? (original) (raw)

title; The Resistance, Part 1 (2/?)
author; Meridian // noveltea (Masterlist)
rating; MA15, Het
fandom; Heroes
characters; Nathan Petrelli/OFC
disclaimer;
summary; Set five years into the future, after the nuclear explosion has occurred, the world is a changed place. Those with special powers are feared and hunted down under the pretension that it is for their own safety. Those who evade capture band together to form the Resistance. Nathan is searching for Peter.
notes; Using the premise of "Five Years Gone", this series will be an alternate universe - a what if - story, focusing on the Petrelli family, as well as several original characters. Nathan is outed as having superhuman abilities prior to the Presidential election and is searching for Peter while hiding from the authorities. (P.S. Lookout for all the references to other fandoms that I throw in!)

The Resistance, Part 1

<< PROLOGUE

The irony of his current situation was not lost on Nathan as he sat in a corner at the bar, in a roadhouse in a small town in Minnesota.

Three months ago he had been a sure bet to win the Presidency, and he had gone and messed up any further chance he had by saving that boy's life. That boy who had been willing to end his own life by jumping off a building. But for all his political dreams, he was not a man without a heart - Peter had seen to that, all those years ago - and as much as he had tried to keep his secret, he knew it would have come out eventually. There was just too much paranoia in the wake of the nuclear explosion in New York.

He had saved a life and ended his political career, and life as a free man, in an instant. He had not even hesitated, and that was what scared him the most. That after everything that had happened, the dream he had been chasing was something that he was not looking for anymore.

Draining the rest of his drink, he set the glass back on the bar top and pushed all those thoughts into the darkest recesses of his mind, where he would not think about them until they snuck back to the forefront of his mind. Right now, he was going to have another drink - make that a double - and try and figure out how he was going to find Peter. His little brother had disappeared a few months after the explosion, taking Claire with him. The last thing Peter had told him was that he would make sure Claire was safe.

He had hoped that his brother might have sent a message, just to tell him that they were safe, but there had been nothing. Now, in a situation foreign to him, Nathan was in the interesting position of trying to figure out exactly where his little brother had holed up in. With all the arrests of 'superhuman' individuals, they had all gone to ground.

One memory kept returning to him, and had done so for the last five years - Simone Devreaux in his office telling him to go public about Peter's special abilities; his special ability. Nathan had never been one for using the phrase, "I told you so," finding it condescending and rude, but it was always the first thing that popped into his mind. Everything that he had feared five years ago was a reality, and reality had far surpassed his imagination and it made him sick to his stomach.

The guy behind the bar - young, in his twenties - returned with his drink, silently accepting the money Nathan slapped on the bar top without a word. Nathan was not in the mood to talk, and had learnt to be careful about making eye contact with other people. Congressman Petrelli had been well-known around the country for his "valiant effort after the destruction in New York," and had gained equal fame for outing himself as superhuman on national television. And one could never be too careful; people were turning in family members to the authorities if they suspected they fit the profile, so they were all too happy to turn in a complete stranger.

He supposed he should have been grateful that there was no television in the roadhouse where he had come to stop. He had not expected to stay as long as he had, but distracted by thoughts of the past, and all the painful memories they stirred up, he had started drinking and he was still responsible enough not to drive when he had had too much to drink. Instead he had been content to sit in the corner and watch the room, locals and drifters alike drinking and talking in their own little groups. There was a young couple on the opposite side of the bar whispering to each other, and an older man drinking on his own - just like Nathan - and muttering to himself.

Time moved at different speeds, he noted, depending on the mood of the individual. Tired, and frustrated at the lack of progress he had made in locating Peter, it was moving far too quickly for Nathan's liking, and now it was darker outside, and there were more people in the roadhouse. It was not full, but the noise level had increased and he turned back in to his own world.

The bartenders changed, and a young woman took a seat at the bar on the same side as Nathan, but she did not give him a second look, instead starting up a conversation with the female behind the bar, who looked barely older than the guy who's shift she had taken over. It was when the woman seated at the bar shifted to look up at the clock on the wall above Nathan's head that he saw what she looked like; short brown hair and blue eyes on pale skin. She was young herself, in her mid-twenties, he hesitated a guess, and dressed far nicer than anyone else in the room, in clean jeans and a pristine white top.

He could have sworn he knew her from somewhere.

He must have been staring, because she flashed him a small, amused smile. "New in town, hm?" she asked, amusement threading through her soft voice.

Startled at having been addressed, he did not respond for a second, before sitting up straighter. He had not shaved in a couple of days, and knew he looked a little worse for wear. "That obvious?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "We get a lot of strangers through here," she said, taking a sip of the drink that had been placed in front of her, with a "thank you" to the girl behind the bar. "Did you know that you're staring?"

The off-hand way she said it surprised him. "I'm, um," he stumbled over the words, "Sorry. I don't mean to, it's just... You look familiar." He realised as he said it that it sounded like the world's worst pick up line. But the longer he looked at her, the more he knew that he had seen her somewhere before, but he just could not put his finger on where. "Have we met before?"

Shifting on the bar stool, she shook her head, no. "I don't believe so," she told him, but there was something puzzling about the look that crossed her face. Almost like she recognised him - which had the potential to be a very bad thing - but could not figure it out.

The glass in his hand was empty again, and he caught the bartender's attention and ordered another one; he was not going to be driving anywhere tonight, that much he knew for sure. Ordering another drink for the woman next time him, he was confused when the girl behind the bar looked at him weirdly, and the woman next to him started laughing. She nodded her head once at the girl behind the bar before addressing Nathan again.

"The drink is on the house," she told him, the same amused smile gracing her face. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes, the kind where one knew something the other person did not.

He put two-and-two together. "You work here?"

"Close," she said, still smiling. "I own the place. Today's my day off."

"And you're still here?"

"I think you'll find there's not much to do in this little town," she told him, and he realised that her accent was familiar. She had spent time in upstate New York.

Their fresh drinks arrived, and Nathan thanked her, about to ask how long she had lived in Minnesota for when the girl behind the bar - Tess - returned with the phone. A brief exchange, and his drinking partner took her leave and disappeared out the back, talking quietly into the phone.

Two hours later he was still sitting at the bar, despite a brief respite to retrieve his jacket from the beat-up ute he had purchased the previous month to 'blend in.' The roadhouse was slowly emptying of customers, but Nathan felt compelled to stay. The woman who looked so familiar to him had not returned, but that only gave him opportunity to think about it, turning her image over and over in his mind.

There was also the matter of attraction that he shoved out of his mind; she had to be half his age, and he had been on his own for five years and unable to form any manner of meaningful relationship while in the public eye. He was only human, and she was attractive.

He ordered another plate of food, surprised at the quality given that it was ordered in a roadhouse. Not that he had ever spent much time visiting roadhouses in his past; for all he knew it was typical of such places. When the woman returned to the bar she was clearly surprised to see him still sitting in the same place.

"Still here, huh?"

Nathan shrugged his shoulders once, as she joined him at the bar again. He asked her the question he had not had the chance to ask her earlier, and found out that she had grown up in upstate New York, that she bought the bar from a friend of hers who had decided that the stationary life was not for her and gone on a road trip with two friends of hers, and that her name was Sam. During the course of their conversation, she sent Tess home and started cleaning up behind the bar.

He had stopped drinking while he ate, and now nursed a glass of cold water, as he caught sight of the time. How he spent the entire night sitting at a bar was beyond him, but for the first time since he had gone into 'hiding,' and for a long time before that, he felt like a normal person. No obligations, other than his own personal welfare, and he could go in any direction he decided.

Then he felt guilty for thinking that way. He had lost his wife, a woman whom he had loved more than anything else in the world, and his two boys. The feelings he felt at their loss, even years later, was palpable, and he knew that they would not lessen anytime soon.

His mood dampened, he left his seat and moved around the now empty roadhouse. He was reluctant to leave, and Sam had not made any mention to him that she wanted him to leave. She went about her business while he wandered aimlessly, unaware that she watched him curiously out of the corner of her eye. The jukebox in the corner had fallen silent earlier, but now he pushed in a couple of quarters from his pocket and punched in a song number. His mood had turned morbid, and he heard the familiar music of Kissing a Fool - the song that Heidi had dubbed theirs - start.

Behind the bar, Sam was restocking the glasses. When he motioned for her to join him in the middle of the room, she hesitated, and he wondered if she would kick him out now. Instead, she joined him - surprising him, and herself he though - and let him lead her around the floor. Her hands were cool in his own warm ones.

They danced the entire song, swaying in time to the music, and he felt the familiar warmth of another body close to his own. He had to focus his thoughts on things other than her body, and the way she smelled of lavender. The song ended all too quickly, and she started to pull away. Gently, Nathan held on to one of her hands, and she would not meet his eyes.

She cleared her throat, and he wondered if it was nervousness. "Not many people who pass through here appreciate the classics," she said.

"One more dance?" He was almost ashamed that he could not quite keep the pleading out of his voice.

Her eyes still did not meet his. "You're married," she told him softly, and he cursed her observance. He still wore his wedding band.

He hesitated a moment, trying to choose the wisest response. He was not sure what he wanted, in all honesty, but he did not want the wrong response to shut off any possibility.

"My wife..." The words caught in his throat and he stopped. Clearly his throat, he tried again. "She died."

The harsh reality that those words dealt him was what he deserved, he had decided after the explosion - he should have been able to stop the explosion; he had known it was going to happen, and he should have been able to prevent it. Instead he had done nothing, and payed the ultimate price for it.

Some of the tension he had not realised she had been carrying in her face faded away, replaced by a sympathetic sadness. "I'm sorry," she said softly, and she sounded like she meant it. She did not stop him when Nathan pulled her back around as another song started to play. He pressed his luck and pulled her closer.

When she rested her head against his chest he wondered if there was something more to Sam than just being a nice roadhouse owner humouring an older, miserable man.

His fingers played over her left hand, tracing the ring that she wore. "What would your fiancé say?" he asked, not sure if he really wanted an answer. He had seen the ring earlier, beautiful in its simplicity, a plain silver band with a blue stone the same colour as her eyes. In his arms, he felt her tense.

Looking up at him, she saw his own pain mirrored in her eyes. "Sometimes we do things to protect the ones we love," she said, voice barely above a whisper. Unbidden, she added, "I'd do anything to be with Tony now, but I can't. Things aren't that simple anymore."

That was when she let go, moving away from Nathan. "I don't even know you're name," she said, once she was safely back behind the bar. "Normally I'm much better at remembering to get the little details."

He was practiced at this now, and did not hesitate, or flinch when giving a name that was not his. "Thomas," he told her, before correcting, "Tom."

She watched him for a moment, features creased as she thought about that, as if sizing him up. "You don't look like a Tom, or a Thomas," she told him. He could see that she did not think the name fit, but she waved it off. "Never mind. Where are you staying in town, Tom?"

He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans - and this was a new thing for him; he had not worn jeans since his teenage years. Even on the weekends he had always been dressed nicely, with no jeans in sight. Now he was wearing jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt, of all things. If his mother could see him now she would have taken one look at him and given him a lecture on public image. As much as he loved her, she was a demanding woman and scary, too, when she wanted to be. Even her grown-up sons were wary of her, and that was just on the good days. But now he was in hiding, and wearing casual clothes, and caught between whether it was appropriate to flirt with a woman at a bar or not.

His pause between answering her and opening his mouth to say something was apparently all the answer she needed. "Right. So, nowhere, huh? Well, if you need a place to stay the night you can stay here." She caught one look at the expression on his face and added, "In the spare bedroom out the back."

"Do you always invite strange men you don't know to stay over?"

She did not even blink. "All the time." She finished packing up the bar and checked the lock on the door. "Look, I'm not defenseless, if that's what you're implying. And occasionally we get people coming through here who get caught up for one reason or another who need a roof over their heads for one night. If I thought you were a mass murdering psychopath you wouldn't still be here. Do you need the room, or not?"

He did blink, finding her bluntness almost funny. "But how do you know that I'm not a mass-murdering psychopath?"

"I'm an excellent judge of character." The shadow that crossed her face, hardening her eyes, made him think there was another reason. He also suspected she would not give him that reason, even if he asked. Instead, he managed a graceful, "Thank you."

Nodding her head once, Sam motioned for him to follow her to the back of the roadhouse, which connected to a small apartment. Her home, apparently. It was about as different from the interior of the roadhouse as he could imagine. Where the bar had been rough and worn-in, the apartment was modern and comfortable and warm. It had been done up recently, from the smell of fresh paint.

She stopped suddenly, and only well-honed observance stopped Nathan from walking into her back. She had not expected him to be standing so close when she turned around and her breath hitched, and there was - for a second - a longing in her eyes. She turned around again and pointed out the spare bedroom. "I'm up early, so don't be surprised if you're woken up by noises outside the room," she warned.

"You really let strangers sleep here all the time?" He could not believe that any sensible young woman would do that, and still feel safe.

"Yeah, I do," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Of course, they're a certain type of stranger, usually."

"Oh?"

"I haven't made my mind up about you yet, Tom," she added, and it answered his unasked question. "You're something of a mystery, I daresay."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Frowning slightly, she looked him over again. "For one, you think you know me from somewhere, and I do think you look familiar, but I can't place you from anywhere in my past. Second of all, you wear the clothes of a drifter, but you don't look comfortable in what you're wearing." She tugged at the edges of his jacket, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Third, you're running from something, but I can't tell if it's your past or yourself who you're trying to escape."

His mouth was dry, but he managed a reply. "Actually, I'm looking for someone."

Her eyes asked the silent question: Who?

"My brother," he told her, seeing no reason not to. "I lost track of him, and now I need to find him."

From behind dark eyelashes she watched him curiously, assessing him based on a scorecard he could not see. Finally she nodded her head. Reiterating where the spare bedroom was, she also pointed out the bathroom and the kitchen. Finally, she turned and said, "Good night, Tom."

"Sam."

She had started to move away, towards her own room, when his voice stopped her. Curious, she turned around and waited for him to continue. It was not words that followed, but a kiss that caught her off-guard and made her reach out to him to steady herself; one of his own slipped around her waist and pulled her closer. He had not expected her to return the kiss, but she did, and she tasted like peppermint. She pulled away first, and they were both breathing heavily, but she still held on to him as though afraid her knees would give way beneath her. It took her a moment to catch her breath and fought his own arousal.

When she disentangled their limbs gracefully, he knew he had his answer, though he knew it was propriety rather than non-interest on her part. If she had not have been interested she would not have kissed him back; not like that. Before moving away, she kissed his cheek, a mere whisper of what had just transpired.

"Good night." She walked away and did not look back.

It took sleep a long time to overtake Nathan.

PART TWO>>