Meant for Greatness - 1/1
“Absolutely not.”
Arthur Petrelli stood, scowling, across from Peter, his hands arched impatiently on his mahogany desk. It was a stance the youngest Petrelli knew was reserved especially for him, and had the annoying habit of showing up during social functions, family suppers, and other rather inappropriate times, like during school-related activities. But more importantly, it was the look that he had learned to ignore; he’d learnt a long time ago that he would never gain his father’s approval.
But despite all this, his mother stood in the room between the warring father and son as a buffer, perhaps her maternal instincts instructing her to protect who she always claimed was her favorite son.
“I will not allow any son of mine to enroll in nursing school.” He didn’t even bother to hide the disgust in his voice. “You are a Petrelli; you do not serve anyone.”
The black sheep of the family scoffed. “What about Nathan? He joined the military.”
“Yes, and became a great hero because of it.”
“But he still had to listen to his commanding officers,” he countered with a small smirk of victory, “take orders from someone else.”
“Nathan wasn’t cleaning up someone else’s vomit.”
It was Arthur’s turn to smirk, to flaunt his hit, but Peter knew he wouldn’t. Because Peter knew that, despite the winning comeback, Arthur was deeply worried about the light his chosen career would shed onto the family. He was nothing if not proud.
“Peter, why do you want to do this?” Angela prompted.
He contemplated his answer, not because he didn’t know why he wanted to become a nurse. The conviction he had was so strong and vibrant, he couldn’t think of a reason to not go into nursing. He contemplated because they didn’t want answer he was pleased with; they wanted one that would appease them.
Cue cliché:
“I want to help people.”
And suddenly, Arthur laughed, the sound coming out in clipped, un-amused barks of noise. “Well then, become a doctor. You have my permission and my blessing.”
“I don’t want to be a doctor, Dad,” Peter grumbled, shoving the hair out of his eyes in frustration. “They get caught up in the politics of the healthcare system. But nurses, they care about people; they comfort them.”
Like a parent tired of answering the question “why,” Arthur sighed in exasperation. “Peter, you are my son, and therefore, meant for greatness. I - “
And then, Peter snapped. Because he was tired of pretending to be better than everyone else because of his last name. Because he was tired of pretending his father was a good man, that he held good company, and that their money had come from nothing but legitimate business transactions.
Because everyone knew that wasn’t true.
“By cozying up to mobsters?” His voice was dark and rough with accusation. “No thanks, Dad.”
“Peter!” Angela admonished.
But his father spoke before his mother could continue. “Watch your tone, young man.”
The words were harsh, and, to anyone who hadn’t grown up learning the nuances of Arthur’s anger, probably incredibly frightening. But Peter knew better. When Arthur was truly, frighteningly furious, he was deadly calm or dangerously nice. Because he didn’t want anyone to suspect him of foul play should something go wrong, which it usually did.
Peter had attended his fair share of funerals.
“Why do you keep pretending that Linderman isn’t a criminal? Are you scared of what that makes you?”
Angela’s shrill voice cut the tension like a knife. “Peter Anthony Petrelli, that is enough. Daniel Linderman is a good friend of this family, and I will not hear you speak ill of him.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t want to be a part of this family.”
He didn’t notice Angela’s hand until the sting of the slap had already begun to fade.
“We have given everything to you. Do not dismiss that so lightly.”
Arthur rested a calming hand on Angela’s shoulder. “Your mother’s right, son. We’ve raised you to be the best that you can be - sent you to all the right schools, encouraged you to ‘reach for the stars’. You are meant for greatness, Peter.”
“I don’t want it,” Peter spit back at him angrily. “And I don’t want your money, either. It was a mistake to come here. I’m sorry.”
He conceded his fight, and headed toward the door of Arthur’s study. He was wasting his breath trying to argue with them, and he was tired of doing so. He didn’t need them.
“Peter, you cannot go to nursing school.”
Without turning around, Peter replied, “I’m not asking.”
-
As the echo of slammed door faded into the fibers of the carpet, both Arthur and Angela took a moment to contemplate their son’s choices.
“Well, that went less than spectacular,” Arthur finally acknowledged.
In response, Angela smiled sadly and placed a tender hand upon his arm. “Give him time, Arthur. Right now, he’s just a boy, but once his abilities manifest, he will understand that everything we’ve done has been for him.”
And Arthur, glancing at the door Peter had so recently exited, replied, “Frankly, darling, I’m not so sure he deserves them anymore.”
Arthur Petrelli stood, scowling, across from Peter, his hands arched impatiently on his mahogany desk. It was a stance the youngest Petrelli knew was reserved especially for him, and had the annoying habit of showing up during social functions, family suppers, and other rather inappropriate times, like during school-related activities. But more importantly, it was the look that he had learned to ignore; he’d learnt a long time ago that he would never gain his father’s approval.
But despite all this, his mother stood in the room between the warring father and son as a buffer, perhaps her maternal instincts instructing her to protect who she always claimed was her favorite son.
“I will not allow any son of mine to enroll in nursing school.” He didn’t even bother to hide the disgust in his voice. “You are a Petrelli; you do not serve anyone.”
The black sheep of the family scoffed. “What about Nathan? He joined the military.”
“Yes, and became a great hero because of it.”
“But he still had to listen to his commanding officers,” he countered with a small smirk of victory, “take orders from someone else.”
“Nathan wasn’t cleaning up someone else’s vomit.”
It was Arthur’s turn to smirk, to flaunt his hit, but Peter knew he wouldn’t. Because Peter knew that, despite the winning comeback, Arthur was deeply worried about the light his chosen career would shed onto the family. He was nothing if not proud.
“Peter, why do you want to do this?” Angela prompted.
He contemplated his answer, not because he didn’t know why he wanted to become a nurse. The conviction he had was so strong and vibrant, he couldn’t think of a reason to not go into nursing. He contemplated because they didn’t want answer he was pleased with; they wanted one that would appease them.
Cue cliché:
“I want to help people.”
And suddenly, Arthur laughed, the sound coming out in clipped, un-amused barks of noise. “Well then, become a doctor. You have my permission and my blessing.”
“I don’t want to be a doctor, Dad,” Peter grumbled, shoving the hair out of his eyes in frustration. “They get caught up in the politics of the healthcare system. But nurses, they care about people; they comfort them.”
Like a parent tired of answering the question “why,” Arthur sighed in exasperation. “Peter, you are my son, and therefore, meant for greatness. I - “
And then, Peter snapped. Because he was tired of pretending to be better than everyone else because of his last name. Because he was tired of pretending his father was a good man, that he held good company, and that their money had come from nothing but legitimate business transactions.
Because everyone knew that wasn’t true.
“By cozying up to mobsters?” His voice was dark and rough with accusation. “No thanks, Dad.”
“Peter!” Angela admonished.
But his father spoke before his mother could continue. “Watch your tone, young man.”
The words were harsh, and, to anyone who hadn’t grown up learning the nuances of Arthur’s anger, probably incredibly frightening. But Peter knew better. When Arthur was truly, frighteningly furious, he was deadly calm or dangerously nice. Because he didn’t want anyone to suspect him of foul play should something go wrong, which it usually did.
Peter had attended his fair share of funerals.
“Why do you keep pretending that Linderman isn’t a criminal? Are you scared of what that makes you?”
Angela’s shrill voice cut the tension like a knife. “Peter Anthony Petrelli, that is enough. Daniel Linderman is a good friend of this family, and I will not hear you speak ill of him.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t want to be a part of this family.”
He didn’t notice Angela’s hand until the sting of the slap had already begun to fade.
“We have given everything to you. Do not dismiss that so lightly.”
Arthur rested a calming hand on Angela’s shoulder. “Your mother’s right, son. We’ve raised you to be the best that you can be - sent you to all the right schools, encouraged you to ‘reach for the stars’. You are meant for greatness, Peter.”
“I don’t want it,” Peter spit back at him angrily. “And I don’t want your money, either. It was a mistake to come here. I’m sorry.”
He conceded his fight, and headed toward the door of Arthur’s study. He was wasting his breath trying to argue with them, and he was tired of doing so. He didn’t need them.
“Peter, you cannot go to nursing school.”
Without turning around, Peter replied, “I’m not asking.”
-
As the echo of slammed door faded into the fibers of the carpet, both Arthur and Angela took a moment to contemplate their son’s choices.
“Well, that went less than spectacular,” Arthur finally acknowledged.
In response, Angela smiled sadly and placed a tender hand upon his arm. “Give him time, Arthur. Right now, he’s just a boy, but once his abilities manifest, he will understand that everything we’ve done has been for him.”
And Arthur, glancing at the door Peter had so recently exited, replied, “Frankly, darling, I’m not so sure he deserves them anymore.”