Hey Big Spender



Scene Title Hey Big Spender
Synopsis Nathan takes care of a few of the bare necessities.
Date April 11, 2009

Upper West Side: Hugo Boss

Nathan is having a time choosing between the teal tie with the golden stitching, or the ever patriotic combination of red and blue creating diagonal stripes down the silk in rich strokes. He holds one to himself, checks the mirror, holds the other.

He doesn't need a tie. He also doesn't need the suit he's currently wearing, a pinstripe shark-grey deal with a crisp white shirt beneath, the collar loose and broad. A sedate black belt has been selected, and new shoes squeak a little as he backs up a step from the mirror. Nathan also desperately needs a shave, but. Perhaps not. He raises a hand to brush his fingers over the silvery bristle from his throat, over his jaw and high up to his cheeks, an itch he's long since gotten used to. Hair of an equally silvery colour is longer than it should be, greasier too despite having cleaned up, and really, no matter what he wears, Nathan can't quite shake the truth of the past decade.

His past decade. Perhaps when it's all changed, he'll stop looking so hunted in the mirror, so tired. Older than he remembers and pictures himself to be. Hey, you look like the President! Yeah, I sure do.

The ties are put back where they came from.

The store is quiet, and so is the New York street just outside, and the wider city, and maybe more. Nathan has to wonder exactly how much of the world has he frozen. How much of his own time is leaking away like sand through an hour glass while everyone else is in suspension. The cashier with a scanner paused over a box of shoes, the customer's reaching for his wallet suspend in time while his statue wife balances precariously on one foot in a half-step Nathan interrupted. Not so far away from him, a man close to Nathan's age is browsing a rack of shirts, and an employee balances on a short ladder to put away some unsold jackets.

It's enough to make him want to panic, to restore it all, these people who would never, ever get old if he kept them this way, would never make mistakes, would never go plummeting on and on towards certain death and darkness.

How did Hiro handle this power? It's enough to make you go insane.

The glass splinters with unnatural slowness when Nathan, in one violent arcing movement, rams a steel rod through the display case. He shifts aside the shards that hang in the air as if in thick water, picks up watches, cufflinks, whatever shines. He breaks apart the till, gathers money in a calm fashion and folds it up, puts it in his pockets. He has other things he needs, things not so simple as clothing and jewelry.

Clothes are selected, some less indulgent than the sharp suit he's wearing, more practical. Others he has to take with him, expensive fabric and tailoring that reminds him of why he's here. Of what he's missed. Stuffed with less care than the cashiers would take into paper shopping bags, Nathan takes one last look around the store, and age lines at his eyes go deeper when he blinks, disappears, and time is restored in his wake.

Next, he'd like a gun. No one could ever say that Nathan Petrelli is a man without his priorities.

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It Wasn't Me

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