FF: As Every One Else Seems To Think We Are (2/2)

[adeline]

Title: As Every One Else Seems To Think We Are (2/2)
Author: Adeline (gossy16)
Fandom: Heroes + House, MD
Rating: PG-13
Summary: written for hebrew_hernia who requested the following in heroes_gleeweek : After three weeks in a coma with no apparent cause, Nathan has Peter moved to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital under the care of distinguished diagnostician, Dr. Gregory House. Ensuing hilarity optional. I'm afraid I might have dropped the ball on the hilarity, but hopefully, this is still enjoyable for you. :)
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. Obviously.
Notes: This is AU for various reasons, not the least of which is timeline - picking up from both Fallout and Words and Deeds. Further, it should be acknowledged that all I know of medicine, I've learned from TV. And, occasionnally, Wikipedia. I expect there to be atrocious inaccuracies in that area. ;) Lastly, in my haste to get this posted before the new Heroes episode tonight (EEEEEeee!), I've left this shamefully unbeta'ed. You can all flame me for any grammatical and literary crimes.
Thanks to frayen for willing this into happening! XD *hugs* And everyone who has left such kind feedback on Part 1 - it's made my day. ♥ *hugs everyone*

(Continued from Part 1)



Chase may well believe in aliens and the creation theory, but to this day, he still trusts his eyesight to represent physical reality with enough accuracy not to doubt what he sees. So he blinks, just once more, to make sure; and again to be absolutely certain. He just saw a man fly. And the look in the man's eyes right now is, unmistakably, one that says: speak a word of this to anyone, I will destroy you.

"Um, sorry, Mr. Petrelli," Chase stammers, and glances down at his own shoes briefly. "We need your consent for another procedure," he soldiers on, "if you'd please like to sign these forms."

"Sure," Petrelli agrees, with a beckoning gesture, which Chase correctly interprets as 'give me that.' "I'll be down in a minute," the man adds casually after signing on the clipboard.

"No rush," Chase feels compelled to supply around an awkward smile. "Take as long as you need."

He almost skips on his way to the fourth floor - oh, God, oh, God, Nathan Petrelli can fly! No way are they even trying the benzodiazepine flood now. If House can believe him for once, that is.


***


Cameron is adamant that they make headway with the case or send the patient home, because it's not right keeping the family hoping, and Foreman is rolling his eyes at the desperate suggestions a first-year emergency medicine intern wouldn't even think of bringing up. "What about head trauma? Cerebral contusion," she guesses anew, "could explain the ICP." Foreman rebuts her again, and House points out again that nothing can explain this and the patient should be dead from the symptoms. "Well," Cameron insists, as clueless as the rest of them, "there's got to be something!"

Cameron is scribbling words on the board that don't even make sense to her and mentally lamenting the fact that all of their ideas will get shot down before they're even proven wrong, when Chase makes an out-of-breath entrance and quickly checks over his shoulder before announcing brightly: "Nathan Petrelli can fly! I saw him!"

The grin on his face reeks of honesty, and the fellows are baffled into silence until House, having apparently processed this new information as plausible and relevant, breaks it. "Idiot," he mutters, and specifies when Chase puts on a hurt grimace. "Not you, Bruce Wayne. When he comes down again, tell him we need to talk."

"Right," Cameron chimes in, "because that's both relevant and plausible. And Batman doesn't fly." She rolls her eyes.

"Ooh, that stings."

"I'm going to wake up," Foreman enunciates, willing the words to be true, and then a thought strikes him. "Wait, didn't this guy try to kill himself a few weeks ago?"

"No," House declares. "Might have saved us a world of trouble, though. Suicidal brothers just make you look better than delusional ones, if you're running for office. Better to tell the press little Paddy had a bad week and no mental illness."

"It's Peter," Cameron corrects.

"Could be Dick Grayson," Chase says glumly, "for all the difference that makes."


***


"You said that was irrelevant," Nathan recalls when House asks him about what happened in Texas.

"I said it should be," House concedes, "but of course all rules of science don't seem to apply here. Your brother suffers from, amidst a long list of other unexplained symptoms, sustained sensory overload. Given the absence of signal, it's possible it all registers as pain. He's high as a kite, though he shows no sign of intoxication, he‘s -"

"He's not a junkie." Nathan interrupts, having heard enough, and it comes out almost defensively.

"We've got nothing," House agrees, straight-faced maybe for the first time. "There's no way to know when, or if, this will stop. No promises that he'll wake up. We're just," he shrugs then, in a manner so detached, Nathan wants to wring his neck but grits his teeth instead. "Grasping at straws. I don't suppose a close look at your DNA would turn up anything useful."

"Right," Nathan confirms. "You don't." A pause. "Look, I wasn't there when it happened, but Peter wouldn't make up something like that."

House's eyebrow rises sharply as he ponders this. "I believe you. Got any witnesses?"

Nathan holds the doctor's questioning look for a full minute before reaching for his cell phone.

It hurts his pride a little and costs him a small fortune, but the girl's concern for Peter goes a long way. He has a car waiting for Claire Bennet at the airport the next afternoon.


***


Claire doesn't show up alone. It takes Nathan all of two seconds to recognize the man at her side - Las Vegas, few weeks ago. His eyes stay on him while he firmly shakes the girl's hand. "I know you," he accuses.

"Hi," Claire says, and she's so impossibly young, Nathan can't fathom how she could have any answers when no one has been able to come up with anything.

"What's he doing here?" he asks her, meaning the Haitian who still hasn't said a word.

"Gee, yeah," Claire deadpans. "Had a great flight, thanks."

His attention snaps back to the girl - he forgets her age for an instant, until the Haitian steals it away again. "I am a family friend," he speaks calmly, like he has all the time in the world. "Claire's parents were unable to make the trip."

Nathan doesn't trust him by any means, but he seems harmless enough on his own.

"How's Peter?" Claire asks in earnest, and he sees a hope on her face not unlike Peter's own. He wishes he had better news to tell.


***


Meantime, on a certain fourth floor balcony, House climbs the separating wall to steal Wilson's steaming mug out of the man's hands, then frowns after the first sip. "What is this, herbal tea?"

"Red raspberry leaf," Wilson smirks knowingly. "Out of coffee?"

"It tastes better out of your cup," House passes it back. "Batman can fly, right?"

"Uh, no, he can't." Wilson narrows his eyes, trying and failing to see House's point. He goes along anyway. "You're thinking of Superman."

House begins to smile, and bites the inside of his cheek. "How does he do it?"

"Wow. Are you," Wilson is cautious now, "are you comparing your diagnosing talent to the mythical art of flight? You know, I meant the Icarus thing as a metaphor."

"God, you're dramatic," House makes another grab for Wilson's tisane.

"Any new theories on your patient?"

"No," House flicks a rock off the ledge. "None that I'd have any use for. Cuddy's stopped heckling me about it, so I guess I'm not expected to find a cure anymore."

"Yet, you can't let him go." Wilson pressed on, "Why?"

House waited a moment, just so Wilson would appreciate his answer, delivered like the punch line of a good joke, or the payoff to a cosmic prank. "His brother can fly."


***


After Claire talks to the doctor, which doesn't take very long, Nathan lets her see Peter, alone. He's watching from outside, listening as the Haitian speaks and nodding every now and then, his face the picture of concentration, eyes fixated in empty space. Claire has to look for the resemblance to see it, but it's there.

"Every one's worried about you," Claire says to Peter, resting her elbows on the side of his bed. His hands are clenched into fists, arms folded over his chest. "I mean," she smiles, as though he can see, or sense her. "Do you always see that much attention from your jackass brother?"

She feels a little silly for talking aloud to a man in a coma, but isn't that how it's supposed to work? Someone pours their heart out to the unconscious hero and he magically springs to wakefulness again, right then and there. She's not even sure she believes it, but it can't hurt to try, can it?

"You saved my life, Peter. You can't spend the rest of yours like this! I'd have to live up to your heroics, and let's face it, I'm not that selfless." She's still trying to smile. It was an all right joke; she wants Peter to have heard it. In the movies, this would be his cue to open his eyes.

"Come on, Peter," she pleads again.

The beeps and roars of surrounding machines are the only echo in the room.


***


"That went well," House tells his empty office after Miss Texas 2009 leaves it.

It wasn't so much what Petrelli's young damsel-in-distress had told him, as it was her behavior throughout their three minutes, twenty-four seconds of conversing. Secretive, with a side of attitude. The girl is obviously hiding something bigger than a hopeless crush on her savior.

It was the way she was careful with the words she used - didn't know if he was okay and not alive when she ran to him (not his body). Following a five-story fall, not even village idiots expect anybody to survive, and this girl was far from an idiot.

When she'd asked if he could fix Peter, he almost turned the question over to her. He just didn't want to scare her all the way back home, in the event that she unknowingly could.

Her questions were telling, too. All about him, his leg, what happened, how much it hurt. He swallowed a Vicodin to back up his point, when he would rather have cut her skin just to see what happens then. It might have been tricky to justify to Cuddy in case he'd be wrong, but he's always right.

If House can accept he's been living in a comic book world, some elements of a theory are starting to align. It may not provide the cure, but it could put his mind to rest if he could just prove it. (And to that end, just to be safe, he should also have a tox screen run on Chase.)


***


There are press crews outside in increasing numbers every day, papers are printing he's been spending more time in the hospital than he has in his office (which is true), and all the doctors here can't come up with answers anymore than the others before them. It's an extreme idea, a plan right out of science fiction, and Nathan can't believe he's just said yes. He doesn't even think it'll work, but it will be only thing anyone has tried since the staff at MCH declared themselves helpless.

The Haitian, whose name Nathan never even found out, has warned him of two possible flaws. His tricks might not work on Peter - they didn't on him. Nathan finds strange comfort in this. It's not as if he's expecting instant recovery from a stunt as ludicrous as this. He has no hope other than that it doesn't kill him. The second thing, the Haitian calls collateral damage, and it's every bit as worrying as that makes it sound. In the manipulation of Peter's mind, he says memories may be damaged, erased, wiped out. Peter might awake not remembering so much as his name.

Nathan considers getting his mother down here, and he'd like the kids to say goodbye, just in case, but they'd be scared of the stranger, and really, what would he say? He won't even tell Heidi, who's had enough shocks to last her a lifetime. He's thinking already of the next lies he's beginning to live with. His brain finally gave out ; No one's even sure what happened ; Peter has been in rehab, it hasn't been easy, but he made it and I couldn't be prouder.

He's very aware suddenly of the teenage girl clutching his shirtsleeve nervously, while holding another hand over her eyes. She doesn't want to see, and damn it, he doesn't want to hope like he is. When he sees Peter's body levitating just a few inches above his bed, he has to blink a few times and step closer to the glass. "Hey, Claire," he shakes her death grip off to get her attention. Peter lifts a little higher, maybe a foot off the bed now.

Claire lets out a gasp at the sight. "Oh my God, do you think it might be working?"

"I don't know," Nathan keeps his voice low and his eyes sweep up and down the hall. "Get Dr. Chase here, would you please?"

Inside the room, the Haitian is taking his hand off Peter's forehead and looking at Nathan, saying without words he's tried his best. Nathan holds the gaze a while, and sees Peter lying limply, more relaxed than he's seen him in nearly a month. "Try again," he says with a nod of his head.


***


By the time they reach the patient room, urged by Little Wonder Woman, the change is as undeniable as it is sudden. The abnormal posture is a thing of the past, and the lumbar puncture performed in the following hour reveals a significant drop in ICP. The next EEG shows a return to quasi-normalcy, and the patient scores an astounding 9 on the Glasgow Coma Scale at 22:17.

House orders the family and friends out of the hospital for the night. If he's got the right idea, it'd be a shame for the empath kid to have a relapse on the way to recovery. So he lies a little, says it's been a trying day for Peter (even gets his name right) and after a few more hours’ rest, there's a good chance he could awake in the morning. As a side note, it gives him a chance to see how well-trained his monkeys are - Cameron, in particular, may glare at him furiously to the best of her ability, she doesn't say a word.

Foreman's more than happy to monitor the guy's brain activity all night.


***


"Hey, Pete," Nathan says, quite pathetically, as he steps into Peter's room. He's been thinking about it all night, what House said, and has hardly slept a wink. He's cursing him now. Have no expectations, it was a simple enough rule, for God's sake.

He thinks House may have figured out the why, if not the how or the what. It may have to do with his and Peter's so-called abilities, maybe Claire's, too. He'll have to remember to buy some silence before they leave, no matter how this ends.

"Ready to wake up?" He kind of hates the slight hope in his voice, as if this wouldn't quite be embarrassing enough with Claire watching right outside. Then it kind of reminds him they're not so different at the core. It's possible he might have taken his brother's hand here, but Nathan wouldn't admit it under torture. "I miss you, you insufferable brat."

"Says the bigger asshole of the two," croaks a voice almost extinct.

If an uncontrollable grin breaks on Nathan's face at this point betraying anything like joy or relief or affection, he'll deny it on his deathbed. When he looks at Peter's face, just to check he didn't imagine the words, his eyes are open. "You ever do anything like this again," he resumes in his trademark stern threatening tone. "I will kill you with my own hands. Understand?"

"Thirsty," Peter's only smiling, and God, he couldn't look any more like his 12-year-old self if he tried.

"Well, serves you right."

A nurse brings him water, and he begins asking about the place, the time, the people. "And the bomb?"

"Didn't happen, Peter."

"But I saw it," he argues, and drops the issue when he only gets a shrug for an answer. "You win your damn election?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Peter nods, a last kink at the back of his mind. "What are they saying about me? How long have I been out, a month?"

"Give or take a few days," Nathan confirms. "Trash rags or respectable publications?"

Peter gives an empty scoff. "You don't get that much coverage."

"Just don't worry about it, Pete."

Claire pokes her head in then, with the largest grin anyone has ever seen. "Thank God, you're awake," she beams.


***


Peter spends the day under scrutiny, through a battery of standard tests under the false pretense of 'observation,' while Nathan settles the details of the cover story and amount of his donation to PPTH with the hospital administrator. Turns out, Peter Petrelli checked himself into rehab a few weeks earlier and contracted a ridiculously rare-yet-plausible, deadly infectious disease while dutifully following the program. Strange, how life goes.

House confronts Nathan that evening just as they're about to finally leave the building. "I'm never getting any definite answers on what this circus number was all about, am I?"

The Haitian is waiting outside already, out of sight, but never anymore out of Nathan's mind. "It may be best you don't, Dr. House."

"So," the doctor pursues, "if I had a wild outlandish theory, partially based on what one of my fellows reports he saw a few nights ago up on the roof," he pauses here just to watch how uncomfortable this can make the Flying Congressman. "That would be utterly, foolishly wrong of me, right?"

Nathan takes a glance at his family and Claire right by the entrance, and forms a mild pondering pout, facing House one last time. "I might not be quite so hard on myself."

House is positively smiling to no one as he makes his way to the elevators, thus scaring a staff member or two.

As always, he was right. Even in the face of reality. Super-right.



(FIN)

Comments

[meli-64.livejournal.com]

Really Good. :D Awesome.

[gossy16.livejournal.com]

Thank you, glad you think so! :D