Petrelli Vs Carlisle...the Musical

[chimeramimicry]

"Petrelli VS Carlisle -- The Musical"
Who:  Peter Petrelli & Peter Carlisle (Blackpool)
When: Six months before Season 1


"He's making a mess."

Peter glanced up at the head nurse and arched an eyebrow.  "Oh yeah?"

"Yes.  And he keeps singing.  Take him down to X-Ray."

Peter didn't exactly care for the tone of voice his superior was using, but with two months left of his internship, he couldn't stand being a smart ass.  Shaking the hair out of his face, he took the chart under his arm and headed down to the waiting room.  "Mister Peter Carlisle?" he asked, smiling as he always did.  Patients in pain preferred to have a happy face to greet them.

Comments

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

Peter didn't like his bed, it was hard and uncomfortable. He didn't sleep well either, he just sort of stared at the ceiling and the questionable stain. He couldn't make up his mind if he was happy to be here or still heartbroken and sulking.

He supposed the same-name Peter was a nice break and he made sure he stored the number before he got up for work.

It was simple, fill in paper work, listen to the man in charge, try not to openly yawn in the other coppers faces and don't eat everything in the fridge during the snack break.

He was actually getting along with them! Even if they couldn't understand his accent half the time, probably because he mumbled when he was distracted, clouding his words in a thick Scottish tone.

There had been a report on the killer he was here to chase and he had to go all the way down town with the other blokes to see what was going on. It was already getting onto 5 and the day was showing no sign of ending.

And he'd left his phone in his new desks draw.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Peter hadn't been planning on calling, but as the other Peter didn't mention that he was going to call, perhaps they'd gotten wires crossed? Maybe Carlisle was waiting for him? Peter grinned, paused, frowned, and finally talked himself into smiling.

The phone rang to voicemail, but that was all right, he got to hear him. Peter didn't leave a message.

He waited an hour and then tried texting. Just a simple: 'Hey, still on for tonght?'

It was eight when he called again, pretty damned hungry and feeling a little let down.

"Hey, it's me. Peter. Petrelli. That guy that wrapped your foot yesterday," he said on the machine and then groaned, feeling stupid. "Um, I'm going to be this place called Jillians..." He gave the address. "Just tell the taxi guy and... Well hope to see you there."

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

By the time Peter got back to the office, it was 10:36pm and he was shattered. Dropping down onto the chair, he sighed loudly and took a few minutes to sort out his head. Well, he assumed he didn't have anything else to do. It wasn't till he started packing up for the day when he remembered his phone.

Oh fuck.

He still went down to Jillians but no one was there, well no one Peter shaped at least. Frowning, he peered around the restaurant before staggering outside and slumping against the wall. Ditching the only friend he had in New York. Great work!

"Hi Peter! Its Peter, you know, the unreliable jerk who screwed up and is now about 2 hours late-ish. I'm sorry, work went a bit-- its a long story. I'm just sorry, ok? And I hope you can get back to me."

Hanging up, he gripped the phone tight and mentally kicked himself. He really liked Peter as well, this could of fone worse.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Three hours actually," Peter said, hands in his pockets as he watched Carlisle for a moment. He'd seen him leave when he got out of the bathroom, three very slowly drunken beers into waiting for him. His friends were still inside, and by 'friends' he meant the girls from his nursing class. They'd been thrilled he'd said he'd go out with them for once, amused that he'd asked a guy to meet them, and then tried to cheer him up when that guy never showed.

They were still in there talking about him, about how all of the really cute ones were gay, but he wasn't there to see them.

Peter stood low enough that he did have to lift his face quite a bit to actually look up at Carlisle, but he didn't mind. "So. Got time now to tell me about your long story? Could just come back to my place. You look like you need somewhere to sit." He nodded to his foot.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

"Three? God, thats worse," Rubbing at his eyes, he offered Peter a tired smile, knowing he definitely let this guy down. He wasn't sure why it mattered so much that the bloke who wrapped his foot might be upset with him but it really did.

Nodding his head, he limped after Peter into the place, dropping down into one of the chairs and sighing. "I got called out, ran around New York, got yelled at by about 30 peoples for God knows why, ran into a magazine rack, lost my gun, had to go find the gun and then finally, I had to find a cab to get back to the office. Even then I had to file papers and-- it was just a really bad day."

Putting his head in his hands, he offered Peter a weak smile. "I am sorry I'm late."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Wiggling a beer and some left over pizza in front of Carlisle, Peter sat down next to him on the couch. "Nah, it's cool, really. You're here for a week on a job. Hanging out with your nurse isn't top on the list of fun and exciting things to do while in New York."

He set his feet up on the table, telling the other Peter he could as well.

"And really, take your shoe off. Let me get some ice for your foot. You shouldn't be on it."

This was usually when any girl he was trying to win over fled. No one wanted a guy like that, even if they all said that they did.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

Taking the beer, Peter popped it open and smirked at the liquor. So this Peter was pretty awesome, he couldn't deny it. He was just happy to have some company that didn't bite his head off for overworking.

With a content sigh, he indulged in the beer and idly picked at the pizza with a content smile. "I can medicate it with this!"

Holding up the beer, he smiled and set it aside, going all at the pizza and working his way through the leftovers. He didn't mind that he was eating others food, usually he brought food for everyone but in this country, he was still finding his feet.

"I'll be fine, promise. But thank though."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Are you a medical professional?" Peter asked, snarking just a little as he came back from the kitchen with ice and a bag of chips. Jeez, Carlisle could eat. It was pretty rare that he had guests besides, and he didn't mind sharing.

So, there they were. In his crappy, robin's egg blue apartment with his furniture from Ikea that he and Nathan had to put together and a coffee table make from two milk crates and a plank of plywood. His bed was just a mattress on the floor in the back room. He didn't even have a kitchen table.

Peter's family had money, but Peter himself was prideful enough to want to do this on his own.

He helped Peter off with his shoe, hands gentle, and set the bag of ice over the bandages. "How does a cop lose his gun anyhow?"