2007-10-31: Fed Up

Starring:

Nathan_icon.gif Elena_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Peter and Elena are woken up by a loud, crashing sound somewhere in the Petrelli's backyard. It turns out to be Nathan, who finds out that he is losing control of his abilities the hard way. Ow.

Date It Happened: October 31st, 2007

Fed Up


Petrelli Mansion, Hyde Park, New York

Most people walk out the front door. But at this hour, and on this errand, in this circumstance, Nathan prefers to walk on to a balcony. It's very much like he is walking out the front door, however, buttoning up his jacket against the cold of the evening, checking that he has his wallet (and keys in case someone decides to lock all the windows or something) and shutting the curtained balcony door behind him with a soft click. The painkillers are keeping his headache at arms length, separating it from him with a wall of drowsiness, and he doesn't even mind the cold symptoms still ailing him. They've sort of been integrated into the normal routine of things. He places a hand on the ledge of the balcony as his body is wracked with a few violent coughs, before shaking it off, and preparing to soar.

Except, he doesn't. He takes off at a few feet, arms out to balance himself when he finds himself hovering rather than rocketing up into the night sky. Okay, fine. Tilting his gaze up towards it, he moves to hurtle himself forward, second time's the charm, once again expecting that take off. And it happens again - a few feet out, and then nothing. More than nothing, actually, and there's not even enough time to have an 'uh oh' moment before he's dropping down with all the speed of someone who just willingly leapt from a balcony. A few seconds and a startled, flailing moment of "AAAH" later, Nathan lands without even a hint of grace, front first. Thud, and then a small, pained moan interrupts the not-so-quiet evening.

Downstairs, the television that, on some days, is playing soap operas, is currently playing a mobster movie. Or more accurately the menu screen of a mobster movie. The music plays in loop, soothing and quiet enough, with frames from the movie animated across the screen. Play Movie. Pick Scenes. None of these options are being taken, though, because the two people who'd been watching the movie have fallen asleep.

Dressed in a suit and tie, with a black fedora leaning over on the top of his head, Peter's sound asleep, having dozed off at some point before the movie's plot even reached a climax. She must have shifted his hat to cover up his eyes when she noticed he was asleep. His arm's still around the young Latina girl. It's the crash outside, just out the window behind them, that starts him into awareness. He jumps, visibly and looks around, obviously confused by the sound, arm unwrapping from the young woman. "What was that?" he asks cautiously, aware that even if the sound didn't wake her, his sudden starting probably did.

The fedora has fallen off his head, too, so he picks it up, stands, and pulls back the curtain of the window. A teenager prank on Halloween maybe?

The young woman too, seems to have fallen asleep. Sometime during the course of the late night, she's managed to lean on him while he leaned on the armrest of the chair, curled up on his side and her arms around him, and her cheek pillowed at the area where the upper part of his chest met his shoulder. There's signs of late-night snackage on the coffee table, as well as open DVD covers. Her hair is tousled given the constricted space, and the shifting and moving. But Peter was warm, and the weather was only getting colder. At least she managed to pull the seat's afghan over them before conking out.

However, when the crash echoes through the house, she jerks upwards in a seated position, her eyes wide. What the hell? Was it a burglar? …then again it takes her a bit to realize that she doesn't live in Queens anymore. She was, at present, in a swanky neighborhood which cops patrolled at a regular basis.

She rubs her eyes and looks up at him with bleary eyes. "I don't know," she says, standing up. "….should I get a bat?" Just in case, right?

Yes, Elena, get a bat. He is still moving! But not at first, Nathan lying perfectly still as his conciousness swims back and forth as if debating as to whether he should just pass out now before he does himself any more damage. Sprawled front down on the wet grass outside, it's a good thing he didn't smack into any concrete, bruises and a mild concussion factoring in rather than broken bones… although his ribs might beg to differ.

With another groan, Nathan reluctantly pushes himself onto his side, trying to get his breath back after all the wind has been expelled from his lungs, tasting blood and his vision still splitting into double and back again routinely. If this was a cartoon, there'd be little birdies flying around his head right now.

Then, the light from the room just across from him adds a little more dimension to the nighttime setting when the curtains are pulled back, and if he had the presence of mind to be sarcastic, he might wave. Instead, he just rolls onto his back for now, a hand up to touch his mouth, wondering where he's tasting the blood from, exactly.

"Maybe, just…" Peter's speaking quietly as he peers out the window to see that it's not a bunch of kids doing a Halloween prank, but a man who just discovered he couldn't fly. "Crap," he curses, though it's a mold curse in comparison to some mouths that this young woman knows. "I think it's Nathan." Actually, he doesn't just think it's Nathan, he's pretty damn sure. The place he crash landed isn't that far away, and seeing out into the dark is easier than seeing inside. Letting the curtain drop, he moves around to the nearest exit from the house and outside as quickly as he possibly can. What it he broke something!? The cold air hits him, but he stuffs the black fedora back on top of his head and is thankful for the jacket as he moves out into the chill of this Halloween evening. "Nathan?"

"….what's Nathan do— " Oh. Elena's eyes widen. She thought he was sleeping? So instead of heading outside with Peter right away, she moves to the nearest bathroom so she could grab the first aid kit. God, she hopes he didn't break anything. But with that secured, pulling over her hoodie that she had draped at the back of the couch, she shrugs this on. And then, she proceeds to move outside quickly. With their powers going the way of the dodo, they were going to have to do things the old fashioned way. Bare feet find the grass, and she hurries over to where Nathan and Peter had fallen.

"Mph." Oh no, Nathan isn't quite ready to move yet. Considering his whole body just met the ground at an alarming rate, he hasn't quite shaken off the impact. But he at least props himself up on his elbows as Peter approaches, taking in a sharp breath at the movement. Dirt from the damp ground makes marks on his face and clothes, but bruises haven't quite risen yet, and there's no blood visible. Looking up at Peter, he blinks a few times, and says, "nice hat," but it comes out a little slurred and mumbly, quite clearly dazed.

"Thanks. Elena dressed me," Peter says, kneeling down beside his brother and reaching out to touch him. "Don't move yet, okay?" There's a moment of consentration, and it doesn't happen quite as fast or as well as it would in a perfect situation, but it does do what he hoped it would, in terms of getting his brother healing enough that he should be able to move without totally breaking something— more. Or passing out into a coma. "You tried to fly, didn't you?" he asks, the roles reversed quite a bit from a year ago. Over a year ago.

Invoke her name and she appears. Elena reaches both brothers, crouching down near them and setting the medicine kit down. "Did he break anything?" she asks Peter. Though when it looks like Nathan's going to be healed after all, and it just takes a while, she looks relieved. "Are you okay, Nate?" she asks. And yes, Nathan, she does look very concerned. But not moving was good. He probably still had a little shock. She reaches over to try and help Nathan lay back down - so Peter can finish doing his thing, and so he can wear off the shock.

The encouragement of two people is certainly enough - Nathan gladly flops back down to lie back fully when Elena urges him to do so, eyes sliding shut for a moment, not wanting to see anymore stars than he already does. "Besides pride?" he suggests when he hears Elena, and winces. He can feel that familiar warmth that comes with the healing, and his hand moves to press against the worse pain in his side, which finally subsides. Seems like he did manage to break a rib of two, but the bones fuse together. He opens his eyes, the dizziness finally backing off as well - though he still aches all over. Now, at least, he can sit up, which he does. "Yeah, I tried to fly," he tells them. "I dunno what the hell just happened but I certainly didn't intend to leap off a balcony."

When his hand pulls away, Peter looks quite a bit paler than he had before, the side effects of fixing the damage hitting him harder than normal. The illness, after all, is quite a problem. He starts to move to back away, and ends up just sitting down, unable to stand just yet. His limbs look shaky, and the hand goes to his face. The headache he'd almost slept off returns in full. "I remember that story— I'm just glad we don't have a taller house now," he says softly, still conscious, but visibly winded by his exertion of ability. He's just glad that it worked. "You've never failed at flying, have you?"

She lets the two brother's talk, though Peter worsening in front of her eyes does give her some concern. "Peter, don't strain yourself too much," Elena chastizes softly, but it looks like Nate's better now so her words don't have any heat to them. When Nathan stubbornly tries to sit up now that his ribs are healed, however, she helps him do just that. Hands place gently on his shoulders, the young woman pushing the older Petrelli brother up gently from behind him. The medical kit is left unused, but that was a good thing as far as she was concerned - they were gonna need it later.

Sitting, now, with Elena's help, Nathan absently brushes his arms off of dirt, then brings the back of his hand up to his face, frowning briefly at the dirt that comes away there, too. Warm shower, for both the mud and the bruises, is in order, and he looks over at Peter, a little critical - but it's not like he wants to be injured, so he doesn't echo Elena's chastisement. "Just once," he says, after a moment's thought. "But that was the— the first time. Not since then I haven't. I felt fine, I don't— fine-ish," he adds, but doubtless they both know what he means. Fine comparatively speaking. "I don't get it - I flew for a few feet, then just dropped." Much like, as he'd mentioned, the first time - as if the metaphorical strings that had been holding him up above the ground had been cut all at once. He wipes the back his his other hand, now, across his mouth, frowning at the smear of blood. The former cut inside his mouth is now mostly gone, but still sore.

"I'll be fine," Peter insists, though he knows he'll be needing help up too if he tries to do anything else tonight. Straining his abilities while in this condition has more side effects than he expected, even if he's very grateful that it worked— because this is Nathan, and… "Our abilities— they're not working as they should anymore. They're all becoming slower— less reliable. Looks like we got a new symptom. All of us." With a slow breath, he finally gets back to his feet, so he's not sitting on the lawn, but he's looking wobbly and pale, fatigued despite his assurances he's fine. "

"It's starting to affect our abilities," Elena tells Nathan. "I don't know why but that's what it looks like." With Nathan up, she looks up at the dark sky. "We better get inside - it's cold out, we're already getting worse, no use encouraging it." Nathan had been healed, so it's Peter that she helps, moving over to try and help her boyfriend up. "Easy," she tells him gently. She'd rather they not stay out here discussing this either. And she was cold, she was shivering a little under the hoodie. She might not be coughing much thanks to the cough suppressant that she had been guzzling for a while now, but that didn't mean she was well by any means. They were all sick, and she wanted them in a place where it was warm.

Getting to his feet, Nathan grits his teeth against making a sound, aches and pains protesting. Injured critically? No. Sore and headache back in full force, painkillers from earlier be damned? Yes. He leans a hand against his knee for a moment, before back straightening. Time to go inside and never do that again, he's too old for this. Tentatively, he starts to follow Elena and Peter back inside— then stops. "Wait, you— knew about this and you decided not to inform the guy that flies?" he asks, tone incredulous. There's a beat, before he seems to come to a decision. "I'll do this the old fashioned way," he says, taking a step back, now, away from the house. "Walking was never an issue before, right?" And he's moving off as he wipes the last of the dirt from his face, rather determined to accomplish his mission - without the need for a car, because that doesn't pan out any better than this latest flying incident.

"I didn't need help up," Peter insists as Elena moves to help him, looking toward his brother instead as he stands on his own now. That hadn't been the intention at all, but he lets out a sigh when she starts motioning them to the door. No reason they can't go inside and sit down for a while, then make sure everyone's all right. No reason except perhaps for the man of the house deciding to turn away and walk the opposite direction. Not to mention— well— there'd been a reason he felt guilty when he came out. And part of that has to do with not talking to his brother yet about the power failure. "Nathan!" He calls out, pulling out of Elena's grasp and moving after his brother, reaching out to try and catch his arm. "I didn't know you— you're right, I should have told you, but you shouldn't be going out right now. We don't even know how well I healed you yet. It might not have worked all the way."

His arm is caught, Nathan not about to run any time soon, and when he looks at Peter - well it's a troubling look. There's no real reason for any of them to be happy, but there's a certain fed up-ness about Nathan's demeanor right now. He doesn't fail at flying. "Nothing's broken," he argues, hand drifting back towards where his ribs are. Bruises? Present! And while his insides aren't ruptured, they'll take their own time to shake off the feeling of the earth suddenly slamming back up at him. "And I don't have a concussion." He glances towards where Elena is doing what's likely the smart thing - heading inside, to avoid the evening chill that their systems don't need. "Go get some rest, Pete. I won't be out all night."

Looking back toward the house, Peter makes a gesture to his girlfriend in an attempt to assure her that he'll be fine, before he turns back to his brother, keeping hold of his arm. "It's Halloween. And late both. You shouldn't be walking by yourself, especially not when you're sick— and just fell off a roof." He takes his hand back now, pushing his fedora down, and straightening his jacket. He still looks like some kind of mobster that just stepped out of a old movie, but this is Halloween. He can be dressed up and no one will look at him twice. "Where we going?"

"Balcony," Nathan corrects, which is a little futile, not fully convinced there's much of a difference either, then brings up his arm to cough into the inner of his elbow in a sort of well-practiced way, then grimaces, because now he has bruises to work with when that happens rather than just a dry throat. Lovely! "Ow." And— oh god, Peter is coming with? Dressed like Al Capone, no less. Nathan hesitates, glancing down at the hand on his arm but not yet shaking him off.

"I know I don't have to," Peter says, looking back at his brother and idly wishing that a duster would have been included among his outfit— but it's pretty clear that he's intending to follow. "Do you often sneak out the window at night?" he asks, voice serious in it's inquiry. "I know I almost ran into you flying once, but I didn't think you did it that often." The paleness in his skin has started to settle down, since he's no longer attempting to heal, and the cool air actually makes his fever feel less— though not helping with the cold chills at all.

"I don't," Nathan answers, with a mildly bewildered tone. Despite his protests, he starts to walk again, expecting Peter to tag along. "I guess I just have excellent timing. I fly when I go places that I probably wouldn't go otherwise if I couldn't, which aren't many." Rooftops, for instance, although it's been a good while since the last time he went to one - incidentally, the last time before now he flew. "In this case, there's a liquor store not too far from here." And he delivers this without much of a tone of voice, though this could explain his initial reluctance to have Peter tag along.

Tagging along does happen, but Peter stays a few steps behind him, consentrating a little too much on each step to keep from wobbling and falling over. The nearby liquor store isn't even given a harsh look. The fatigue and cold medicine might dull his reactions a little. "I noticed we were getting low. And it's not exactly something we can ask Heidi to go out and buy." There's a hint of a smile, tugging on the corner of his mouth on one side, as he watches his brother walk. In a way, he's checking for signs of weakness— injury. "Cass called the other day. She wants me to meet someone who she thinks might be able to help with the virus."

"There's something fundamentally wrong about adding whiskey to the shopping list," Nathan agrees, running a hand through his hair, which had been somewhat combed before he'd faceplanted a few storeys into the ground. When he walks, it's not as though he's limping, but he's certainly going slower than he normally might, he of the brisk pace like any good New York City native. No, instead, he meanders, too sore to charge on ahead despite the cold. "If she's anything like Suresh, Samantha and Dr. Aldric, can we tell this newcomer that we don't need another way of saying 'you're all doing to die'?" Nathan states, sarcastically.

Milk, eggs, cheese, bacon, oh yeah, sweety, scotch. Yeah, that'll go over well on a shopping list. "If Heidi's feelings about alcohol are anywhere close to how Elena's are…" Peter says, trailing off a bit as they move. "I don't think it's that kind of person, but Cass didn't tell me much, honestly. She didn't want to get my hopes up— or anyone else's hopes up. But she thinks she might be able to slow it down, if not cure it." There's a glance over and he hesitates. "It's probably experimental, but I think we could use a little good news." They need hope right now, considering they'd been told in many differeny ways that they're likely to die.

Nathan doesn't comment on Heidi's possible attitude - he likes to think he doesn't drink enough for her to warrant one, and if he did, then he keeps it to himself enough that she wouldn't realize. Who knows, though? "Well that's better than anything else I've been hearing," he says. "Does Cass and Dr. Aldric," because Cass isn't Dr. Aldric, her dad is, "know about the faltering powers?" He then glances at the pale, slightly shaky Peter. "No chance of another overload, right?"

"I mentioned it to Cass, at least that mine were," Peter admits, looking a little guilty. He'd not shared it with his brother, and it caused him to nearly splatter all over the backyard. Good thing he didn't jump out the balcony facing the street… "I should be okay," he adds, smiling a bit, but then he suddenly remembers to touch his pockets. He'd not had time to grab a wallet or keys, so… "Hopefully you brought your keys. If I try to Jack my keys I might not be able to make it inside— and that's only if I succeed." Because there's a good chance that he won't—

His hand drifts to Peter's shoulder, but let's go at his confirmation that he's not about to pass out and coma, or explode and destroy Hyde Park. Nathan smirks a little, hands sliding into his pockets. "I have keys," he confirms. "And I suppose I'll be the one to buy everything. Cheapskates." And onwards to trudge the distance to the local liquor store, a journey that would take less than a minute by air… and quite a few minutes on foot.

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