[Fic] Heroes - Argus 7/13
Title: Argus 7/13 - Senator Nathan Petrelli Refuses Dessert / Senator Nathan Petrelli vs. Snoopy
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: None
Words: 1,757
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Warning: Character death & implied character death. But death isn't always as final as it might seem.
Spoilers: Up to the end of season three. The story takes place between seasons three and four.
Summary: Sylar the cockroach becomes Sylar the planarian when his cell regeneration ability evolves.
Author's Notes: A HUGE thank you to luckykitty for the beta!
Argus Illustration
[ All Parts to date]
Senator Nathan Petrelli Refuses Dessert
Lunch with my mother is an opportunity for her to exercise maternal control. Today she has ordered an appetizer of butternut squash soup with crème fraiche and bruschetta topped with chèvre. It is a delicious combination, even if it does mix French and Italian cuisine. I would have paired the bruschetta with something more traditional and expected, such as a small tomato salad.
So often when I feel I should chafe under her thumb she proves it is worth it for me to endure. Her ordering a delicious meal or steering me towards a successful career; is there really much of a difference between the two? She is a prophetess unfettered by morals and the consideration of those outside her immediate family. A woman like her can raise a man up on high or cast him into the pits.
“Nathan,” she says after our entree has been delivered. She has ordered grilled quail for herself and a medium rare steak for me. “We have a problem.”
“Oh?” The steak is delicious. It’s warmed through but still pale pink and the outside is seared so the small bit of fat clinging to it is crispy and hot. They’ve served it with a pat of herbed butter melting on top. I use a forkful of mashed potato to sop up the steak juice that has coloured my plate pink with diluted blood.
“Sylar is alive, Nathan.”
“Did you dream this, Mom?” My mother has prophetic dreams but they aren’t very accurate. She may have seen Sylar in a dream but that doesn’t mean it was Sylar or that he is even alive. “Or do you have some sort of proof?”
“He contacted Noah earlier today.” She continues eating as if they were discussing something as innocuous as the weather instead of the world’s deadliest serial killer. “He says the power he stole from Claire has mutated and now he is... replicating. We don’t know how many Sylars are out there.”
“We saw his body burn.” I want to spit the mouthful of meat out the moment it touches my tongue. It’s not bloody enough to suit the sudden shift in my mood. A dozen Sylars? I should be terrified but, instead, I’m murderously angry.
She notices my anger as she's my mother and is sensitive to my emotions. I see her lips purse. She puts her fork down quickly and pats her napkin to her mouth; she isn't quick enough to hide how her hands have suddenly started to shake. "Nathan, I-"
I cut her off. “Wonderful." There is a growl in my voice I cannot be bothered to hide. "I’ve just spent the last few weeks convincing the president the threat of specials with abilities was exaggerated and now you tell me we’re in more trouble now than we were.”
“Noah is aware of the situation." She says this like I should be reassured. "He is using Company resources to track down and eradicate the duplicates but he may need... additional support.”
“Of course he will, this is Sylar we're talking about. Is an army enough? Should I order a nuclear strike? Oh, wait, that won't stop him for long.” What else can I say? Sylar's immortal and now he's also legion. I try to ignore the impulse that suddenly seizes me; I want to be up and moving... hunting.
She smiles at me but her lips are tight and her smile lacks mirth. "Don't be so melodramatic, Nathan. The Company has mobilized to deal with this threat, we just might need additional weapons, materials, or manpower."
Her confidence makes me grit my teeth. For some reason I feel underestimated. I toss my napkin onto the remains of my meal. “I’m finished here.”
“Nathan." She reaches out and places her hand on mine. I want to pull my hand away but I force myself to remain still. “You’ve always been my favourite son.”
She’s said that to me my entire life. Recently, when she says it, the air shakes around us and deep in my gut I know she's not telling me the whole truth. I don’t know how I know that but it's connected; and my mother isn’t the only ally I have who regularly lies to me. “I know, Ma.” I stand and she clings to my hand like this is the last time she’s going to see me. “I need to... go for a walk. This is a lot to take in.
”
“Stay, I ordered you chocolate cheesecake for dessert.” She’s pleading with a desperation that makes me uncomfortable. I can’t meet her eyes as I yank my hand out of her grasp.
“I don’t like cheesecake,” I say. And while I can remember eating it on many occasions I’m aware that these days I don’t care for it at all. Like the pleasure I used to derive from the sweet but tangy dessert was something I was told I felt, rather than something I felt for myself. “I’ll be fine, Mom. It's just a walk.”
She may be a prophetess and advisor but I am king. And, because I am the one with the power, she can’t stop me from walking out the door.
Senator Nathan Petrelli vs. Snoopy
I don't know why I woke up, naked, in an empty apartment in Washington, D.C..
I was unharmed but with no recollection as to how I got there. I suspect Noah Bennett and his mysterious, mind-wiping partner had something to do with it. But even with my ability I can't piece together what his motivation might have been. The Noah Bennett I know would have made sure I stayed dead.
With no clues presenting themselves I decided to find the most high-profile special I know to be connected to Bennett, on the basis he should be easy to find, and beat some answers out of him.
I’ve been shadowing Nathan Petrelli for weeks, biding my time, learning his routine. Only, it isn’t so much his routine as it is the routine he’s pushed into by his handlers. His family and friends seem to control every moment of his day and when they aren’t present trusted personnel keep him on task.
Most people would assume this is a well-oiled political machine in action. Most people don’t understand machines the way I do.
He’s out having lunch with his mother. Their lunch date is part of the routine and happens every week regardless of any other issues that might need his attention. They leave around one and she walks him back to the office a respectable hour and a half later. I’m using this scheduled opportunity to rifle through his office.
He keeps his office neat. Papers are squared up in piles and those piles are squared to the corners of his desk. Pens and pencils are put back where they were found instead of lying scattered over his work surface. This sort of order is at odds with a man who has such a messy past.
Because I am who I am, a watchmaker despite all attempts to shed that part of myself, I also notice the clocks. He has half a dozen free-standing clocks on his desk, lined up as if for inspection. Nowhere in his office except the one on his computer, presumably, are there digital clocks. Every clock is analog and running by clockwork, not electricity. I hadn’t thought I shared that passion with Nathan Petrelli. It's a confusing connection.
Thanks to Angela Petrelli I can gain more insight than is limited by the five, basic senses. I sit in Nathan’s desk chair and run my fingers over the ostentatiously distressed leather and let the memories it has absorbed filter through my thoughts.
I see Nathan with crackling electricity dancing in his hands, knowing when he is being lied to, turning his pen to gold... It appears Nathan and Peter can both empathically mimic powers. Does this show a strong hereditary component to how abilities manifest? I'm sure Dr. Suresh, either one, would have been interested in the Petrellis. But there is something more to this. Nathan and I share more than an interest in analog clocks, we also seem to share the same set of powers.
Did Nathan copy my powers, have The Haitian wipe my memories, then drop me naked in an empty apartment?
It does have a certain, brutal, charm. But why take my clothes? Why not kill me? And how is he controlling the urge to kill specials if he has my ability? I'm missing a vital piece of the puzzle.
"Hold all my calls, Nancy." Nathan's voice precedes him and he's twenty minutes early. In my weeks of observation he has never returned to the office this early. Something is off. I slip into the private bathroom - of course a man of his power would have his own facilities - and keep an eye on the room through the crack of the bathroom door.
Nathan closes the office door quietly but he stands there, not moving, glowering at the room and I can feel rage and aggression pouring off him. His breath is harsh and ragged. Sweat stands prominently on his brow. Something about him is irresistible to me.
Maybe it is time for some answers.
"Senator Petrelli." I step into the office and let my voice fill the room with menacing intent. "I have some questions for-" I suddenly find myself slammed against the ceiling followed quickly by a telekinetic punch to the gut that expels all the air from my lungs and makes stars dance in my vision. He's a quick study of my abilities to have this level of control so quickly. Or is it something else?
This is a move I used on Mohinder, once, a long time ago.
He steps slowly until he's directly beneath me. He looks up with murder in his eyes.
"You're not Sylar," he growls. The pressure against my diaphragm increases and I can't get a breath in to reply to him. "You're a duplicate, a clone regenerated from a cast-off piece of the original."
I feel my finger tips suddenly go numb and grow heavy. I struggle to look at them and see he's turned them to gold. I fight against his telekinetic hold but my extremities are already growing numb and heavy. I don't think I can heal from this.
His last words to me make me see red before it all fades to black, "You're not special."
-------
[ All Parts to date]
On to part 8
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: None
Words: 1,757
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Warning: Character death & implied character death. But death isn't always as final as it might seem.
Spoilers: Up to the end of season three. The story takes place between seasons three and four.
Summary: Sylar the cockroach becomes Sylar the planarian when his cell regeneration ability evolves.
Author's Notes: A HUGE thank you to luckykitty for the beta!
Argus Illustration
[ All Parts to date]
Senator Nathan Petrelli Refuses Dessert
Lunch with my mother is an opportunity for her to exercise maternal control. Today she has ordered an appetizer of butternut squash soup with crème fraiche and bruschetta topped with chèvre. It is a delicious combination, even if it does mix French and Italian cuisine. I would have paired the bruschetta with something more traditional and expected, such as a small tomato salad.
So often when I feel I should chafe under her thumb she proves it is worth it for me to endure. Her ordering a delicious meal or steering me towards a successful career; is there really much of a difference between the two? She is a prophetess unfettered by morals and the consideration of those outside her immediate family. A woman like her can raise a man up on high or cast him into the pits.
“Nathan,” she says after our entree has been delivered. She has ordered grilled quail for herself and a medium rare steak for me. “We have a problem.”
“Oh?” The steak is delicious. It’s warmed through but still pale pink and the outside is seared so the small bit of fat clinging to it is crispy and hot. They’ve served it with a pat of herbed butter melting on top. I use a forkful of mashed potato to sop up the steak juice that has coloured my plate pink with diluted blood.
“Sylar is alive, Nathan.”
“Did you dream this, Mom?” My mother has prophetic dreams but they aren’t very accurate. She may have seen Sylar in a dream but that doesn’t mean it was Sylar or that he is even alive. “Or do you have some sort of proof?”
“He contacted Noah earlier today.” She continues eating as if they were discussing something as innocuous as the weather instead of the world’s deadliest serial killer. “He says the power he stole from Claire has mutated and now he is... replicating. We don’t know how many Sylars are out there.”
“We saw his body burn.” I want to spit the mouthful of meat out the moment it touches my tongue. It’s not bloody enough to suit the sudden shift in my mood. A dozen Sylars? I should be terrified but, instead, I’m murderously angry.
She notices my anger as she's my mother and is sensitive to my emotions. I see her lips purse. She puts her fork down quickly and pats her napkin to her mouth; she isn't quick enough to hide how her hands have suddenly started to shake. "Nathan, I-"
I cut her off. “Wonderful." There is a growl in my voice I cannot be bothered to hide. "I’ve just spent the last few weeks convincing the president the threat of specials with abilities was exaggerated and now you tell me we’re in more trouble now than we were.”
“Noah is aware of the situation." She says this like I should be reassured. "He is using Company resources to track down and eradicate the duplicates but he may need... additional support.”
“Of course he will, this is Sylar we're talking about. Is an army enough? Should I order a nuclear strike? Oh, wait, that won't stop him for long.” What else can I say? Sylar's immortal and now he's also legion. I try to ignore the impulse that suddenly seizes me; I want to be up and moving... hunting.
She smiles at me but her lips are tight and her smile lacks mirth. "Don't be so melodramatic, Nathan. The Company has mobilized to deal with this threat, we just might need additional weapons, materials, or manpower."
Her confidence makes me grit my teeth. For some reason I feel underestimated. I toss my napkin onto the remains of my meal. “I’m finished here.”
“Nathan." She reaches out and places her hand on mine. I want to pull my hand away but I force myself to remain still. “You’ve always been my favourite son.”
She’s said that to me my entire life. Recently, when she says it, the air shakes around us and deep in my gut I know she's not telling me the whole truth. I don’t know how I know that but it's connected; and my mother isn’t the only ally I have who regularly lies to me. “I know, Ma.” I stand and she clings to my hand like this is the last time she’s going to see me. “I need to... go for a walk. This is a lot to take in.
”
“Stay, I ordered you chocolate cheesecake for dessert.” She’s pleading with a desperation that makes me uncomfortable. I can’t meet her eyes as I yank my hand out of her grasp.
“I don’t like cheesecake,” I say. And while I can remember eating it on many occasions I’m aware that these days I don’t care for it at all. Like the pleasure I used to derive from the sweet but tangy dessert was something I was told I felt, rather than something I felt for myself. “I’ll be fine, Mom. It's just a walk.”
She may be a prophetess and advisor but I am king. And, because I am the one with the power, she can’t stop me from walking out the door.
Senator Nathan Petrelli vs. Snoopy
I don't know why I woke up, naked, in an empty apartment in Washington, D.C..
I was unharmed but with no recollection as to how I got there. I suspect Noah Bennett and his mysterious, mind-wiping partner had something to do with it. But even with my ability I can't piece together what his motivation might have been. The Noah Bennett I know would have made sure I stayed dead.
With no clues presenting themselves I decided to find the most high-profile special I know to be connected to Bennett, on the basis he should be easy to find, and beat some answers out of him.
I’ve been shadowing Nathan Petrelli for weeks, biding my time, learning his routine. Only, it isn’t so much his routine as it is the routine he’s pushed into by his handlers. His family and friends seem to control every moment of his day and when they aren’t present trusted personnel keep him on task.
Most people would assume this is a well-oiled political machine in action. Most people don’t understand machines the way I do.
He’s out having lunch with his mother. Their lunch date is part of the routine and happens every week regardless of any other issues that might need his attention. They leave around one and she walks him back to the office a respectable hour and a half later. I’m using this scheduled opportunity to rifle through his office.
He keeps his office neat. Papers are squared up in piles and those piles are squared to the corners of his desk. Pens and pencils are put back where they were found instead of lying scattered over his work surface. This sort of order is at odds with a man who has such a messy past.
Because I am who I am, a watchmaker despite all attempts to shed that part of myself, I also notice the clocks. He has half a dozen free-standing clocks on his desk, lined up as if for inspection. Nowhere in his office except the one on his computer, presumably, are there digital clocks. Every clock is analog and running by clockwork, not electricity. I hadn’t thought I shared that passion with Nathan Petrelli. It's a confusing connection.
Thanks to Angela Petrelli I can gain more insight than is limited by the five, basic senses. I sit in Nathan’s desk chair and run my fingers over the ostentatiously distressed leather and let the memories it has absorbed filter through my thoughts.
I see Nathan with crackling electricity dancing in his hands, knowing when he is being lied to, turning his pen to gold... It appears Nathan and Peter can both empathically mimic powers. Does this show a strong hereditary component to how abilities manifest? I'm sure Dr. Suresh, either one, would have been interested in the Petrellis. But there is something more to this. Nathan and I share more than an interest in analog clocks, we also seem to share the same set of powers.
Did Nathan copy my powers, have The Haitian wipe my memories, then drop me naked in an empty apartment?
It does have a certain, brutal, charm. But why take my clothes? Why not kill me? And how is he controlling the urge to kill specials if he has my ability? I'm missing a vital piece of the puzzle.
"Hold all my calls, Nancy." Nathan's voice precedes him and he's twenty minutes early. In my weeks of observation he has never returned to the office this early. Something is off. I slip into the private bathroom - of course a man of his power would have his own facilities - and keep an eye on the room through the crack of the bathroom door.
Nathan closes the office door quietly but he stands there, not moving, glowering at the room and I can feel rage and aggression pouring off him. His breath is harsh and ragged. Sweat stands prominently on his brow. Something about him is irresistible to me.
Maybe it is time for some answers.
"Senator Petrelli." I step into the office and let my voice fill the room with menacing intent. "I have some questions for-" I suddenly find myself slammed against the ceiling followed quickly by a telekinetic punch to the gut that expels all the air from my lungs and makes stars dance in my vision. He's a quick study of my abilities to have this level of control so quickly. Or is it something else?
This is a move I used on Mohinder, once, a long time ago.
He steps slowly until he's directly beneath me. He looks up with murder in his eyes.
"You're not Sylar," he growls. The pressure against my diaphragm increases and I can't get a breath in to reply to him. "You're a duplicate, a clone regenerated from a cast-off piece of the original."
I feel my finger tips suddenly go numb and grow heavy. I struggle to look at them and see he's turned them to gold. I fight against his telekinetic hold but my extremities are already growing numb and heavy. I don't think I can heal from this.
His last words to me make me see red before it all fades to black, "You're not special."
-------
[ All Parts to date]
On to part 8