2007-10-31: Dad's Money And Mom's Company


Peter_icon.gif Nathan_icon.gif

Summary: Parent talk on the way to the liquor store.

Date It Happened: October 31st, 2007

Dad's Money and Mom's Company

Somewhere In Hyde Park

"I'm fortunate to have such a generous brother," Peter says, shifting his own hand to return the touch, this time in the middle of his brother's back. He's still looking tired, feverish and sick, but that's been par for the course the last month or so. It probably won't change, unless this possible cure works. "Especially since I haven't had a job for a month… again. I have no idea how I'm going to pay you back for all of this. I can't even offer to walk down the street and tell people to Vote Petrelli anymore." Not that he would have, because persuasion is wrong.

"It's a little late," Nathan agrees. Make November the 6th come now, just to get the ordeal of losing over with. Crane, perhaps, can sense weakness, or maybe it was just smart to campaign the hell out of New York in these last few weeks. Either way, he's jumped ahead in the polls, and unless a miracle were to occur… even if it did, Nathan isn't sure what he could do, in this state of health. "You can start by carrying everything back when we're done," he supplies. "My inheritance is there to support my family, Peter. You count. So don't be ridiculous." It's a hefty inheritance, after all.

"I never liked using dad's money," Peter admits quietly, as they continue to walk in the direction of the local liquor store. Talk of the election is allowed to slide away, since it certainly isn't the best topic in the world. There's so much that could have gone better with the election itself. "Considering how much he disliked my decision to go into nursing, I can't imagine he would've approved of me working in retail." And his brother's one day on the job doesn't really count.

'One day job' is a generous interpretation of the truth, after all. "Well he's not here to approve or disapprove," Nathan says. "Like he wouldn't be shaking his head at half of the things I've done since? Besides, saving the world." A foot scuffs absently against the ground in an almost youthful gesture as they continue to walk down the quiet street. "'s pretty noble."

"I wouldn't know about that," Peter says, continuing the walk, though keeping his steps slow, if mostly for their own sake, ease of walking. The cold may make him regret it eventually, but the fedora helps with that. "You've had better luck saving the world than I have, remember?" Saving the world from him, in fact. "And I don't— Nathan, I never mentioned this, but— did you ever meet Elle's dad? I'm not sure if you did."

A car goes rolling by, briefly lighting both men up with headlights before it continues on its way. Nearer to the stores, Nathan can more make out the light of the buildings than the actual structures themselves. "Bob Bishop? What, lately?" Nathan says, casting a glance to Peter, eyebrow raised. Unsure of where he's going with that. From saving the world to the bespectacled Company leader himself. "I've briefly had the pleasure. Why?"

"You recognized him, didn't you?" Peter asks, looking at the headlights for a moment, before glancing back at his brother, blinking away the burned image of the lights in his eyes. "He used to be friends with mom and dad." There's hesitation in his voice, since this is not exactly the easiest of topics to approach. "Not just him, either. Bishop knew about… what Linderman wanted to happen— when they came and picked me up. And I think mom knew about it too." This isn't a topic he's ever really wanted to approach.

This isn't a topic Nathan has ever really wanted to be approached with. Silence stretches until it can stretch no more, and Nathan finally says, "She did." He drops the words simply, carelessly, the way someone might discard something heavy that they never wanted to carry in the first place. There, enjoy. "And she believed that there was nothing that could stop it."

"I thought so," Peter says with a grimace, the smile from moments before has faded from his mouth. There's only so much that they can talk about this sort of thing. "I had a dream— though I don't think it was just a dream. I saw her and… Charles— Simone's dad— my patient— they were talking about the bomb. Linderman's plans. But the bomb was stopped, Nathan." He glances back, reaching up again to touch his arm. "You stopped it. From destroying the city at least." It's an assurance, though it's not the point of why he brought it up.

The reassurance is mostly ignored, in any case, and Nathan gives a slight shrug with a rustle of weather-proof fabric. "Doesn't change the fact that I was on my way to the evacuation helicopter until the last minute. I only saved the day after I didn't help you," he points out. He let it get to that point where a suicide mission was the only way to stop it. But maybe that was always inevitable. "What's your point, anyway?"

The hand drops away and Peter sighs briefly, focusing on the sidewalk a few feet in front of them. "But you did save the day." That's the last reassurance he gives, the brim of his hat hiding his face in shadow as they walk under a street lamp. "When we go to visit mom— if we go— we might be talking to someone in the Company. There's too many connections. Bishop— leader of the Company. Linderman… And something I got from Dr. Aldric when I read his mind."

"Mom's Company," Nathan says, skeptically, mostly just trying out the sentence to see if it makes sense. It doesn't… not make sense, but it still sounds uncomfortable. Like he doesn't want it to make sense. Dr. Aldric's mention makes Nathan go over in his mind the conversation they had shared, and of course, he can't remember everything, but… "What did you pick up?"

"He was worried about her being around us— worried about all of them dying too. Like that man, Jacob." Peter explains, looking quiet, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk. "I'd never heard that name while I was in the Company. But if he was someone of great importance in the Company and he was thinking of her in context to him…" He looks back over, the shadows still cast on his face thanks to his mobster hat. "I could be wrong, but…"

Nathan takes that in, processes it, and shakes his head. "No, he— there's a reason why he wanted to make sure Ma wasn't staying at the mansion," he says. "That sounds like it. I didn't get a chance to squeeze it out of him, was more focused on the whole…" Another shrug, a glance. "Him telling us we'd probably die, thing. I guess we'll find out properly when we go to see her." Dr. Aldric may want to steer Angela clear of this plague, but Nathan would like some answers.

"We're not going to die," Peter says firmly, looking over at him with a long look. "Even in the future, Evelyn still had this virus and she wasn't dead. Maybe that makes the difference." Or maybe it doesn't, because that girl wasn't supposed to get so sick that she really noticed, either. "Cass'll fix it. If she hasn't already found something that'll slow it down or cure us— maybe mom knows something."

Nathan doesn't point out the obvious - that the future Peter saw isn't exactly the same anymore, it can't possibly be. Keeps the argument that no doubt Peter is already well aware of to himself. "Well if she does, she can also tell me why she hasn't stepped in sooner," he mutters, not even trying to hold back on the bitterness, there. "And Cass had want to fix it. If I don't live to see if her bet about Morgan Starr's miscellaneous relative being behind all the drama in One Life To Live is true, then she'll be sorry. And missing out on twenty bucks."

That— is one way to end a conversation about doom and gloom. Peter stops in his tracks and stares at his brother now. Morgan Starr? One Life To— For having stayed in the house for the last month, you'd think he'd have sat down and watched an episode, to see the drama unfold between the poor doctor turned into a werewolf, and the former amesmatic whose family might be behind the entire thing. "Nathan… you actually bet money on the outcome of a soap opera plotline?"

They've been living and breathing doom and gloom. Besides, Nathan was just being honest. Nathan turns towards where Peter's stopped short, he himself having not stopped walking - now he's just going backwards. The light of a street lamp casts an eerie glow on them both, though still mundane - it does emphasise how dirty Nathan's coat still is from the landing, and the bruises beginning to give unnatural shadows to his face. "Yes. I bet money on the outcome of a soap opera plotline. And you think dad would disapprove of his money going to you?" he quips, before turning to walk normally once more.

That earns a laugh. Peter can't help but smile just a bit at the quip, regaining his steps before the other man ends up walking right into one of those street lamps by walking backwards. "Well, I'm a little more important than a soap opera plotline— even if this is a hobby you share with my girlfriend." Not with him, though. "Who's the bet with? It's not with Elena, right?"

"Cass," Nathan supplies, adjusting his jacket a little tighter around himself. "And you are, but not as entertaining. What do you think will happen?" And perhaps surprisingly, it's Nathan, now, to veer the conversation into murkier waters. "We could, say, run the course of this thing, and lose our powers permanently. Although you still managed to heal me." Kind of.

"And here I was thinking my life would make great soap opera material," Peter says, lifting a hand up to steady the fedora as he strides to catch up. The last year especially has seemed very soap opera worthy, but he's got a slightly different perspective. Since he happens to be in it. Kind of. That's just filler. It doesn't mean anything. Except when it means everything. "Life would get a little dull if we couldn't fly, though." His first ability— or at least the first one that he acknowledges as his first. "You'd need to take on another soap opera to entertain yourself."

"I prefer my soap operas to stay behind the screen, thanks," Nathan says, much like he'd told Mara months and months ago - only to add a twist to that sordid plot by kissing her. The drama, it writes itself. "And I could stand a little boredom if they all just went away." He's not really looking at Peter as he speaks. "All of them. Let life continue normally for once. You have to admit, maybe this virus isn't such a bad idea if that were the outcome." Well, Nathan would admit to that, but he's always had a different take on these things.

And to think, Nathan. Your brother married her in the future— only to find out she was really married to Sylar— who killed all three of them. The drama does write itself. But all the powers going away does earn a more serious glance. Peter takes in a slow breath, "Maybe." Two innocent people are dead from it already— at least innocent as far as he knows— but how many innocent people have died because of people with abilities? "I'd started to think that too, honestly— more than once. But I still think that we were given these abilities for a reason. It's our responsibility to do something with them— while we still have them."

There's a short moment of silence, before Nathan says, "Well if the election falls through, I can put out an ad. Nathan Petrelli, professional kitten rescuer." He doesn't let the less-than-funny comment stand on its own, however, adding, "You could be right. And if so, my ability's worn out its reason." Maybe he really had been supposed to die that night. Grim thought. He keeps his arms wrapped around himself despite the ache of his bruised torso.

"No it hasn't," Peter says, reaching out to touch his brother's arm again, even as they're wrapped around himself. "Your flight's come in handy for more than just keeping Kirby Plaza from becoming ground zero. And you never know when we'll need it again." There's many uses for flight— it's more relable than his teleportation, that's for sure. "But no add for a kitten rescuer. You could always go back to being an Assistant DA."

Right, there's always future beer runs, rooftops to brood upon, and Russians to rescue. But Nathan doesn't voice this, just nods, allowing Peter to give him that— comfort? Kind of. He may not be the most eager hero in the world but who wants to be put out to pasture, saddled with a useless power that's done more harm than good? "I could," he agrees. "Once Cass's gotten rid of this thing, we'll see. What about you? You're not seriously just going to be Cass's Employee Of The Month forever, are you?"

"Considering how much work I keep missing, I doubt I'll ever make Employee of the Month," Peter says, sounding serious. Two whole months of missed work since he got hired— once because he went to the future, then again due to illness. "Besides— name one other job that would let me come back after disappearing for a month to save the world?"

Good point. Silence stretches between the two, as if Nathan is thinking this puzzle over. A corner is turned, the liquor store finally becoming visible, and they move to cross the mostly empty street. "Moocher," Nathan finally accuses, a hand going out to open the door for his brother.

With the door opened for him, Peter steps inside the liquor store and says, "Maybe when you decide what you want to do after the election, you'll need some help. You wouldn't fire me if I ran off to save the world, right?" That doesn't help the Moocher appearance at all, though.

"Only if you didn't give me two weeks notice," Nathan notes, dryly, following Peter in. He moves through the store, far warmer than the outside weather, pace leisured. No, it's not good for appearances that a senatorial candidate is walking through a liquor store at who-knows-what-o'clock, looking a bit like he's gotten into a fight and lost, as well as shivering and feverish. Maybe it's a costume. 'Plague victim'. Very creative. He takes down a bottle of Canadian Club from the shelves to inspect in indecision.

Continued in Poison In Plastic.

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