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

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Peter had just gotten here! Gotten there, had a beer, ate some pizza... He did his best to smile, but he would admit to being disappointed. "You could just crash here," he said, before his lower lip sunk down, always knowing just when to make him look like some sort of retarded clown. He stood up quickly. "Sorry, I'm told I try to fix the world. I didn't mean anything..."

It was hard to walk two and a half blocks on a broken foot, but still, two blocks away seemed like such a waste when he had a perfectly good couch.

Ah Peter. His brother would laugh at him and say he was trying to pick up strays again.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

"Really? A strange man with a cripple foot you met yesterday is welcome to stay on your sofa? If you're really fine with it then yeah, I guess, much easier than walking home," Peter agreed with a small idle nod of his head. He didn't find it all that odd, he supposed Americans might be more uptight or something but this guy seemed normal to him.

Then again... he did think he himself was perfectly normal and in no way odd.

"Do you have a blanket or something?" Peter asked, rubbing the back of his head and offering up a smile as a thank you. He didn't like the idea of imposing.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

He couldn't help it, Peter cracked a smile. "You're not going to murder me in my sleep and steal my milk carton crates are you?" he asked, standing up again to get the bedding. Everything smelled like fabric softener, the kind that his mom had used since he was just a little squirt.

He put down the pillows and blankets, collected the beer and put away the wrappers and boxes from Carlisle's meal in the kitchen.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up with my fridge raided though!" he called back out from the little nook he was setting the coffee timer on. "I'm due in work at six so I'll get you up after I shower."

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

"Your milk crates? Nah. Your milk? Probably," Laughing, he set up his makeshift before and tugged off his coat and shoes, setting them neatly beside him. It was nice to have a place to crash that wasn't so devoid of life. It wasn't a bad motel, he just missed the company.

Even if they were sleeping in separate rooms, he liked to know someone was simply so close to him.

"I have work at 8 so cheers, just prod me awake," he only had a half day though, he wasn't exactly sure what he planned to do but he was sure that he'd think of something.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

The dreams came as they always did and despite how wonderful it was to fly around the city like Superman, they turned decidedly worse for the wear as the night wore on.

He awoke screaming sometime just before three in the morning, imagining himself on fire, exploding, killing not just half of the people in the city, but his brother too.

He was soaked in sweat and shaking like a leaf, having forgotten he had company. He might have fled to the bathroom otherwise!

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

Peter wasn't exactly the best in the morning or when half asleep so when he heard Peter scream out, he slipped into cop-mode which was horribly mixed with sleep mode. Tangled in his sheets as he tried to get upright, he end up losing his foot.

Rolling over, he groaned and kicked them off, staggering awkwardly to his feet and trying to grab some sort of weapon. Ah-ha! A lamp.

Half dashing and half limping, he rushed into Peters bedroom with his lamp at the ready.

"Peter?!"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Seeing some strange, tall man burst into his room did nothing for his nerves! Peter yelled again, this time startled, only to realize he knew that shape...and the way his name was said with a bit a roll to the 'r.'

"Oh...oh God," he said, hand to his chest as he tried to shake the fear away. He was going to have a heart attack. First the nightmare and now this?! "What're you doing with my lamp?"

Peter's white undershirt clung to him from sweat. He had tears in his redrimmed eyes and his hair was absolutely everywhere as he pushed the blankets away and tried to get up.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

"I came to save you," Peter declared, obviously half asleep by how much his eyes were struggling to stay wide and one eyelid drooped tiredly. Setting the lamp down, Peter rushed over and clambered onto the mattress, crawling along it in an unintentionally suggestive manner.

Peering at Peter, he frowned and inspected him for injuries. Most likely conclusion? Nightmare.

And he'd brought his A-game and Peters lamp for no reason! Sitting back on his heels, he yawned sleepily. "So... you're not under attack right. Because aside from the lamp, we're a bit screwed. I don't actually have that much upper body strength and I can barely see in this light."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Peter was blushing, shoulders back and spine straight as he watched Carlisle come at him. He had to remind himself to breathe, hands rubbing against his eyes as his warm skin touched the cold wall behind him. He hadn't intentionally meant to shrink away from the other Peter, but now that he was so close, Peter felt really very small.

And a less than faint desire to lift his arm and set his fingertips against the exposed collar bone he happened to be staring at.

"You're not a very good cop," Peter said, the corner of his lips turning up. "I mean, jeez. Didn't you find your gun? Could have at least gotten a knife from the kitchen too."

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

Peter looked like a wounded puppy as he slumped forward and collapsed on the other mans mattress, still too hazy and half asleep to be bothered to stay upright. He just yawned lazily and rubbed at his eye.

"I'm a good cop, just not this early. Side, I left my gun at work when I ran to meet you," He didn't even touch the knife part. Did he really wanted a half asleep limping copper to come charging into his room with a knife?

It was like asking for an unintentional stabbing!

"And we're trying not to kill the suspect, bashing an intruder on the head would be safer for me and my record."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Peter was startled, shifting ever so slightly as the other man laid on his mattress, head on his pillow. This had turned into a very weird night for him, from hanging out at a bar to meet a guy he hardly knew, to inviting him over when he didn't show, to having him sleep on his couch.

And now, Peter Carlisle was not only in his bed, but the owner of that particular bed was sinking down to join him in it.

He rested his head against the pillows, eying the Scotsman with interest as he turned again to face him completely. "I could have been in real danger though," he said, trying to look serious with mirth in his liquid, doe like eyes.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

"And I would'a saved you. My job, that. The whole saving people thing," Peter mumbled into the pillow, probably not really all that aware of what he was doing, he was in some sort of half asleep blur and for some reason, this took him back to when he would come home from work and crawl into bed with Natalie.

"I got your back, I owe you as much," he promised, not being very convincing with the whole 'badass' thing he was trying, it came out more like a whine. Slowly, he spread out, dangerously close to the other man.

Eyes closed, he hummed something lazily to himself before curling one arm under the pillow and half hugging it to him.

"Night other-Peter."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Good night," Peter whispered, feeling hot flashes creep up and down his back. He couldn't get to sleep now, and not just because he'd have to wake up in an hour or so anyhow to start his morning routine. He just felt a little awkward with the DI next to him, half burrowed into his pillow like that.

It left him feeling strange as he watched the way that the car headlights down on the street below passed by, brightening up all of the other Peter's features.

Starting off with just a small touch, fiddling with his hair to push it back against his ear, Peter's curiosity and desire to touch got the best of him.

Carlisle would leave soon. He'd sort of hinted most of the night and yesterday about how charming he found him...and the things he did with his mouth and his tongue... Well damn. Peter was only human. And curious. Not that he could do more than give Carlisle tiny little touches...

He didn't want to wake him!

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

Peter was having a very odd dream where his bad foot was trapped under a taxi and an army of ants were crawling all over him, like little tickling touches. Wriggling and writhing, he made noises of protests and mumbled something about ants.

Peter woke up about half an hour later, unfortunately drooling on the other mans sheets. Jerking his head upright, he raised an eyebrow at Peter, then the room... and finally he recognised where he was.

...Why was he in Peters bed? Did he not get up and leave after the lamp incident? Ah... damn, he fell asleep.

And what someone stroking his hair?!

"I'm in your bed."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

He should have just left it alone, but no. No, now he had to get himself caught doing something silly, like playing pet the strange European that happened to be sleeping in his bed with him, very uninvited.

"Yeah," Peter said, hand still in the other's hair. His wrist was resting on Carlisle's long neck, just under his ear.

At least he had stopped the petting. Not that it saved him from, embarrassingly saying: "I like your hair."

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

He was sleeping in a strangers bed, who was petting his hair, and yet the tone of the conversation was oddly casual. Normal he'd be freaking out but he assumed this had been brought on himself. Which was frankly rather embarrassing.

Peter blinked very slowly, his mouth formed an 'O' before his eyes moved upwards to look at the hand once more.

Right. Well, this was weird. He wanted to explain that Peter was very nice, he'd made a tired mistake, he was sorry for falling asleep and that pretty sure that petting his hair entered creepy territory but-- well, instead his response was a lot less helpful.

"I like my hair too."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Peter's eyes lit up in the puppyish way they both seemed to possess. Perhaps it had something to do with the name. Tilting his head slightly, he rested his cheek on his knuckles and slowly removed his hand from Carlisle's hair.

He was pretty concerned with having his fingers like that, honestly. He didn't want to make any sudden movement, a bit afraid that he'd startle the other man.

"I guess we're in agreement. So can you just wake up anywhere and tada, you're hair's am--"

Peter cut himself off. A warm body with sleepy eyes, a really pretty amazing accent, and a way of making him laugh seemed to be a magnet enough for his lips. He'd been staring at the other Peter's for two days. It seemed only reasonable that he tried to kiss him!

Yep. Burning in hell now.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

He was not really sure what was going on any more. They were kissing? When did this crop up? Did this mean he was gay because he certainly hasn't stopped the kissing. Was Peter gay? Probably. Or bi... people all seemed to be bi these days. Why wasn't he--

Shouldn't he be paying more attention to the man kissing him than anything else.

Jerking away from Peter, he cleared his throat and gave him a small look. "... Ok. I'm confused. You must really love my hair."

And frankly, that idea tickled him enough to make him laugh.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Peter laughed too, rolling onto his back as he pressed his hands against his face. "It's awesome," he confirmed, feeling ridiculous. Carlisle hadn't exactly kissed him back, but he didn't really push him away at first either. Probably because he was asleep. Or maybe he was extra confused.

Well, the same went for the younger man whose bed he was currently sharing.

"Sorry...no really. I didn't-- I'm really not--" Peter bit into the numb section of his lower lip, the one that drooped exactly at the wrong moments, and sat up, kicking his feet out of bed so that he could get up quickly.

Maybe he could just hide in his bathroom for a little while and be done with it.

But noooooo. No, Peter had to play nurse even now. "Still early, but want breakfast?"

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

So they went from sleeping to petting hair to kissing to laugh to... breakfast. Huh, Americans worked very differently to the Scots. It was actually rather fun, if not a little weird and confusing. "Errr, you know I never turn down food."

Rolling off Peters bed, he hurried after the other man, steadying himself on the doorframe and leaning himself against it.

As he watched Peter with a small frown, he mentally tried to work out what was going on here. It could just be his very awesome hair... which he was currently checking out in the window reflection.

It was all ruffled thanks to the petting!

Glancing over at the clock, his eyes almost bulged out of his head. It had just turned 5am! Who was up at this time? Couldn't he of saved the homoerotisms for a normal time like 9am.

"How do you function this early, you mad-man?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"People get their feet run over by taxis at all hours of the day, not just when it's convenient for me," Peter pointed out, taking the pan off of the hook from over the stove and breaking out the eggs. That's right, no poptarts for Carlisle. Peter cooked.

And not only did he cook, but he cooked healthy, delicious things.

"You can go back to bed though, if you're tired." In between his sentences, Peter kept nibbling on his lips. Despite the taste of morning breath and stale beer, he'd really liked it.

First class trip to hell, sinner, his old religion teacher's voice told him, causing him to get an eggshell in his omelet.

He expertly fished it out and glanced over his shoulder at Peter.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

So... no cereal? Or pop tarts? Or toast with jam?

Just eggs and stuff? Healthy breakfast stuff? Ew! Why would he want that? His nose wrinkled up in horror before he stumbled back over to the sofa and dropped down into the sheets.#

This way he could still talk to Peter while staying warm and sleepy. He could set an alarm, doze off, watching some morning cartoons, head off to work and be back by 12!

It all sounded perfect, he really did love quick days like this.

"People really shouldn't be run over any time. That never happened to me in England, says a lot, doesn't it?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"It probably doesn't happen anywhere but New York," Peter said with a laugh. Had he known that Carlisle was planning on returning, he probably wouldn't have worried so much about the impression he left on the other man.

Worry made him cook more than usual and by the time he was finished and the other Peter was probably half asleep again, there were pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast and jam, and thick syrup for him to enjoy.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asked, absolutely certain that he was not going to breach the topic of kissing...or anything like that...again.

[carlislestyle.livejournal.com]

Yawning, Peter had slowly been on the verge of falling asleep but naturally, that went to hell when his new friend was asking about coffee and he could smell food. Why was there this kind of temptation at 5:30am?

Yawning loudly, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulder and blinked tiredly ahead. "Umm... sugar and milk?"

Rubbing at his eyes, he leaned over and inspected his damaged foot before curling it up and onto the sofa with him, happily covered up in the blanket. Best way to keep warm first thing when your crazy friend is making breakfast.

And apparently, neither of them were going to talk about the kiss.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Not if Peter had anything to do with it, they weren't. It had been a moment of weakness brought on by the sheer awesome of Carlisle's accent and his hair. Nothing more. He was overtired, a bit lonely, and everything else was random bits of chance.

Piling up Carlisle's plate with a little of everything, Peter brought it and his coffee over to him on the couch.

"How's the foot? Want me to rewrap it again?"