out the window when Petrelli's profile catches his eye. Petrelli is gazing out at the Mall, too, and there's a smudge of makeup on his cheekbone. Well, that's not unusual, he's always working a camera. It's an ability New York Congressmen seem to carry in their blood, and something Will still can't do without his stomach tying itself in a knot. He decides he's just imagining that the makeup looks like it's covering up a burn.
There's another thing, during a floor debate on stem cell research that goes on forever. Will is biting his lip to stay awake when a senile senior member from Oklahoma starts raving about an imaginary genetic engineering project. Halfway down the floor, Petrelli stands up to raise a point of order. The Oklahoman hushes, and Will is practically ready to applaud the interruption. But Petrelli looks suddenly stricken, nervous, like he's forgotten his lines in the school play. "Was there a question?" the Speaker asks, in a kindly voice he reserves for favored pets (of which Will is not one). Petrelli seems even more disturbed as he eases back into his seat, saying something Will can hardly hear, saying there's no question, no question at all.
Just little things, nothing worth remembering.
The elevator in the Rayburn Building is suffering its regularly scheduled breakdown, and half of Congress is standing around the lobby yelling at their staff about it. Will's assistant is off chasing down a missing briefing book, and he's already yelled at her this morning, so he resigns himself to taking the stairs. He shuffles his coffee and his briefcase into one hand and pulls the door open--
And then suddenly--
Petrelli happens to be standing on the third-floor landing--
And jumps up, quite casually, like a kid trying to tag the exit sign in a hallway--
And he clears the railing--
How does he clear the railing? It's at least waist-high, and Will thinks about that as he watches Petrelli make a straight vertical dive--
And he lands silently on both feet, on the ground level. And that's when Petrelli notices Will standing in the doorway, travel mug and briefcase clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
"Oh, shit," Petrelli says.
"Oh, shit," Will says. The door's closed behind him and he leans back against it. "Did, uh, did you just--"
"Suicidal impulse," Petrelli says, very quickly. He's not even breathing hard. "Wow, I got very lucky with the landing, huh?"
"Suicidal impulse?" Will echoes.
"Yeah, it's gone now." Petrelli flashes his too-perfect TV smile. "Excuse me."
"I don't believe this," Will says. He blinks, and the jump plays back against his eyelids. Jesus, he thinks, and then, no, Superman.
Petrelli shrugs. "Listen, buddy, it was just...an old trick I picked up in the military."
"I was in the Air Force," Will hears himself say. "And my father was Supreme Commander of NATO Allied Forces. Neither of us ever flew down three flights of stairs."
"...Of course," Petrelli says. The smile drops away like a mask, revealing that edgy nervous look. "Uh, I'm not the Congressman, I'm actually his stunt double, okay? And I'm really, really fucking late for a car chase. Do you mind--"
"I've been watching you," Will says, and he realizes as he does how silly it sounds, but then again Petrelli just flew down three flights of stairs, so he lets himself babble. "Because you're the hotshot new guy, and you don't work for it, and that usually drives me crazy, you know? I'm a big believer in meritocracy, which I guess sounds pretty ridiculous since I just played the Supreme Allied Commander card--anyway, I thought that I just disliked you, but there really is something weird going on with you, isn't there? Extraordinarily weird. X-Files weird. The kind of weird that people get killed for knowing about."
Will stops to catch his breath, recovering a little of his self-awareness and straightening his shoulders. Petrelli is just staring at him as hard as it's possible to stare.
"Well," Petrelli says. "That's, uh, not my personal M.O., but unfortunately it has been known to happen."
Will swallows hard and nods. "I think I'm just going to go with the explanation that I've had too much caffeine, and read too many comic books."
"Good. That's very good." Petrelli looks around--to confirm there are no cameras, maybe--and sticks out his hand.
It takes a minute for Will to recognize the gesture. He juggles his stuff around and accepts the handshake, trying not to think too hard about the deal he's just sealed. He steps sideways to clear the door. "I take these stairs a lot," he says. "The elevator breaks down practically every six weeks. So you might want to look before you--leap?"
"Guys with glasses who read too many comic books," Petrelli mutters, shaking his head. He's beginning to smile again, and it's not the TV smile, it's something smaller and maybe, possibly, nicer. He taps Will's arm lightly above the elbow. "Hey. Bailey, right?"
"Yeah," Will says, and regrets it instantly. Plausible deniability would have been nice for however long it lasted.
"I'm working for it, I swear," Petrelli says. "See you around."
When he's gone, Will sits down on the steps and drinks his coffee very, very slowly. He looks up, three flights up in a straight vertical line. There's no one else there. No witnesses, no photographs. And if Will did decide to tell this story, nobody would believe him, not in a hundred years.
Besides, they shook on it.
As Will starts the long walk up to his unimpressive office, he begins to wonder how in hell he's going to stop himself from staring at Petrelli the next time Armed Services is in session. It's going to take some doing. Some superhuman willpower.
CATEGORY: Heroes/The West Wing crossover, Nathan Petrelli & Will Bailey
RATING: PG, but only for language, I promise.
NOTES: Begun as comment-fic for mandysbitch, so this is for her with love. Title borrowed from this book I adored when I was a kid. Quickie sorta-beta by baked_goldfish. Forgive us our typos, as we forgive those who typo against us. Feedback=love!
SUMMARY: Things get extraordinarily weird for a couple of freshmen in Congress.
Something is a little strange about the representative from the New York 14th District, something that Will Bailey notices both incrementally and suddenly, the way clouds roll out on an afternoon wind until all at once the sun is completely revealed and the world looks different.
Incrementally: Will notices the way Rep. Petrelli looks one Tuesday morning in December, when the Armed Services committee is in session. He looks great, perfectly pressed and dressed and healthy and handsome, like a man who slept eight hours in a warm bed and ate a balanced breakfast. This isn't something Will would find objectionable, except that he happens to know that every airport on the East Coast was snowed under until two a.m., and Will and the other 400 members of Congress who had to fly in from their districts all look, feel, and smell what C.J. Cregg once called rode hard and put away wet.
A month later, Will is looking out the window when Petrelli's profile catches his eye. Petrelli is gazing out at the Mall, too, and there's a smudge of makeup on his cheekbone. Well, that's not unusual, he's always working a camera. It's an ability New York Congressmen seem to carry in their blood, and something Will still can't do without his stomach tying itself in a knot. He decides he's just imagining that the makeup looks like it's covering up a burn.
There's another thing, during a floor debate on stem cell research that goes on forever. Will is biting his lip to stay awake when a senile senior member from Oklahoma starts raving about an imaginary genetic engineering project. Halfway down the floor, Petrelli stands up to raise a point of order. The Oklahoman hushes, and Will is practically ready to applaud the interruption. But Petrelli looks suddenly stricken, nervous, like he's forgotten his lines in the school play. "Was there a question?" the Speaker asks, in a kindly voice he reserves for favored pets (of which Will is not one). Petrelli seems even more disturbed as he eases back into his seat, saying something Will can hardly hear, saying there's no question, no question at all.
Just little things, nothing worth remembering.
The elevator in the Rayburn Building is suffering its regularly scheduled breakdown, and half of Congress is standing around the lobby yelling at their staff about it. Will's assistant is off chasing down a missing briefing book, and he's already yelled at her this morning, so he resigns himself to taking the stairs. He shuffles his coffee and his briefcase into one hand and pulls the door open--
And then suddenly--
Petrelli happens to be standing on the third-floor landing--
And jumps up, quite casually, like a kid trying to tag the exit sign in a hallway--
And he clears the railing--
How does he clear the railing? It's at least waist-high, and Will thinks about that as he watches Petrelli make a straight vertical dive--
And he lands silently on both feet, on the ground level. And that's when Petrelli notices Will standing in the doorway, travel mug and briefcase clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
"Oh, shit," Petrelli says.
"Oh, shit," Will says. The door's closed behind him and he leans back against it. "Did, uh, did you just--"
"Suicidal impulse," Petrelli says, very quickly. He's not even breathing hard. "Wow, I got very lucky with the landing, huh?"
"Suicidal impulse?" Will echoes.
"Yeah, it's gone now." Petrelli flashes his too-perfect TV smile. "Excuse me."
"I don't believe this," Will says. He blinks, and the jump plays back against his eyelids. Jesus, he thinks, and then, no, Superman.
Petrelli shrugs. "Listen, buddy, it was just...an old trick I picked up in the military."
"I was in the Air Force," Will hears himself say. "And my father was Supreme Commander of NATO Allied Forces. Neither of us ever flew down three flights of stairs."
"...Of course," Petrelli says. The smile drops away like a mask, revealing that edgy nervous look. "Uh, I'm not the Congressman, I'm actually his stunt double, okay? And I'm really, really fucking late for a car chase. Do you mind--"
"I've been watching you," Will says, and he realizes as he does how silly it sounds, but then again Petrelli just flew down three flights of stairs, so he lets himself babble. "Because you're the hotshot new guy, and you don't work for it, and that usually drives me crazy, you know? I'm a big believer in meritocracy, which I guess sounds pretty ridiculous since I just played the Supreme Allied Commander card--anyway, I thought that I just disliked you, but there really is something weird going on with you, isn't there? Extraordinarily weird. X-Files weird. The kind of weird that people get killed for knowing about."
Will stops to catch his breath, recovering a little of his self-awareness and straightening his shoulders. Petrelli is just staring at him as hard as it's possible to stare.
"Well," Petrelli says. "That's, uh, not my personal M.O., but unfortunately it has been known to happen."
Will swallows hard and nods. "I think I'm just going to go with the explanation that I've had too much caffeine, and read too many comic books."
"Good. That's very good." Petrelli looks around--to confirm there are no cameras, maybe--and sticks out his hand.
It takes a minute for Will to recognize the gesture. He juggles his stuff around and accepts the handshake, trying not to think too hard about the deal he's just sealed. He steps sideways to clear the door. "I take these stairs a lot," he says. "The elevator breaks down practically every six weeks. So you might want to look before you--leap?"
"Guys with glasses who read too many comic books," Petrelli mutters, shaking his head. He's beginning to smile again, and it's not the TV smile, it's something smaller and maybe, possibly, nicer. He taps Will's arm lightly above the elbow. "Hey. Bailey, right?"
"Yeah," Will says, and regrets it instantly. Plausible deniability would have been nice for however long it lasted.
"I'm working for it, I swear," Petrelli says. "See you around."
When he's gone, Will sits down on the steps and drinks his coffee very, very slowly. He looks up, three flights up in a straight vertical line. There's no one else there. No witnesses, no photographs. And if Will did decide to tell this story, nobody would believe him, not in a hundred years.
Besides, they shook on it.
As Will starts the long walk up to his unimpressive office, he begins to wonder how in hell he's going to stop himself from staring at Petrelli the next time Armed Services is in session. It's going to take some doing. Some superhuman willpower.