Nathan dashed across the lobby of the Klegberg County courthouse, calling, "Hey, hold the--"
But the man in the elevator just gave him a look and pointedly hit the door close button.
"Damn," Nathan muttered. "So much for Southern hospitality."
He hit the "up" button and waited, trying not to tap his foot and and peering down at the envelope in his hand. Something about residency in the county and voter something. His commanding officer had looked at it and shrugged. "Dunno, son. Normally the Navy gets this all sorted out ahead of time. Guess you'd better go find out what's going on."
So here he was, wasting his first evening off from Flight Training in some Texas office building. Great.
The elevator dinged and the doors rumbled open. He stepped on and turned around, just in time to see a girl crossing the lobby. Pointedly, he reached out and held the doors for her. She hurried in, brushing past him, touching her hair and saying, "Thanks! Thanks, I'm having a week like you wouldn't believe, honey."
She smelled like artificial, yet pleasant, flowers. It wasn't entirely chivarly that motivated him. "What floor?"
"Three," she said.
"Same as me," he answered, giving her a grin.
She smiled back, though her smile wavered, as she said, "Hope it's not the same reason."
"That doesn't sound--"
The elevator shuddered to a halt. The doors did not open.
"Oh, no," Nathan said. "Only elevator in a hundred miles and I get stuck in it? I don't believe this."
"What are the odds? Guess I infected you with my luck," the girl said, sounding resigned.
Nathan pulled out the emergency phone and the operator answered on the first ring. "Yeah," he said, before Nathan could say anything, "We see y'all are stuck. Give us a few and we'll see if we can get 'er moving."
Nathan hung up. "They say it'll be a couple minutes."
"Ah, well. It's a break, I guess," she said, pulling a compact out of her purse and flipping it open. Nathan watched her out of the corner of his eye as she dabbed something on her nose and cheeks. He supposed there could be worse fates than being stranded in an elevator with a pretty girl.
"So, what's your name?" he said.
"Oh," she said, putting the compact away, and holding out her hand. "Meredith. Meredith Gordon."
He took her hand, giving it a firm, quick shake like he'd been taught. She seemed a little startled. "Nathan Petrelli," he said.
"Petrelli, huh? What is that?"
"Italian," he said.
"Oh, sure. You here on base, I guess? Where're you from, originally?"
"Yeah, here for flight training. Born and raised in New York City."
"Oh, wow," she said. "Biggest city I've ever been in is Corpus Christi." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "Been here my whole life."
"It seems nice," he lied, politely. Hell, Pensacola had been better, even with the humidity and the bugs as big as his hand.
The elevator didn't move.
***
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting with their backs to the back wall.
Nathan was going through his wallet, picking out the receipts and tickets and other detritus that seemed to breed in there when he wasn't looking.
"Who's he?" the girl said, abruptly. Nathan looked up, and she nodded at his wallet. "The little boy, I mean. He's cute."
Nathan smiled and pulled the wallet-sized school portraite out of the trasparent pocket that held it, handing it over to her. "That's Peter, my little brother. It's an old picture, he's ten now. I think he's eight there."
She smiled at it, "Aw, isn't he precious?" She handed it back and said, "You like kids, then?"
He shrugged, slipping the picture back into the safety of the plastic and taking a moment to examine Peter's gap-toothed grin and tamp down the surge of longing he felt every time he realized how long it had been since he'd last seen Peter or how long it would be until he saw him again. Peter was the only thing he ever felt homesick for. "Well, I like Peter. Haven't had much call to be around kids other than him, really."
"Oh, right," she said.
They were silent again for awhile after that. Nathan continued cleaning out his wallet and the girl rustled through her purse and fiddled with her nails.
"Welfare," she said, suddenly.
He glanced at her.
"That's what I'm here for. Lost my job."
"Sorry to hear that," he said.
"It was so strange, though. Boss just called me to the back and says, hey, you don't work here anymore. I don't get it. I just got a raise and all. Two years I was there, at that same diner."
"That's rough," he said.
"Yeah, no kidding. And that on top of my no-good excuse for a fiance leavin' me just two days before. Bastard."
He gave her a closer look. She looked more pissed off than depressed, which he found himself rather admiring. "You are having a bad week," he said.
She waved her hand. "Oh, enough about me. So, did you just get down here?"
"Yeah, first week."
"You liking it?" she said.
"Yeah, sure. We haven't really flown anything yet."
"You all are officers, right?" she said.
She was looking at him more closely now.
"Yeah," he said, trying to subtly turn to show off his bar. "I just graduated the Academy a couple months ago. Fifth in my class," he added, because why the hell not? She looked interested and maybe he could salvage his day off after all.
"Wow," she said, shifting a notch closer. "You must be smart. I bet your girlfriend's real glad to have you."
He chuckled. "No girlfriend. Nothing like that, right now."
"No way!" she said, inching even closer. "Handsome, smart guy like you?"
He shrugged. "I've been moving around a lot recently."
"Well, then," she said, and now she was up against his side. "Someone's just gonna have to show you around and make you feel at home here, huh?"
"That would be great," he said. He checked his watch. "And... it's just now passed five. Looks like we're not gonna get a chance to do whatever it is we were here for, so... dinner? On me, of course, in exchange for a tour."
She smiled bright as Texas sunshine. "You've got yourself a deal, handsome."
***
The tour ended up consisting of a diner (not the one that Meredith had worked at), a local drug store, and a local motel. Nathan thought that worked out just fine.
He tossed the drug store bag in the general direction of the bed as he tugged her up against him with his other arm. She went willingly, with a happy sigh, relaxing against him and wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him down into a kiss. She tasted like the vanilla shake they'd shared.
"Mmm," he commented. She agreed with a similar hum, then tugged on him, pulling him a step or two closer to the bed.
"In a hurry?" he said, smiling between their lips.
"Maybe a bit," she said. Her hands ran down and up his back, then paused, massaging the muscles at his neck. "Oh, I love you Navy boys," she said, with breathless enthusiasm.
Nathan laughed, a full-bodied laugh, and Meredith joined in after a moment, leaving them both hanging onto each other, her forehead on his chest, his on her shoulder. He kissed her throat once he'd gotten ahold of himself, and whispered, "I love a woman who knows what she wants."
"I want you, baby," she said, with a nudge of her hips.
He slid his hands up her sides and around her back, loving her slim, feminine form. He found the zipper of her dress and tugged it down, and she shrugged her shoulders and let it fall. He didn't stop kissing her as he moved one hand to the small of her back, holding her against him, and pushed the other one between them, finding her breast, clad in a soft, cotton bra.
She was perfect, hitting that constant, low craving spot-on and briefly soothing it. Small and slender and yeilding in his arms.
They reached the bed and she sat down on it, scooting into the center, and he smiled to see her bra didn't match her panties. He loved that, somehow: the spontaneity it implied, the reality of it.
He stripped down to his boxers quickly, knowing he'd be doing some ironing tomorrow and not caring, and crawled onto the bed, over her, gently forcing her down onto her back with his body. She smiled up at him the whole time, and rocked her hips up against his when he let himself come to rest on top of her.
He started to slide down, but she caught his arm and stopped him. "No, baby. Not now. I just want it."
He covered his small groan of disappointment with a kiss and then leaned over the side of the bed, feeling around until his fingertips found the crinkly plastic of the drug store bag. By the time he returned to the center of the bed, she had her bra off. He dumped the condom box out onto the comforter and ducked his head down, nuzzling at the soft skin on the outside of her breast, then turning his head slightly and running his tongue around her nipple, feeling it tense and harden under the caress and feeling his cock harden as though in sympathy.
She made some soft sound and buried one hand in his hair, holding him in place, not that he'd had any plans on moving for the time being. He nuzzled and licked as he listened to her fumble one-handed with the condom box.
"Jesus," she said, "Aren't you naked yet?"
"Mmph," he said, moving unwillingly away from her chest long enough to kneel and push his boxers down around his knees. "Satisfied?" he said.
She was looking southward approvingly. "A-plus, hotshot," she said. "Com'ere, let me suit you up."
He did and she did, stroking him a couple times for good measure, then she wriggled out of her underwear beneath him and tilted her hips smiling up at him invitingly.
He shuddered as he slid inside her, and she groaned, "Oh, yeah," echoing his thoughts.
***
After, Nathan reached down to peel off the sticky condom and his post-coital bliss died in an instant.
"Shit," he said, peering at the split in the latex.
"Mmph," Meredith said, snuggling up to him and pressing her face to his bare chest. "What, handsome?"
"Condom broke," he said, leaning over her to drop in in the wastebasket beside the hotel bed.
Meredith just waved her hand vaugely, nuzzling his shoulder. "Ah, it's ok. What're the odds, baby?"
He cupped her breast in his hand and smiled. He was beginning to think he was going to like Kingsville, Texas after all.
***
Two weeks later, the third time he'd ever seen her, she said, "I'm pregnant."
He just stared at her. He couldn't even think what to say. He couldn't even quite comprehend the words.
"Nathan! Are you even listening?"
"Of course I'm--Oh my god," he said. "You can't be--"
"Two tests says I am," she said.
His mind briefly stopped stumbling in circles long enough to settle, grasping desperately, on a possible solution. "Look, I've got plenty of money, we could--I could--I mean, I can afford--" He couldn't actually bring himself to say the word 'abortion,' however.
"No!" Meredith hissed at him. "Are you crazy? I'm not murdering our baby!"
"It's not--" But no, now was not the time for that debate. "Mere, we can't... I can't... this is insane."
Meredith leaned in closer, her eyes sharp and hard. "No, what's insane would be you not stepping up and taking your manly responsibility here, for what you've done."
"What I've done?" Nathan realized he was yelping and yanked his voice down an octave and a few decibles. "I seem to recall we were both there in that motel room, and it was the condom that failed at its manly responsibility, not me."
Meredith barked a harsh laugh. "Oh, great. Just great. You seemed like such an nice man and now look at you." She looked away suddenly and he could suddenly see the tears standing in her eyes. "What'm I supposed to do, Nathan? I don't have family, I don't have a husband. What'm I supposed to do?"
He'd buried his face in his hands, mind still reeling. "I don't know. I don't know. I just--I need to think about this, ok? I need to think." He stood abruptly. "Just... just give me a week, ok? Let me think."
She gasped a sob as he walked away.
***
"Come home. Now," his mother had said, and so, she being his mother, he had. He'd plead family emergency and left base and gone home, and now here he was in the sitting room with his mother looking at him like he was a small child who had just broken a very expensive lamp.
"You will end things with this woman. You will not see her again. Your involvement with the child, should it be born at all, will be limited to monetary support."
"Ma," he said, but he couldn't think quite what he meant to follow that up with. He hadn't slept in two days, had been thinking so much that now nothing was making sense anymore. He was sitting on the nice velvet couch almost wavering from exhaustion while Ma stood over him.
"Ma," he said again, "I'm this baby's father. I owe it--"
"You owe nothing, Nathan. You offered to make things right, the girl refused, so now it is in her hands."
He scrubbed his face with both hands, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes and noticing how thick his stubble had gotten. He couldn't remember when he'd last shaved.
"She doesn't have a job," he said. "She was fired, she doesn't have a family, she doesn't have any money, any support." He paused, lingering over the next bit, terrified in a way he'd never really felt before of what his mother was going to do to him. "She's--she's eighteen. She's just a kid."
"Oh, Nathan," Ma said. "You really do know how to fuck up, don't you?"
"Jesus, Ma!" he said. "I didn't know, ok? She seemed older." A sudden, weak protest rose up in him, battling against the guilt and self-loathing. "And why is everyone acting like this is all my fault, anyway? It was an accident."
"Oh, yes, of course," Ma said, sharply. "You tripped and your penis accidentally ended up in her vagina. Of course."
Nathan just stared at her, utterly at a loss for words. She stared back for a moment, then quirked her brow and walked over to a side table, picking up a manila envelope and returning to hand it to him. He took it and pulled out the papers inside.
"A friend of your father's drew that up for us. It covers child support, a few stipulations about the raising of the child, and the non-involvement of you in the child's life."
He skimmed through the legalese, picturing Meredith trying to parse it. It was almost second nature to him, since his father had had him proof-reading legal documents ever since he'd started learning grammar, but Meredith--he wasn't even sure she'd graduated high school. He could explain it to her, but in her position, he couldn't imagine that he'd be willing to trust him.
He noted that the section describing the thousand dollar a month child support payments was written in much plainer terms. He doubted that was an accident. It was the bait, after all. They'd want to make it easy to understand, put the focus right there, so she'd miss until it was too late the sections about not making any attempt to contact him, not revealing his identity to anyone, including--including--the child, not allowing the child to seek him out, and...
"Christ, Ma, she's never gonna go for this. She's Methodist, for crying out loud. No way is she going to raise the baby Catholic."
Ma seemed unconcerned. "It's not negotiable. Our family is Catholic, has always been, and our children will be raised that way."
Nathan stood up, glaring at her. "I thought this wasn't my child."
Ma just stared him down with a calm look that said her logic trumped his and that was a fact of the universe that was as immutable as gravity, so he might as well get used to it. Then, she said, "If she balks, offer her the alternative contract which ups the monthly support to fifteen hundred. I suspect that will make her see the light, so to speak. One thing I can tell about her already is she's the pragmatic sort. Just as I thought you were."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he caught the subtext. "You think she did this on purpose."
"She'd hardly be the first, Nathan. And you said yourself she's in a difficult position right now. She may have thought she'd found a way out."
"The condom broke," he said, although he couldn't quite make his voice sound confident. "It was just bad luck."
Ma's brow crept up again, but she didn't say anything.
He dropped back down on the couch, landing in a sprawl, staring down at the contract he held in both hands. I'm signing my baby away. I'm selling my child. I'm selling my soul, he thought.
As though in response, Ma said, "Don't be melodramatic, Nathan. You barely know this girl, you won't know this child, you're nothing but the name that will be on the birth certificate." She sat down beside him as he continued to stare down at the text, though it blurred to the point of meaninglessness. "She'll move on with her life, she'll find someone appropriate, and they'll build a life together, and the child will be fine." She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "But if you stay with her, if you take on this responsibility... your life would be over, Nathan. Everything you've been working for since you were a baby would be gone, like that. You'd live out your life in some dusty military town in Texas or... Alabama, with a wife who wouldn't even be able to understand your world, much less live in it. You'd miss out on law school, on politics. It would be the wrong choice, Nathan. You know it, deep down."
He slipped the contract back into the envelope and said, "Yeah," softly. "I know, Ma."
She pulled him closer and kissed his temple, then said, "I'm sorry, Nathan. I know this can't be easy for you. But in time, you'll know it was for the best."
He looked at her, looking back at him with her hand still lightly on his shoulder, and there was genuine sympathy in her eyes.
"Too bad Peter's not here," he said, though it may have seemed a nonsequitor. Peter was off in the Poconos for the weekend with their father.
"He doesn't need to know--"
"I know. I know that. It just would have been nice to see him."
Ma smiled tightly, and said, "Of course."
***
Meredith hung back as he unlocked the door to the motel room. "I don't understand why--"
"Sorry," Nathan said. "I just wanted to do this in private." He glanced at her and felt sick to see real fear in her eyes. Did he really seem like that kind of guy? That horrified him. He stepped closer and cupped her cheek in his hand, turning her eyes up to his. "Mere... I just want to talk. I promise."
She reached up and covered his hand with hers. "I don't even really know you," she said, and he felt a moment of rage towards Ma, for what she'd implied this girl had done. Right now, Meredith was no schemeing heredin, she was a frightened kid in a terrifying spot with no one to turn to, and he was about to abandon her.
It's for the best. For both of us, eventually, he told himself.
He let his hand drop and walked into the room, going to the window to pull the blinds open wide, and then sitting down at the small table by the window, in the chair farther from the door. He raised his brows at her, putting both hands flat on the table top.
She came in, shutting the door behind her but not throwing the deadbolt, and took the chair opposite him. She tucked her hands down around her stomach, as though shielding the tiny thing growing inside.
"So, talk," she said.
He reached into his pocket, with a brief flicker of concern that she'd think he was going for a gun, and pulled out the folded contract from his pocket. He unfolded it and laid it on the table.
"This is what I can offer you," he said.
She picked it up and looked at it for a moment or two, then put it down and looked at him. "I don't understand. What is this?"
"A contract. It says--Basically, it says I'll give you a thousand dollars a month in child support, and I won't be involved in the child's life beyond that."
"What?"
He took a deep breath. He couldn't meet her eyes as he said, "I'm sorry, Meredith. I'm just not in a position to do this right now."
"You say that like I'm askin' to borrow your truck so I can move. This is our lives we're talking about. Our baby's life. I can't... I won't..."
"I respect that. But I can't be there for you like that."
"But... But, Nathan. You're this baby's daddy."
He felt his jaw clench, and relaxed it with an effort. "No, I'm not." She looked like she was about to protest, so he said, "I'm the name on the birth certificate. I'm the guy who signs the child support checks. That's all I can be, Mere. I'm sorry."
She looked down at the contract. "A thousand dollars a month?"
"Yeah," he said.
"What's all the rest of this. I don't... it doesn't make sense."
He scooted his chair around and laid the contract on the table, and went through each section, translating. She listened, silently, nodding when he asked her if she understood, until he got to the section on religion.
"Oh, no," she said. "No way. I ain't--"
You know what? he thought, Fuck you, Ma.
"It's ok," he said. "We'll just take that section out." He pulled out his pen and lined through the whole paragraph, initialed it and dated it.
She looked at him like he'd just defaced the Constitution. "Are you allowed to do that?" she said, "Just cross it out?"
He shrugged. "Yeah. Sure. If we both agree we want it taken out. Until it's signed, it's negotiable."
"Oh. And after?"
"Then it's permanent. Essentially."
"Ah," she said, faintly.
He finished going over the last couple of sections, then laid the pen down across the last page. He'd already signed.
"A thousand dollars a month," she said, staring down at the blank signature line. "You can afford that?"
"Yeah," he said.
"That's about how much I was making at the diner," she said. "After taxes, anyway."
"Yeah," he said, again, not sure what else to say. "My family's... we do pretty well."
She reached out and took the pen between her thumb and forefinger, like it was dirty and she didn't want to touch it more than she had to. "So I just sign? And that's it? You leave, and I get the money?"
"Right."
He heard her swallow, then she lifted the heavy pen and signed her name. Everything was quiet. The universe didn't mark the moment with a clap of thunder or an earthquake. A whip-poor-will whistled outside after a few seconds.
"Right," he said again. He pulled the copy of the contract out of his pocket. "Here's your copy." He flipped a page and crossed out the religion section in that one, too. "I have a copy, too. This one that we signed's going in a safe deposit box at the post office here. The key's going to my lawyer, his card's stapled to the front of your copy."
"It's all so official," she said.
He tucked away the signed contract and his pen and shrugged, cringing apologetically. "That's my world," he said.
***
He only spoke with her once in the next nine months. Fortunately, flight training was intense enough to get lost in. He finished basic and transferred to Brunswick, Maine to join his squadron and move on to intermediate and advanced training. He met her at a diner the night before he left, to give her his new contact information and let her know he was leaving town. They didn't speak much. The swell of her stomach was visible, if you knew to look for it, and he did.
"I got a job," she said. "Just a part-time thing, you know, but it gets me out of the house and all."
"Good," he said, "That's good."
***
The truth was, he'd been waiting for her call. The truth was, he had the due date marked on his calendar and it'd hurt like hell when the day came and went and she hadn't called yet. The truth was, when she had called, he'd let out a whoop and covered the mouthpiece of the phone and shouted to the whole damn squadron, "I've got a baby girl!"
Ma wouldn't have approved, but the truth was, he didn't give a shit.
The base commander had clapped him on the shoulder, congratulated him, and all but kicked him off base to go see her, and so he'd jumped onto the next plane and arrived at the hospital in Texas about eighteen hours after she was born. When he walked into the room, the nurse had just left, and Meredith was in bed, holding the baby. She looked up. "Thought you didn't want to have any contact. Aren't you violating the contract or something?"
She didn't sound angry, though.
"F--Screw the contract," he said. He crossed the room and stopped beside the bed. "Oh my god, she's beautiful," he said.
She was red and scrunched like any newborn, like he remembered Peter being, but she had a head of soft, golden hair and a delicate, turned-up nose. "What did you name her?" he asked.
"Claire," she said. "Claire Elizabeth. Gordon. Claire was my grandmother's name."
"May I--"
Meredith said, "You ever held a baby?"
"Yeah. Peter, when he was just born," he said. "Support the head, I know."
"All right," she said, and he leaned in, scooping the impossibly tiny girl into his arms. He still found himself marveling at how something so small could be alive and human. Claire was smacking her lips and waving one fist in the air. Her eyes were shut tight. He stroked her soft cheek with just the tip of one finger, and he felt his heart break.
"What does this mean?" Meredith said. "You being here, now?"
"I don't know," he said, as he drew his fingertip down Claire's button nose. "I don't know."
He sank down into the chair by the bed, still holding the baby cradled close to his chest, watching the random expressions cross her face. His daughter. His. He could see himself in her, almost, in the strength of her chin, the sweep of her brow.
"Stay with us," Meredith said.
"I can't," he said. Claire gurgled and shifted in his arms, giving a small cry, and instinctively, he murmured to her, hushed her, lifting her up to his shoulder and holding her there, rocking gently. She settled down with a small sigh, with her cheek pressed to his shoulder and her breath on his neck. "That's it, that's it, sweetheart, that's it, baby girl."
"Stay," Meredith said.
He turned his head, pressing his face to Claire's hair, inhaling the baby smell of her. "I can't," he said, again, urgently, more to himself than to Meredith. "I'm sorry, I can't."
The part of him that was cold and calculating, the part of him that sounded like Ma in his head, had scheduled his flights so that he'd have only an hour at the hospital. He'd known that that was as long as he could let himself stay.
It wasn't until he'd taken a cab to the airport, boarded the plane, and locked himself in the lavatory at cruising altitude that he let himself cry, for the first time in almost a decade.
***
Two months later, he received a letter postmarked Kermit, Texas. He stared at the envelope, motionless, for a moment, before walking slowly inside, not taking his eyes off it. She can't do this, he thought, as he shut and locked his door behind him, still staring down at the envelope. The contract--I could cut off her funding.
But then he flipped the envelope over and teased it open with one finger and, as he sat down on his couch, he turned it over and pulled out a pair of folded pages and a small sheaf of photos.
He could feel his heart beating faster. His mother's voice said, very distinctly in his mind, Don't do it, Nathan.
He ran his thumb along the paper, feeling the raised lines from the pressure of Meredith's pen. Two months and he hadn't stopped thinking about that tiny infant, warm in his arms. He had recurring, disturbed anxiety dreams, in which he searched and searched for something he couldn't find. Something he'd forgotten.
He turned the pages over and unfolded them, revealing the top photo of the stack that was folded inside. It was a photo of a trailer home, decked out in whirlygigs. Meredith stood out front in big, dark glasses and she held their tiny daughter propped on her hip.
He touched his fingertip to the picture. Claire was squinty-eyed in the sun, dressed in a tiny sundress and hat, her mouth turned down in a small frown. He felt his lips turn up in a small smile, felt a hint of warmth in his heart.
He flipped to the next picture. Claire in a sinkful of bubbles, looking up at the camera with her eyes comically huge and wide. A mound of bubbles sat on top of her water-darkened hair like a mohawk of foam, and he chuckled, surprising himself with the sound.
The next photo was Claire, asleep in her crib with a stuffed bear bigger than she was tucked up beside her. She looked peacful in this one, and her hair was long enough now to form whispy, soft, light curls. Her pink sleeping clothes declared her to be a sleeping beauty.
She was.
His smile had slid off his face.
My little girl, he thought.
He shook his head, slowly, then set the photos aside beside him gently and read through the letter. Meredith talk about moving to Kermit, about the weather, and then, finally, about Claire. How much she weighed now, how she ate, the noises she made and the things that caught her attention.
He picked up the photos again and stared down at her sleeping. Then, carefully, he folded the photos back into the letter, placed it all back into the envelope, and tucked it into the drawer of his desk.
He stopped a few feet away, turned back, and pulled it all out again, keeping the sleeping photo. He tucked it in his pocket and later that day, he taped it below the photo of Peter in the cockpit of his jet.
Every month, she wrote to him, and every month, he switched to a newer picture, watching his daughter grow up.
***
"She's been writing to me. Since two months after Claire was born." He finally said it, and was immediatly greeted with a brief, cold silence.
"That's in direct violation of the contract both she and you signed, Nathan. It has to stop. And you certainly can't go there. Come home, for god's sake. Clearly, you need to."
"She's my daughter, Ma. My daughter. I don't care what you say, I'm going. I'm going to see her. I've already missed a year of her life, I'm not missing another one."
"You're being ridiculous, Nathan. I don't want to, but I will cut off your funding if I have to."
"Then do. I'm not a kid. I have a career, I have a home. I don't need your money."
Ma sniffed with something that sounded like amusement. "Oh, Nathan. Rattling your chain? You've always been so practical."
"This isn't a joke, Ma. It's my life."
"Yes. It is. And you are on the verge of making a very serious mistake, Nathan."
"Lots of people have kids, Ma. Lots of people have families. I can, too. It doesn't have to be the end of my life. So maybe I don't get to do everything I'd planned. I could be happy with Meredith and Claire."
"Happy," Ma scoffed. "Life isn't about being happy, Nathan. Don't be childish."
"I'm hanging up."
"Come home, Nathan. You need to. You need to remember who you are."
"Ma--"
Then, suddenly, she said, "Peter. Peter! Come here and ask your brother why he's not going to use his leave to come home to his family."
That meant she was pulling out the big guns. Nathan sighed, and a moment later, Peter's voice said, "Hey."
"Hey, Pete," Nathan said, trying not to sound too resigned. If Peter tried... Nathan knew he could talk him into it.
"You're the only one who ever calls me that," Peter said. "Why is that?"
"Uh--" Nathan said. "I... have no idea."
"Yeah. So, anyway. I'm supposed to be manipulating you into coming home instead of going whereever you're going instead. Where are you going instead, anyway?"
And Nathan was actually about to tell him. But Ma grabbed the phone away with an, "Oh, Peter."
Nathan just said, "Bye, Ma," and hung up, still grinning over Peter's small act of supportive rebellion. Love you, kid, he thought. Then he picked up the phone again to reserve his plane tickets to Texas.
***
Meredith was waiting outside when he pulled up. She had Claire in her arms, and pointed to him when he got out of the rental car. She said, "Look, Claire, that's your daddy!"
He grinned ear to ear and took the baby in his arms and cooed at her, amazed by how much bigger she was, how much heavier, how much she looked up at him like a real person now. She babbled back at him, mostly nonsense syllables.
"Can you say 'Dada?'" Meredith said, but Claire was more interested in playing with Nathan's dogtags.
He marveled at her. Here, alive, solid in his arms, not just a two-dimensional photograph. Real. Alive. His.
"So, baby," Meredith said, to him, "You gonna take us small-town girls out for a nice dinner?"
He chuckled as Claire poked his chin. "Depends on your definition of 'nice.' I'm kind of out of the family coffers now. Just a regular soldier now."
It was the first time he'd said that. The first time he'd faced it. A part of him went scared and cold, but Claire was cooing and bouncing in his arms and that made it bearable.
"What?" Meredith said. "I don't understand. What does that mean?"
He finally looked at her. "It means I'm not under their thumb anymore. I'm my own man."
Meredith looked dubious, and more concerned than even he felt. "What about the money?"
"You'll get the money," he said, shifting Claire over to one arm, propped against his shoulder, so that he could face Meredith directly. "I'll make sure that won't change, don't worry."
Her sunny smile was gone, however, until she pushed it back into place with apparent effort. "Well, then. Could we at least go to Steak 'N' Shake?"
Fine country dining, to be sure. "God bless Texas," Nathan said, laughing.
***
A few months after that, he wrote a letter himself, a letter home.
"Dear Mother and Father,
"I am writing this to let you know that I intend, within the next two months, to propose to Meredith Gordon. I've been waiting until I had enough for a down payment on a house here in Maine. I think it will be a nice place to raise a family.
"I know you don't approve, but I believe this is the best choice for me, for Meredith, and most importantly, for my daughter, Claire. I hope that someday you will understand, and that you will accept her and Meredith into our family and your hearts, as I have.
"Your loving son,
"Nathan Petrelli"
***
He'd been expecting a phone call, of course, so he wasn't surprised when the phone rang. He was mentally preparing himself for the epic argument with Ma as he picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?"
But Ma wasn't the one who answered. It was an unfamiliar male voice. "Mr. Nathan Petrelli?"
He frowned, confused and disorientated. "Yes, that's me."
"Do you know a Meredith Gordon?"
"Yes," he said. "She's my... Who is this?"
"I'm sorry, sir," the man said. "This is Deputy Dale with the Winkler County Sheriff's Department. I'm afraid there's been an accident."
Nathan felt himself go cold. "Accident?"
"Yes. You're listed as her next of kin? I'm afraid... I'm sorry, Mr. Petrelli, there's no easy way to say this. I'm afraid she's dead."
"How?" he said, suddenly shrouded in fog.
"A fire, in her apartment. Looks like bad wiring might have started it, we're still looking into it."
"What-- What about Claire? Claire Gordon. She's my daughter, she's eighteen months--"
"I'm sorry. There were no survivors."
Nathan was dizzy, couldn't think anything, couldn't feel anything. "I'll be down there as soon as I can," he said.
***
There wasn't enough left to bury, they said, but he had the down payment money, so he paid for the caskets, a preacher, the full works. He flew down that morning. A few people came to the wake, her friends and coworkers, though she didn't seem to have many, and no real family to speak of, except one cousin who came up from Kingsville. At the graveyard, he was alone with the preacher beside the two holes and headstones. It wasn't raining. Actually, it was hot as hell, way too hot for May.
When it was over, he tossed the diamond ring he'd bought just two weeks ago into the dark grave. He heard it ping as it hit Meredith's empty casket.
Then he walked back to the rental car. Numb. Utterly numb. He didn't think he'd felt anything since he'd received the call. He felt like he'd been packed away in styrofoam, and was just watching his life go by.
As he drove back to the Corpus Christi airport, he thought, This can't be an accident. I don't believe in coincidences. This was intentional.
He was still numb, so it didn't hurt to think it. He just turned it over in his mind, saw the logic of it, and accepted it.
It was May 13th. Peter's thirteenth birthday. He'd promised Peter he'd make it, since he'd only been home once in the past two years, and thirteen was a big year. So, he dropped the car off at the airport, and got back on a plane. By the time he reached the city, he'd spent twelve of the past fourteen hours on planes or in airports. He'd left Maine that morning, skipped through Detroit and Houston, and now he'd turned around and flown from Corpus Christi to Dallas to New York.
His ears were hopelessly ringing from the altitude changes, and that only added to the strange, floating feeling he was enveloped in.
He stepped out of the cab, and Peter burst through the door, as though he'd been sitting and waiting. Maybe he had. Nathan didn't even have time to move before Peter had flown down the stairs and thrown himself into his arms.
The sudden weight of him, his voice shouting, "You came!" in his ear, seemed to be the first real thing he'd felt in days, and he crushed him in a too-tight hug, almost afraid he'd disappear, and pressed his face into his hair, breathed in the familiar, safe smell of him. Finally he could feel the numbness cracking, and even as it hurt it felt good.
Even as he held him way too long, way too tight, Peter didn't seem to care. He didn't seem to be interested in going anywhere either. Thank god, Nathan thought, because he wasn't sure he could let go. They relaxed against each other, the embrace losing some of the intensity, but not breaking. He could feel Peter breathing. I'm leaving, he thought. God, I'm leaving, I won't see him, I don't know when I'll see him again.
Then Ma's voice came from the doorway. "Nathan."
He looked up, and Peter twisted just enough to look back, too, without either of them letting go.
There was a lot Nathan wanted to say. Too much. But instead, he just said, "Peter and I are gonna go walk around the block. Maybe get a soda."
Ma's expression hardly wavered. "Don't be too long," she said, "Dinner will be on the table in forty minutes."
How could you? he thought. How could you? And how can you stand there and talk to me as if nothing's happened?
"Come on, Pete," he said.
***
They found a bench in the nearest park and sat down. They talked away a half an hour, about Peter's social life, Nathan's job, whatever came up. Peter kept his arm pressed up against Nathan's, and Nathan was grateful for it, as though he could physically draw comfort from Peter. Eventually, he gave in and wrapped his arm around Peter's shoulders, tucking him close to his side. Peter just shifted and settled in, resting his head on the meat of Nathan's shoulder, continuing to chatter about a girl at his summer science camp.
Nathan's watch eventually beeped at him, telling him his time was up.
"Listen, Peter," he said, "I'm... probably not coming back. For a long, long time. And I need you to know, it is not your fault. I love you. I love you so much. But I can't... I can't be here." He pulled a bundle of envelopes and stamps from his jacket and pressed them into Peter's hand. "Write to me. Ok?"
"What's this?" Peter said, pulling a small, silver key from among the papers.
"A key to a P.O. box. Every time you write to me, I promise I'll write back."
Peter shut his hand around the key and looked straight at Nathan, his expression finally serious, acknowledging the heaviness that had been hanging around Nathan all night. "Take me with you."
"Oh, Peter. Oh, god, I wish I could. I would, in a heartbeat. But I can't. I can't. I don't have the resources. Mom and Dad would clobber me."
"What do you mean? You have money, a job. I could--"
"I mean they'd send the police after us. They'd call it kidnapping. Hell, it'd be kidnapping. They'd have me arrested. Or committed." Or killed, he added, silently. "I'm sorry."
Peter was looking down at the envelopes. Nathan cupped his chin in his hand and turned his face towards him, looking him in the eye. "Love me?" he said.
"It's not fair," Peter said.
"No. It's not," Nathan said. He pulled Peter's face closer, holding it with both hands, and pressed his lips to Peter's forehead and held them there for a long, still moment. It was hell to pull away. He swallowed hard against the tears that had been lurking all day.
"I love you, Nathan," Peter said, quiet and solemn.
Nathan shifted his hands a bit, into Peter's shaggy hair. "Good," he said, feeling like he'd break if he let go. "Good, that's good."
He had to shut his eyes to pull away. He opened them again, and reached out, lightly nudging Peter's shoulder. "Go on, then. Don't want Ma to send out a search party, right?" He'd meant it as a joke and only realized too late that after what he'd just said, it wasn't funny.
Peter stood up and pushed the envelopes, stamps and key into his deep pocket. Nathan couldn't watch him walk away. He'd lost too much that day already.