WHO: Angela Petrelli & OPEN WHAT: Angela hates feeling like she doesn't have any control. But barely surviving an end of the world that you, yourself, haven't precipitated can do that to a person. WHEN: Monday; Night WHERE: The Hyperion RATING: PG STATUS: In Progress
The Apocalypse. The word had been flung around so much as far as Angela was concerned that it truly hadn't meant much to her until what she had witnessed along with everyone else. So many people suffering, dying, and dead around her. So much pain and loss and heartache. So much that was happening for no reason other than because it had been prescribed. And there was nothing, nothing at all that Angela could do to stop it or even escape it. She had thought that she had felt helpless with the impending explosion of New York, but that feeling had been nothing compared to what she had felt during this.
It wasn't often Angela game plan to sit back and do absolutely nothing. Even when she seemed to be doing very little, she had always still been working things as best that she could in order to try and influence the end result that she wanted, in order to make sure that things had came out in her favor, in her family's favor, but this situation, there was nothing that she could do, nothing that she could have done, and being at such a loss, Angela had been paralyzed, left to sit and watch as other people effected the result that was necessary, watch as her baby boy took charge in a way that she had always believed he was incapable of, that someone with such a kind heart would not be able to accomplish.
He had proved her wrong. They had both proved her wrong. They had all proved her wrong so many, many times as she watched them come together, work together in order to save the world, in order to preserve it for the people who were living here at great potential and true risk to themselves. She had watched them work together in way that, if she were honest with herself in a way that she hadn't been honest in years, made her more proud than she had ever possibly been before.
Her boys were heroes, true heroes. And they had done it all on their own.
And the kitchens were quiet this late, mostly abandoned and the perfect place for such reflections for a woman who had grown quite sick of the four walls of her room over the last few weeks. It was nice to have a change of scenery, even if the thoughts which occupied her inner walls were still the same.