Who: Nathan Petrelli and Claire Bennet Where: Oriens, Suite 102 When: the evening sometime after Nathan's morning breakdown and Claire's visit to Arthur Why: Claire has to tell Nathan but he all ready knows. Open: To Peter Petrelli and Noah Grey only Rating: TBD
Since leaving Noah that day Nathan hadn't actually managed to do much of anything. He retreated back into his room and never even bothered to see if any of roomies were around. He just slipped into the suite and went immediately to his room where the door was locked and a majority of the clothing he'd been wearing had been thrown to the floor. The guitar was placed back in it's stand and he'd crawled back into bed and slipped into a rather fitful sleep. He would've loved to simply keep dreaming and ignoring the world around him but his body had other ideas and Nathan found himself up and about around mid day simply pacing.
As the day went on he began to talk to himself. That image in the mirror became as real to him as any person. Sure, that horribly disfigured version of him only really wanted to torment him and no matter how much Nathan threated or yelled he really couldn't touch the man he imagined sitting at the foot of his bed. He may not have been able to attack the disfigured monstrous version of himself but he could make sure his mirror double had no way into his room.
By early evening all of the mirrors in Nathan's room were broken. He'd reopened the wound on his left hand and bruised his knuckles his right hand. In a way the pain was a welcomed release. This pain he could focus on. He could see it, he could touch it, it was real. It wasn't the imagined abstract heartache that came with his life. If he were to be sensible about everything he'd realize that it wasn't the worst that had happened to him. Peter hated him but he could deal with. Claire wasn't his but... well he didn't really have a bright side to that one. He'd been used. Used by Meredith as a source of quick money. Used by his mother in whatever grand scheme she had with the girl that wasn't his. Used by Claire to... he didn't know that one either.
Staring down at his injured hand he simply let out a soft breath and moved to clean up the glass shards, allowing himself to bleed just a little. Maybe he had no right to be hurt or upset. Maybe it was just all right. He could deal with this. He could push it all down and smile and pretend. He was a lawyer and a politician. He was a Petrelli. He could fake happiness even when everything was falling apart around him. He could smile and go on living even when he wanted to die inside because he had to.
By late evening he still wasn't feeling better but the glass was cleaned up and he had a new dressing on his injured hand. He had his guitar up again and was absentmindedly picking his way through a song and ignoring the laughter of an inner demon he couldn't bring himself to face. He wasn't expecting anyone to look him up. He didn't have anyone. His kids were in New York or DC with Heidi, Niki was gone, his mother wasn't here, and Claire wasn't his. He figured he'd be all right as long as he distanced himself as much as possible from human contact. In time... maybe he'd be used to the ache in his heart enough that he'd function just a little better.