heroslayer | for inthe_kitchen: cold pizza (Reply)

He barely registered the door open, too caught up wandering the space between dreaming and awake, the fact that he hadn't slept in days having come down on him like a ton of bricks, despite the fact that he'd sworn off sleep. Still, though, the subtle open-close of the door was enough to make him stir, shifting a bit in the armchair he'd claimed as his resting place, a grunt of protest falling out of his mouth. He'd been awake, really, and woe be to whoever it was that had let themselves in, assuming they tried to tell him otherwise.

That thought took a moment to sink in properly, but when it did, he was suddenly wide awake, tension set off by sharp fear wrenching him out of the sprawl he'd taken up and into a sit. There was someone in his house--someone who could very well be Sylar, given that the killer was back and had a habit of just being around, when you least expected it--and there he'd been, near napping.

He took a deep breath, narrowly resisting the urge to clear his throat--what if whoever it was heard him?--and got up from his seat as quietly as he could. He'd made it halfway to the nearest window, when a voice rang out from somewhere in the house. He couldn't quite tell where, but it didn't matter. "Nathan?"

His mother; he sighed, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face, and moved away from the window. "In here, Ma."

He could hear hear moving around in the kitchen, now that his heart had stopped hammering in his chest and ears, and with another sigh, he headed in that direction, shoving his hands in his pockets. And that, clearly, had been exactly what Angela had hoped he'd do, as she hadn't made a move to meet him. Rather, when he found her, she was rooting through his cupboards, trying to hunt down a pair of plates, if the box of pizza--the good stuff from one of the Italian places he and Peter used to frequent--she'd set on his table was any indication.

"Your secretary told me you haven't been in since Monday," she said, a disdainful note in her voice that he couldn't tell whether it was directed at him or the paperware she'd found instead of actual plates. Either way, however, she pulled them down out of the cabinet, turning as she continued, "I don't know what's going on, Nathan, but -- dear Lord, what happened to your face?"

Wincing, he resisted the urge to reach up to press his fingers to the wounds Sylar had inflicted upon him, during their last meeting. "Shaving accident?"

Angela made a face that seemed to suggest she'd swallowed a lemon. "Don't get smart with me, Nathan. I'm still your mother."

A sigh, and he closed his eyes, briefly, before reopening them. "Some guy broke into my office, on Monday. I don't know what he wanted--he didn't exactly seem stable--but he thought it was a good idea to rough me up, I guess." He shrugged, the lie practiced enough now that he could be casual about it, and propped himself against the counter a few feet away from his mother. "I haven't really slept much since it happened, so I didn't think I'd get much done if I went into work."

"I can imagine not," she answered, face and tone softer now as she moved to join him. She looked up at him for a moment, worry in her eyes where it didn't show on her face, and then she was echoing his sigh. "Has your security detail found whoever it was?"

"So far, nothing."

He shook his head, shooting a glance at the pizza she'd brought--bait, to get him to come back to his office, or at very least to get him to talk to her, face to face, for more than a few minutes. It was both funny, considering that particular trick was starting to lose it's effectiveness, and ironic, given that he'd meant to come to talk to her before too long. Best to bite the bullet now, he figured, and so hesitantly, he started, "Look, Ma ... I've been thinking about taking a couple of weeks off, in the wake of this. I've pissed off a lot of people over the last few months, and ... I don't know. I just think it might be a good idea to get out of the spotlight for a little while. Who knows? Maybe it'll stop stuff like this from happening again."

And suddenly, the Petrelli matriarch was eyeing him in what looked to be suspicion. "What about the State dinner, next week? Or the circus fundraiser next month?"

"I already canceled the dinner," he told her, frowning, "and the fundraiser ... I should be back for that. It depends."

She raised her eyebrows, self-importantly. "On?"

"Public opinion of me? How I'm feeling? Christ, Ma, I don't know." He shot her a black look, lips curling into something nearing a sneer, before pushing away from the counter. "I'm not a kid, anymore--I think I can make my own decisions."

For a moment she looked stunned, as though he had hit her, and then she was turning away from him. Strange, given that that sort of behavior would have earned him a slap of his own, if he'd tried that six months ago, but he supposed that this was worse, somehow. Where that would have stung on the physical level, at least he could have held on to his anger--now he just felt deeply ashamed. "Sorry," he muttered.

Angela didn't respond for a long time, and when she finally found her words, it was neither to accept nor refuse his apology. "The pizza's probably cold, already."

"It's fine," he told her, with a sigh. "It's still pizza. We can still eat it."

She looked up at him, bewilderment crossing her face like a falling star, there and then gone. "You hate cold pizza."

"Yeah." She was right--he did, didn't he? The cold pizza that had gotten left in the house back when he lived at home had always gone to Peter, because he wouldn't touch it. Right now, however, eating it cold seemed more appetizing than trying to eat it warm. He couldn't say he understood--nor did he get why something so small bothered him so badly--and so he let his eyes drift to the box on the table, eyeing it almost suspiciously.

"Yeah," he repeated, his tone distant, now. "Take it to Peter. He's probably starving. Bennet's been working him into an early grave."

He could feel his mother's eyes on him still, lingering before she looked away. Without words, she moved to scoop up the box she'd brought in, and then she was headed for the door. And as she moved out, she called over her shoulder to him, "I expect you'll let me know, before you leave?"

"Sure."

Approving, she made a soft noise at the back of her throat, and then she was headed out, leaving Nathan to wonder what the hell was wrong with him, when the littlest things--things like cold pizza--were setting off warning bells in his head.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1235
Note: Angela is