A Long Trip Home

[chimeramimicry]

The door is two yards away but I can't move from the top of the stairs.  It's been months, four or so, since I've been here, in this spot.  Gone were the days of trudging up the stairs with my satchel on the way home from work because my building's landlords refused to fix the elevators properly.  Gone too was the pleasure I had of returning to this apartment I paid for with my own money and not from my trust fund.  I donated all of that to charity the moment I turned twenty-five and finished paying off my loans to school.  It was two years ago.  It feels like forever.

I'm not the same man I had been.  I'm not a child anymore.  At least, I want to think that.

I'm still clutching the photograph of my brother and I in our tuxedos.  There's a smudge on it from my thumb and full of creases.  I've not let it go since I opened that box containing everything that I am.  Everything I was.  I left Ireland without looking back.  There was, there is only one thing on my mind.  Nathan.

Nathan.

Nathan.

I know he's here.  I've always felt a connection to him.  Mohinder Suresh called it part of my empathy, to feel things like that.  Funny to be so empathically linked to someone I spent my whole life pining for, who has always had a life to live without me.  He's never had time for me.  Never.

"Just walk, Peter," I whisper to myself as I move to a door I have not touched in a long time.  I swallow.  And knock.  I know he's in here without knowing it.  I almost lose the nerve to knock.  Please answer, Nathan.  Please.

Comments

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I lift my glass and swallow the last bit of the golden fluid in the bottom of it. Every last bit of it is gone now, but he's still in my head.

My brother is gone, but he won't leave me alone.

The nightmares are always different, but the end result is the same: unbearable heat, scorching flesh, Peter's scream as he ignites high above New York City.

I don't know how I survived it, and I wish I hadn't. There's nothing here for me now except for what Peter has left behind.

I pick up the picture of myself and Peter at my wedding, and the sharp sound of the knock at the door startles me. I drop it, and the glass cracks right through the middle, separating us, just as we are now in this life.

Wherever you are, that's where I want to be, I think, as I slide back the deadbolt and expect to see my mother's angry face.

It's not Ma.

Maybe I'm dreaming again.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I know I'm staring. I almost blubbered about the wrong address and left the door before I see his eyes. I know him, inside and out, just like he knows me. Even through the hazy liquored up gaze and the intense beard he's sporting, I know him.

But what's happened? I look him up and down before I reach forward. The space between us is just that. Space. It's so easy to move my arm, so easy to touch his chest. He's really. I can feel my eyes filling with tears but I laugh, I laugh softly and shaking my head before my fingers slide into his beard. I tug.

Real too.

"Nathan. It's so good to see you."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

It's not a dream, because those are always nightmares. This is real.

My brother didn't leave me alone because he was never gone.

This is the wish that I have had for months, since I woke up in my hospital bed completely healed of the burns, no longer in pain.

Physical pain, that was. Sometimes emotional pain is worse.

But now none of that matters. Peter is here, his hands buried in my beard, of all the places he could have touched me, and he is laughing. As if it never happened.

I just stare at him, because I know if I blink, I will cry. He already is, but that's Peter. My brother.

Too drunk to speak coherently, I just pull him into my arms.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"You smell terrible," I finally say after my nose has been pressed against his shoulder for almost five minutes. I'm not going to let him go. I refuse to let him go. I've spent the flight back from Montreal with my head literally in the clouds, lost in so many memories that I thought my head would burst.

I don't know if Nathan's laughing or crying. His shoulders are shaking, however, and I can't do anything but hold onto him even more tightly.

I don't know how long we end up back in the apartment. It stinks in here too. I need to open the window, but I can't get away from Nathan. He's a mess. The months apart have not been kind to him. He's been drinking himself drunk each night. Ordering pizza and leaving the boxes scattered across the floor. He's broken my things, left trash everywhere--

I'm laughing agai, this time pushing away from my brother. "You need a shower, Nathan, I mean it." And I need to clean up this mess. "Come with me, I'll help you."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

His words, though softly spoken, slam me like a punch in the chest, and they echo, banging around in my head. My heart races faster, and my stomach twists on itself.

He's telling me no?

I can't fucking believe it. Peter led me on, let me lay next to him and touch him, and now he has the nerve to deny me?

I'm definitely not drunk anymore, but I don't feel sick either.

All I can feel now is anger, rushing in my veins, alongside the absolute need I have for him, to make him completely mine. There's no turning back now.

"What did you say?" I hiss, pulling Peter onto his back and straddling him in one swift motion. "Molest you? Is that what you're calling it now?"

I don't even care if he answers me or not. It's too late for that.

Before he can react I take him roughly by his slender wrists and bear my full weight down on him. I know he can feel how hard I am, because my cock is pressed against his bare stomach. The contact makes me gasp involuntarily, and I instantly roll my hips down into his stomach, letting him know truly now what I want. I look straight into his eyes, those eyes that are the same color as mine, and I can't help but smile. I can't read him right now.

I hear his words again inside my head, and though I'm burning with anger, there is a dull ache in my chest, because I find myself wondering if I ever really knew my brother at all.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"I was joking, Na--" I'm not able to get anything else out. I am far stronger than my brother, but to prove that, I will have to hurt him. I've spent months not knowing who I am. He has spent months believing I was dead and trashing my apartment.

I don't know what he wants, what he really wants. Sure, I'm begining to guess -- it's hard not to with my brother's erection pressing against my stomach -- but I simply can't believe he'd do this.

My heart is beating so loudly in my ears that I can't hear myself think. I am unable to ask the question most on my mind. Why?

He's hurting me. Bruising me. I can feel that he wants to do so much more than that. There are tears in my eyes, but I am not fighting him. I wanted his love, his true love, for as long as I could remember.

I was a child when I first wanted him, I'm a child even now, turning my face up to his when he kisses my slack lips. I'd give Nathan anything. Just not this. He'll hate himself...and he'll hate me...the moment this is over.

"Stop it, Nathan." I'll beg him next if I have to.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

"As long as you are," I whisper back, and wait for him to put his head down again. God, if I don't do something quickly, he's going to notice that I'm really not all right. I glance quickly around my brother's bedroom, wondering if maybe he's got some hand lotion or something lying within reach. Of course not.

There's only one thing I can do, and either he's going to love it, or it's going to scare him. A chance I'll have to take.

I lay my hand on his thigh and nudge his leg lightly, and still, he knows exactly what I want him to do, and suddenly, I'm not afraid anymore either. Peter completely trusts me. I could do anything to him right now, and he won't stop me, and that's all the push I need.

Before I change my mind, I lean down and spread him open, and begin exploring the most sensitive part of him with my tongue. The surprised sound he makes in reaction sets my nerves ablaze once again, and the heavy ache between my legs makes itself known. Fuck it. He won't see me touching myself while I'm doing this to him, and I don't care if he does.

His body is so relaxed now that it doesn't take much for me to work my tongue inside him. I'm enjoying this sinful act way more than I should, and I decide I'll let him know it. I raise my head long enough to groan, "You're fucking perfect, Peter."

I grab his ass in both my hands and squeeze lightly and repeatedly while I push my tongue inside him again and again, kissing, licking him. If I wasn't before, I'm definitely going to hell now, and I'm taking my little brother with me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I know my eyes are going to pop right out of my skull. It's impossible not to know what he was doing and I have to admit, as amazing as it feels, I'm totally self conscious. Was I clean enough for him? I gasp. Once. Twice. I can't even manage to say his name, it comes out trembling and awkward as I curl my toes.

My God, what is my brother doing to me?

The first time he penetrates me, I am absolutely sure that I could die. I want to tell him to stop, but my tongue doesn't work. The way I arch my back is as dirty as what he's doing. Knees and elbows on the bed. Ass lifted towards him. I tilt back my head even, making my body into some sort of fleshy accordian. I'm pressing into him. Pressing myself back. Wanting this delicious filth.

I feel exposed. I feel pulled open. It's as wonderful as it is uncomfortable. Each quick little thrust of his tongue makes me sink into this consent. I feel myself twitch against the sheets. As far as I'm concerned just this moment, he could do this for the rest of our lives.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

Peter brings me a glass of water, and I want to throw it against the wall, but I can barely even hold the damn thing. I can't stand being too weak to take care of myself. I just hope he realizes this has nothing to do with him; I was the one that drank myself sick for three of the four months he was gone. I've never had a healthy relationship with alcohol. I remember getting into Dad's liquor cabinet when I was seventeen, taking something to liven up junior prom night.

My vision darkens, and I feel the glass slipping. Peter steadies me once again, and he brings the glass to my lips, and I take a few sips, just to make him leave me alone.

"Where are you going?" I ask, trying not to sound as pathetic as I must look, wondering if he'll tell me the truth. I almost hope he doesn't come back.

Heidi left me once I made it clear that all I cared about was myself. My loss. My pain. Like I was the only one who was devastated over the loss of Peter. And look how I've changed my ways. Look how I've shown him how much he meant to me. Took advantage of him. He doesn't need my bullshit. I've done nothing but hurt him.

Peter doesn't say anything. I wonder if he knows just how much I hate the silent treatment. He covers me with a blanket, and kisses my cheek.

Exhaustion weights my eyelids again, and as I fall into black, dreamless sleep, I desperately hope he'll come back.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It's not easy to leave him but we seriously have nothing here. Pizza boxes, and that's not saying much. I remember long nights of talking over pizza and beers, even before I was old enough to drink. Nathan was a 'cool' older brother back then. Even if he was still doing the same crap to me as he was now: trapping me in agreements to do things for him, covering for him when he needed a night away from his wife and kids, being his excuse when he was so obviously cheating on his family.

But I never said anything then. And I can't find my voice to say anything now either.

I somehow manage to smile at the cashier that rings me up. We've got milk and orange juice on the way to the fridge, popsicles and icecream for the freezer. There's canned goods and frozen dinners and some meat and cheese too. Stuff for sandwiches. Fresh bread to go with jams and whipped butter.

I'm a lot stronger than I look, I have Nikki to thank for that, though the bagboy gives me a leery look as he hands over both parcels. "You got that?"

I just nod at him and head home.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

"I won't," I lie, kissing his temple, nuzzling my nose in his hair briefly. I adjust my body so that no part of him is touching me except for his head beneath my chin. I'm staying only until he falls asleep again, and then I have to go. The shame of what I've done is still eating away at me, clawing at my insides like a vicious, rabid beast.

I shouldn't be anywhere near him right now. Especially not in his bed.

Peter deserves better than me. I was supposed to watch over him, take care of him, teach him, protect him. Now I've hurt him in the worst way anyone ever could.

Even if my brother forgives me for this unspeakable crime I've committed against him, I don't think I'll ever forgive myself. There really isn't any way to fix this, no matter how I rationalize it to myself. Peter can still love me, but I know because of what I've done, somewhere inside him, he'll always hate me.

Peter's finally asleep again, and I tuck the blanket around him and sit up. I have to go home, take another shower, get into some half-decent clothes. I also have to tell Ma that Peter's home, alive and well.

Maybe not well, not after what I've done.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

There is goes, the end of my world. I wake up alone in a cold bed. My hand touches the spot he was laying in the last time my eyes are open. It's cold. He hasn't been here in some time. I've been without him for four months, and now he's left. I should have given in. I shouldn't have pulled away or cried or went to the grocery store...

I'm beating myself up because I do, truly, feel as if this has been my fault. What did he say to me? I've been teasing him since I was a kid, right? I've been driving him mad, so mad in fact that he could only lash out. He hadn't meant to.

I've got enough excuses for my brother to drive me into tears once more. I get up just the same and search the apartment. I even check under the bed and when the phone rings, I feel my heart break to see that the caller ID is for my mother.

Not for the man that loves me.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I'm straddling my brother. Beating the living hell out of him. He fucking deserves it. Little fuck won't even hit back. The most powerful of them all, my ass.

A sharp, biting pain stops me in the midst of my violence.

There is a bit of broken bottle embedded in my palm...more than a bit, actually.

I look down at Peter, and he's got blood all over his face, in his hair, but not a mark on him, of course. Jesus Christ, did he just spit out a tooth?

That is the sight that finally snaps me out of it entirely.

I pull the piece of glass out gingerly, and for a second, I wonder why it doesn't bleed. One second. Two.

There it goes. I feel my stomach flip: I cannot stand the sight of my own blood. I begin to panic as I watch the dark red rivulet flow down my wrist, soaking into the glaring white of my shirt sleeve.

All I know is that my left hand is cut wide open, and my right hand aches from all the blows I landed on Peter's face.

I turn my hand around to show him what I've done, and then my vision goes gray, then black.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I just let him stay there, stay on the floor on his back. I'm shaking like a leaf, even as I heal, my hands trembling as I try to remove the glass from the back of my head and my neck and shoulders. I feel pain. I might heal, but I feel all of it. Every hit, every laceration.

What did I say this time?

I clean up the glass. I wrap his hand. The cut isn't too bad, it won't need stitches. I could have done that too if need be. I ransack the kitchen. My kitchen. When he wakes up, I've found three more bottles I missed on the first sweep.

"You can leave," I tell him the moment I hear him groan and sit up. "I'm unstable myself. I can't deal with you too."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Okay," I moan into his neck as I kiss him there, opening my mouth to taste his skin, breathing in the scent of him. Strawberry shampoo and Ivory soap mingled with the natural smell of him.

"Peter, you're so beautiful." I take him in my arms and set him on his feet and stand myself in one quick motion. "I could tell you that over and over again." I pull his shirt up over his head, and watch him watching me with dark, desperate eyes as I unbutton mine.

I look into those eyes as I pull him close, my hand resting on his bare back, his hips against mine. He's hard, and so am I, and I want to touch him so badly, but I have to go slowly. Let Peter feel everything. Let him want it, and let him tell me when he does.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My eyes remain half lidded as I gaze through a forest of dark black lashes at him. I focus on his lips until they touch mine, tilting back my head as my fingers -- once free of the shirt he pulls from me -- touch the scar on his chin. I feel the corners of my mouth tilt up briefly, my gaze touching his for just a moment.

He's got many scars from many years of being with the Navy, from playing sports, from simply being human and athletic. I kiss one on his shoulder, standing in the middle of my little apartment as he brings his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks to kiss my mouth again.

I yield for him because I love him, because I want him to be gentle, because I need so desperately for him to keep me close and never, never let me go.

"Nathan--" I can almost hear him shushing me with his long lashed eyes so I nod, letting him pull me back in the strangest dance into bed again. I've changed the sheets. It no longer smells like the sex that should have never been...

And will soon smell like the two of us the way it was meant to be.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

With my eyes closed and his breath hot against my neck, I feel my cheeks begin to color as he spoons me, his fingers trailing down my chest as he disturbs the hair at the nape around my ears. I've never felt anything like this. Just yesterday, I was left crying in his arms. And tonight, I might as well have died and gone to heaven. The act had been similar, I know this, but the feeling is completely different.

I'm whole.

Rape, being beaten, being left... Nathan could do all of those things again to me right now and I would not care. I know I'm sick. I know that there's something terribly wrong with me, but I don't care.

I open my eyes to watch our reflection in the mirror. His knees press into the backs of mine. The curve of his body is just a little taller then mine is and I can see how his tanner skin looks against the snow white that covers my chest and thighs.

I watch him fondle him. I watch him kiss my neck. I watch him do the things that no one should ever do to their little brother.

"I love you too, Nathan."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

For the first time since Peter walked in this door, since he came back into my miserable, lonely life, since I hurt him, pushed him away, I feel as though maybe I deserve to hear those words from him again.

Nothing in the world right now could make me happier than lying here with my brother, making him feel loved, wanted, needed. It's all he's ever wanted, and all I've ever wanted to give him.

I don't know how long we lie here together; time seems to stand still and pass us by all at once. I drift off into sleep momentarily, into dreams of him, similar to ones I used to have long ago, dreams of making love with my brother. Or maybe I'm not sleeping. Maybe I'm just remembering what has finally become reality.

I open my eyes, and I gaze upon our reflection in the mirrored closets. Peter's eyes are closed, and I wonder if he's asleep himself.

I nuzzle my face into his neck, and I trace my fingers over his side, his hip, down into the coarse curls of hair directly beneath. I watch in the mirror as my hand moves over him, back and forth, base to head. His eyes stay closed, but he becomes hard again quickly under my touch, and the sight of his arousal awakens my own desire. Peter moans almost under his breath when I press myself into the base of his spine.

Now that I've had him, I don't know if I'll ever get enough of him. I'll do anything to make him happy, make him love me. Anything to keep him here by my side. Anything so that he'll be mine forever.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

My heart sinks into my stomach as I realize what he's saying. He's willing to share me...with my family. The family that I no longer have because of my mourning and my drinking. I have nothing left, because without my brother, I was nothing.

Oh, God. He doesn't know.

I never told him about Heidi and the kids. During this whole three days Peter's been back, neither one of us has spoken a word about what we've been through while we were apart.

"We have to talk, Peter. About a lot of things."

I pull him over to the table and sit him down, and then take a seat myself. I run a hand through my hair, rub the stubble on my chin.

Peter looks worried again, as if what I'm going to say is going to crush his world. But it was my world that had ended once I thought Peter was gone forever, scattered into ash high above New York City.

And as I speak my next words, my heart breaks all over again, this time for my little boys.

"Heidi...she left me. I was drinking too much. One night I was so angry and so drunk that I hit her, Pete, and the next thing I knew, there was an order of protection against me. She threw me out. I can't see my kids. She served me with divorce papers. That's why I've been here; I had nowhere else to go. Ma wouldn't let me stay with her if I kept drinking."

I blow out a hard breath, and the shakes start up again. I try to hide my hands under the table, try not to let Peter see how sick I get when I don't drink.

Because of my survivor's guilt, and the devastating realization that I'd never see my brother again, I've cast this curse upon myself.

But I can't let him know how bad it really is; I don't need him to blame himself for this either.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"We can fix it!" Are you crazy, Peter? You're going to just give him up? I grab his hands as they shake and pull them to my lips for a gentle kiss along his knuckles. "I can talk to her. This...drinking. You can stop it." My God, you'd just give him up?

That's the truth though. If he would be happier without me or with someone else, I would stupidly serve that other person up on a silver platter and shove my own needs down to only be looked at once in awhile. I'm a bit inhuman like that. Though I don't always let Nathan have all of me, though I've given in to my desire to hit him on occasion or go against his wishes, it does not matter.

The way he looks at me makes the smile peek out behind the curtain of my hair. I press his fingertips to my lips.

"No one should have their kids taken from them."

Good going, Pete. He just beat your head in yesterday afternoon and you're already so quick to downplay his violence?

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Pete," I moan, as his lips blot away my tears. I've cried way too much these last three days, but these are by far ones I've held in the longest.

Or perhaps I cried so much for the loss of Peter that the loss of Heidi and my boys really never hit me until right this second. Or maybe I'm just too drunk to care if I'm falling to pieces, if the last thread of my strength is broken.

"I love her, Pete. I love her, I miss her. My boys...they need me and I'm a total failure. I fucked everything up. I ruined everything. Oh, God. Pete, I'm nothing. Nothing without them. I need help. I have to stop. This is gonna kill me, Pete..."

I'm rambling and babbling while Peter takes off my shoes, unbuttons my shirt, and slides it off my shoulders. Finally I'm crying unintelligibly, and Peter is shushing me still. I feel his hands on my shoulders, kneading all the tension out of my muscles. His hands are cold against my skin, but his touch is soothing.

I bury my face in my own injured hands, the ones I used to hurt him, and I keep wiping the tears away, but they just won't stop. I close my eyes to block out the room that's now spinning and swirling violently.

When I'm sure I'm not going to be sick, I turn to my brother, look into those dark eyes that are filled with concern and worry for me. And love. Always love.

I nearly fall into his arms, resting my head on his chest to listen to the strong, steady beat of his heart. My brother who will never die. He'll probably live forever, and that means he'll love me forever, long after I'm gone.

If I don't stop this drinking, that day will come sooner than I expect, of that I'm sure.

Peter cradles me to him, and I plead, my voice thick with tears, "You have to help me, Peter. You're the only one that loves me enough."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I'm the only one that loves him enough, but he'll never love me as much as I love him. He's already told me that he is nothing without his wife and children. He'll die without them. It's not that I wanted him to die when he thought he lost me, but he has to know how desperately in love with him I am. I'm in love with him, pitifully so. I think I've known it for a long time too.

And so, little puppy Peter, who spent all his days acting as if his brother was God himself, will selflessly do what needs to be done.

"Let me talk with her. I can fix it for you." And lose you. Christ. His tears bring my tears. As I stroke his injured hand and stroke the back of his neck and kiss the corners of his eyes, and give him everything of me that there is to give.

He learned a long time ago just to accept it. To take it if I didn't give it. God. He wanted the last piece of my birthday cake, and stole it. He wanted a girl I was dating in college and slept with her. He wanted to bury himself inside of me and took my innocence in the very bed in the center of the room. He wanted my love and stole my heart.

I run my fingers through his hair and pause, breathing in.

He wanted to bury himself inside of me and took my innocence in the very bed in the center of the room.

I remember...I remember his hand across my mouth.... I remember the lightning storm. I remember... My lips fall against his ear as I tremble. The rape in my apartment was not the first time.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Peter's lips against my temple, his whispered promise, wakes me from my half-sleep, and I manage a weak, "Okay, Pete." Somehow we've both slid to the floor, and the hardwood is cold beneath me. I shiver, and I snuggle deeper into his embrace. My brief slip into unconsciousness has cleared some of the alcoholic haze from my brain, but my limbs are heavy and won't obey my commands.

Peter realizes I'm freezing, and he lifts me in his arms like I'm a child, like I'm his little brother, even though I must outweigh him by at least thirty pounds.

I know where he got that ability. That crazy blonde chick that almost fucked my life up in Las Vegas, what seems like an eternity ago.

I fucked my life up. Not her, not anyone else but me.

It's not fair to ask Peter to fix this, or even let him. I have to do it. I have to convince Heidi to take me back. I have to get treatment for my alcoholism, and I have to be the man Heidi and my boys need me to be. I have to do it myself.

These thoughts torment me while Peter puts me in my bed, curls up next to me, and covers us both with the heavy comforter. He's asleep in moments, his breaths deep and even against the back of my neck.

When I'm sure he's out, I get out of bed and go down the hall to his room, where Heidi and my sons are staying for the night. The door is slightly ajar, and I push it open just enough so that I can see them all buried snugly in my brother's bed.

I only see Heidi and Monty. Where is my older son?

Panic grips me as I swing the door open, and then I see him, sitting in a large armchair by the window, looking out into the icy torrents of rain, and at first I think the tears that run down his face are not real, just a reflection from the glass.

"Hey, buddy," I say, approaching Simon very slowly.

"Hi, Daddy," he chokes, wiping his nose.

"What's the matter?" I press, holding my arms open. He needs a hug. But he doesn't give it to me.

"I want you to come home, Daddy. Mommy cries all the time, even though she tries not to let us see. Monty misses you too. He wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Don't you love us anymore?"

My heart nearly shatters in my chest at my son's despair. He has to know it's not his fault. "Come here, buddy. Come on and give your Dad a hug."

Simon stays in place, though I can see he wants to. But he's afraid that even if he shows me this simple affection, I'll just turn around and leave him again.

I sit down at his feet. "You're a big boy now, so I'm gonna tell you something. You know how sometimes you fight with your little brother, but you never stop loving him?"

Simon nods.

"Well, your Mommy and I, we love each other, and we love you both. But we sometimes don't agree with each other. I'm gonna try to make it right, buddy, but your Mom has to try too. I promise I'll try, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," he sobs, finally throwing himself into my arms. He clings to me and cries into my neck, and I rub his back with my palm in gentle circles. I pray to God I don't break this promise.

Simon falls asleep in my arms, and I settle us both into the armchair under a throw blanket. My tired eyes close, and I see my family, all of us, back together again. Please, God, help me make this dream into reality.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

He's not there when I wake up, the large bed filled with memories and as empty as it had been the night after the first time he took me. I found Nathan that morning down at breakfast... but today, I find him somwhere else. He and his family. It's a beautiful sight, really, with Heidi and Monty in bed and Simon snuggled into Nathan's arms in the chair by the window.

They are in my room and I can't help but feel tremors run through me at that.

Tears roll down my cheeks unbidden and I close the door immediately before I take a shower, get dressed, and go down to sit with my mother. "Where's Nathan?"

"He's with Heidi and their boys," I say, my fork and knife scritching on the plate. I eat the meal, though I don't want it. I wonder if I'd die if I didn't eat...and if I came back from that, would I die again before I could put anything into my mouth?

It's so morbid. "Peter?"

I don't look up at her, but I answer. "Yeah, mom?"

"Are you--"

"I'm fine," I say too quickly. Truth is, I'm not fine.

I'm in love with my brother. I've been in love with my brother for my entire life. Since I knew what being in love meant. And he might love me, I don't doubt that, but I'm not anyone he needs.

Re:Sylar/Peter

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

He's a lot more forward and a lot less shy than I thought he'd be. I don't even have to get him out of his clothes; he takes them off willingly, and I follow suit.

I don't want to be here under these lights; I really can't afford for all these people to see what I really want to do to him. This may be a performance, but the blood will be real. The screams will be in pain, not in coital bliss.

The little slut isn't going to make this easy for me, and I wonder if he has any idea that I'm powerless and just need him for his.

Chances are he'll be with me for the night. I'll take what I need later. For now, I'll give him what he wants. Without so much as a kiss or a touch, I turn him around unceremoniously push myself into his ass, feeling the delicate tissue inside him tear and heal around me repeatedly. He doesn't scream or cry, to my dismay. He just clenches down around me and groans, a spray of curses leaving that pretty mouth. He supports himself on the wall with one hand, jerking himself in the other, the heat of the lights over us causing beads of sweat to form on his back, on my chest.

I look around us, and I see countless men who are less willing to fuck in public with one hand on their drinks, the other on their dicks, watching me thrust myself in and out of my mortal enemy's body. I can see why he gets a thrill out of this. From what I know of him, he's always liked to do things to get attention.

I press my body up against his, still pounding into him. "Never knew you were such an exhibitionist, Petrelli," I groan into his neck, biting this time hard enough to draw blood. I feel his skin heal under my lips, and I lick away the salty tang of his blood and repeat the process. His groans become high-pitched moans. Maybe he likes the pain.

Re: Sylar/Peter

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I don't care who it is that fucks me, it's always Nathan in my mind. Nathan, no matter the size of the cock, the feel of the mouth, or the way I am touched. My brother is on my mind now up until Sylar starts to talk. He knows, somehow, exactly what I want. My fingers wrap around the light fixture over my head and I push myself up on my toes as he pounds me hard, the sound of his balls slapping my ass.

"Jesus, fuck that kid!"

"I get him next."

"You're tearing that ass up!"

There's more cat calls than I can actually keep up with, but they don't matter. Face against the wall, I do my best to look over my shoulder at him. His hair is long, in his face. He looks amazing, his body tight and his cock so thick that it splits me with each thrust, even if the blood from before is making excellent lubrication. "Harder--"

I'll beg him if he wants me too, but he obliges and I come, hard, hard enough to almost black out. He's got an arm around me and follows me into bliss. Still attached, we crumble to the floor. I expect him to pull out, to pull his pants up, to kill me. But he doesn't. Instead, he's growling almost animalistically at anyone that comes near.

I shiver, thinking about being claimed. "You're coming with me tonight," he says in my ear. I shake my head.

"I don't--"

"Wasn't a choice."

He dresses me, because I can hardly move, and nod at him. "Yeah, all right," I whisper, kissing his mouth with hungry, terribly hungry lips. This is the first time that I haven't thought of Nathan. All I'm thinking about is another ride on Sylar's cock.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Of course I'll stay with you," I answer, nuzzling his temple briefly, placing a soft kiss there. "I'm paying good money for this room; I might as well enjoy it." I wink at him, trying to get him to smile.

No matter what he’s been through these last few hours, I want to help him somehow. Even if he feels like he can’t tell me what it is. I want my little brother to have a happy birthday, and I'll do my best to make it happen.

“Oh, damn it, Pete!" I say, theatrically slapping myself in the forehead. "I left the house in such a rush I forgot your birthday present! Guess I’ll…have to improvise,” I suggest, kissing him again, this time on the side of his neck. My lame attempt at humor doesn't seem to help, though. His body shudders, and I only have to look at his face to know that he doesn't want to be touched like that tonight. I find myself struggling to force down a new pulse of anger at the person who did this to Peter.

Tears still glitter in my brother's beautiful dark eyes. I don’t know what I can do to help him. The alcohol is spreading its fiery warmth through me now, and I know I still have to try. I really want to give him his birthday present the best he’s had in a long while.

Maybe I can help him forget how much he hurts.

I set my empty glass on the nightstand, and I lean closer in to him, slide one hand beneath the comforter wrapped around his naked body, over the soft white skin of his shoulder, nudging the blanket off him very gently. He just looks at me, his limbs unresponsive, and his eyes pleading. For me to stop? To keep going? I don’t know what he wants, because he’s silent as the snow falling outside the window of our hotel suite.

“Are you all right, Peter?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him close to me. I’m so afraid for him. I’m beginning to think I made the biggest mistake of my life, letting him fly away a week ago.

“Please tell me you’re okay,” I beg him. I brush the dark hair out of his face with one hand, my other palm rubbing his back gently, his skin cold to the touch.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My brother needs to hear these things so I am willing, as always, to give it to him. I even manage a smile, though I know it does not touch my soul. I can be a good actor. I have enough powers, enough abilities to survive a life of lying should I want to, or need to as the case might be. Nathan's warm and I swallow my tears, leaning up to kiss my brother's lips.

He wants to touch me. He wants to hold me. And this is better than being alone. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I really would be happy with never having sex again.

"I'm all right, Nathan," I tell him with a somewhat trembling voice that I quickly get under control again. "I'm just tired, you know? It's been... A really long week."

I wrap my arms around my brother's neck and press against him. I don't want to, but he'll never know. He's not a mind reader.

"Just...stay with me for tonight...and you can go back to your family tomorrow."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

He doesn't care who knows. Now that's so fucking funny, I laugh, a bitter, horrible sound that I don't even recognize. Of course Peter doesn't care. He wanted to grow up to be a fucking nurse, for Christ's sake. Keeping everybody's secrets. I wonder if wanting to fuck your brother somehow falls under the patient confidentiality laws? Because I know what the fuck we're doing is illegal. I must not have cared then, but I sure as hell can't accept this now.

Dad. He did this to me, to him, to us. He found out somehow. He was the one who was so fucking entranced with me having an ability that he injected me against my own volition and made me what I am today. Ma must have told him.

No fucking way, I decide. Ma was always on my side, through everything. It had to be Peter.

"What did you do?" I scream, launching myself toward him. "You told them? You were that fucking jealous?" I'm seeing red. I know I'm being irrational. I don't notice that my fingernails are digging painfully into Peter's biceps, and that I'm pushing my full weight against him, his body half over the balcony.

Of course he was born for me. I was supposed to love him, and I do. I was supposed to watch over him, teach him, help him. And I did. But I can't control him. Never could. It's so clear to me now. I was supposed to use him for what I wanted. Give him what he wanted. And when that wasn't enough, when I married Heidi, he threw it back in my face? "What the fuck is wrong with you, Peter?" I hiss, my voice low, threatening.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

One day my brother will not jump to conclusions in his own mind and will talk to me first, but this is not that day. As he slams me against the wall, as he tears into me and blames me for what he initiated me into, I can do nothing but laugh at him. It's so ridiculous. We fuck and the next day, he's got to turn on me.

I wonder, and it's mostly an absent though, if that wasn't because of the blockage Dad put on his brain. Nathan's got to fight against what we have. He's got to destroy it.

Maybe he just likes to destroy things. Destroy me.

"I didn't tell anyone," I say when his anger looks like it might consume him. My muscles relax. He can't kill me. Sure, I feel the pain of it, but he can not destroy me. Not now, not ever. Not in any way. "He walked in on us. In his study."

Nathan had me bent over a desk. I was seventeen years old, just ready to go to College. I think Heidi might have been pregnant by then. The years blur together for me.

"Jesus Nathan. Do you feel better when you hurt me?"

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

My stomach flips violently at the mention of breakfast, and there I go, heaving over the ice bucket, nothing coming up. When it finally stops, I'm trembling all over, and Peter just rubs my back, wipes the tears from my face with the pad of his thumb.

It's not over yet, I guess. This is Purgatory. I entertain the notion that I must have died already, doomed to spend the afterlife between the definitive Heaven or Hell, with my little brother, whom I hate more than anything right now.

The lucid days are usually angry days, and today is one of them. "There's your fucking answer," I snap at him. I think about hitting him, but I've barely got enough strength to raise my arms. I lean my head back against the headboard, tears still running down my face as he unties my wrists. I'm pitiful. My body is weak because haven't eaten all that much in the throes of my sickness. I need him to help me to the bathroom so I can relieve myself, brush my teeth, wash my face. He steadies me so I don't fall, holds me up, makes me do the rest. It takes a long time, because I'm shaking so badly, but I don't want any more help from him than I absolutely need. He kisses my cheek, but I turn my face away. "No," I whisper. "Leave me alone."

He obliges, literally, taking his hands away from their place on my waist. I try to walk out of the bathroom, and I make it a few steps onto the carpeted floor of this luxurious prison he's keeping me in, and then I collapse on my ass. He bends over, helps me up. I struggle weakly against his arms when they slip around me, hugging me to him. "Peter," I moan. "Can't you let me go? Please?" I'm begging him again. But it never works.

He sits me in the bed, wraps the blanket around us. He whispers loving words into my ear and runs his soft, warm hands all over my body until the shakes stop. Then he dials room service.

I hate him so much, but I won't tell him that today. I'm not going to speak another word to him if I can help it. My body still craves a drink, but it's not as bad as it was when it first started.

I hate him like I did when it first started, though. I don't know if I'll ever forgive him for what he's forcing me to do.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It takes a phenomenal effort not to touch his mind and read his thoughts. I am and have been a masochist for some time now but the sheer amount of hate he has for me is never getting any better. I can taste that he is becoming less dependant on alcohol, but it is not reverting him back to the old Nathan, my very first and only love. He'll never be that way again. In fact, I'm almost possitive that he's going to hate me forever now.

I can read it in his eyes. He doesn't kiss me back. He tries not to speak to me. He's acting like I'm his jailer.

And I am.

I'm sacraficing the left over love he has for me so that he can be a good husband ot Heidi and a good father to his boys. I know this. As the silent treatment wears on from morning, through breakfast, lunch, dinner, and too many bad pay per view movies, I find the weakness in my heart finally catching up with me.

"Please Nathan." It's my turn to beg. "Yell at me. Hit me. Don't ignore me."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"You're not alone, Pete," I insist, then slide my mouth down on his cock again. Peter's eyes roll back into his head, and he thrusts into my face once, twice. I look up, and he's moaning, mouth open, but he's still got that lost look in his eyes. I'm about to stop, but Peter just pushes my head back down.

Stubborn as ever. He's still spilling his heart out to me, and it seems like I'm just ignoring him. A person like my brother should never be alone. He needs people, and not just any people. People who love him and need him.

He likes what I'm doing, but I just know he needs something more from me than an expertly delivered blowjob. I can't suck him off and talk to him all at once. So I press a few more kisses to his cock, raise myself back up, and cup his face in my hand. I have an idea, and I just hope he won't be too proud and stubborn to accept it.

"Peter, you don't have to be alone. I have a huge fucking house in Long Island, Pete. Get rid of your fucked-up apartment and come live with me. Heidi would be thrilled to have you, and then the boys could see you every day. Then I could see you every day. What do you think?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Christ, he should have just kept on sucking my cock. I shouldn't have brought this up at all. I groan, pushing him away from me as I shake my head. Heidi will always be a sticking point. It's one thing to let him go ahead and have her where I don't have to see it but it's quite another to...

"Are you crazy?" I don't mean to jump down his throat. My eyes are wide as I smirk and get out of bed. "What are we suppose to do? Share a secret kiss in the hallway? Am I suppose to just sleep in the room next to yours and listen to you fuck her?"

I can feel my eyes swell ever so slightly. I don't want to cry but thinking about it is like having a knife in the gut.

I swallow and actually get out of bed, pushing him off.

"You can't ask that of me. You can't just expect me to be thrilled that you want me to get to see what I can't have."

I scrub at my face with my hand and groan.

"At least if you visit me I can pretend we're together. Really together."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"There is no better way," I breathe against his neck, kissing him softly a few times before continuing, giving myself time to think. There really isn't, though. That's the damn truth.

He's my brother, and each time we do this I know I should feel guilt, or remorse. Or something. But I don't. I'm way past that. I know he is too.

I cheated on Heidi a few times throughout our marriage. An irresponsible one-night stand here and there, never a full-blown affair. Nope, that's a lie. I think briefly of Meredith, push that thought away as quickly as it comes. Claire...

Anyway, Peter doesn't count, because I had him first. He was my lover before and during Heidi's and my courtship, our engagement, until Dad found out and made me forget. Took us away from each other. But the strength of our love brought us back together, no matter how forbidden, no matter the stigma of homosexuality, of incest.

I'm not going to go shout it on the rooftops that I'm in love with Peter, but I've come to accept us for what we are.

My perfect world really does revolve around having Heidi and my children in my life, and keeping Peter as my mistress. Terrible, but true. It's not fair to either of us, especially not to him, but one thing I'm sure of: we'll die without it.

"What are you thinking right now?" I ask him, turning him to face me. I twirl a strand of his hair around my forefinger, kiss his sweaty forehead. Then I press my ear to it, and cock my head as if I'm trying to physically listen in on his thoughts.

"Nope, no new powers. Can't read your mind," I joke half-heartedly. Maybe if I could, it would make our lives easier, help me to know what Peter really wants from me. What he needs.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I know he's trying to keep things light between us, so I smile. I smile and I pull his arm around my waist. He is not allowed to know what I'm thinking about. I can't have all of him, so he can't have all of me. I lay my hand over his hand. I curl my fingers through his. And then I close my eyes.

Of course, he presses. He's a lawyer at heart. This what he does. I can only sigh as he kisses my skin in way that make it light up and catch fire.

My lips tremble, and I turn my face to look at him and slowly open my eyes, catching his. "What am I thinking? Right now?" He nods and I sigh, rolling over to settle my nose against his. "I'm thinking that if I was a woman, I could give you children. And if I could give you children, you'd stay with me."

He asked.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I'm silent for a little while, until he steps in even closer to me. He didn't listen to me. He didn't even look at himself. All he's even fixated on is what I think. Always trying to please me. Make me happy. when I just want that same thing for him. I close my eyes and blow out a frustrated breath.

No matter what answer I give to his question, it's going to hurt him in some way. If I say I like him better like this, or better as himself, it won't matter. It's like he's purposely setting himself up for failure, affirming his self-doubt, his inadequacy.

Because he knows he can't ever be enough for me. That truth hurts him, and I know that. But he doesn't have to be everything. He just has to be Peter.

"Peter," I sigh, placing my hands gently on his waist, barely touching him, "I'm beginning to realize something through all of this. It wouldn't matter if you stayed like this forever, or changed right back, right now. I've known you your whole life, and it's not your body that matters. It's what's in here." I press my hand against his left breast, feel his heart racing beneath.

I can't help it when my hand slides a little lower, and I fondle his nipple. Still the same color as on his male body, but twice the size, and definitely much more sensitive, I'm betting.

He probably thinks I made him take off his clothes so I could try to take advantage of him. It's nothing like that. Is it?

I'm trying to make him comfortable in this new body, but he just can't be persuaded on his own. For me to touch him when he's like this, it excites me and makes me feel guilty all at once. I thought I was past that aspect of our relationship. This transformation of his is really screwing with my head.

Sleeping with Peter as a man is one thing. Sleeping with him like this? Even though my dick is hard to aching once again, I don't know if I could do it, even if he wanted me to. Which clearly he doesn't.

"Go on, get dressed. We'll just sit and wait this out, okay?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

He never understands that he hurts me. I pull away from him and bend to pick my shirt off of the floor. I can feel his eyes following me. I can see them in the mirrored door of my closet. Getting dressed is slow and tedious and I do not feel right in my body at all. I don't feel right anywhere or any how. Being with Nathan hurt. Being without Nathan hurts. Ever since we slept together, ever since this sexual relationship started again, it's been nothing but pain for me.

"I'm beginning to understand too," I tell him, having ignored the fondling until now. Dressed as I am, I pressed back into his arms, my face to his neck. I love the smell of his skin, or his aftershave. I love the way he puts his arms around me and sets his chin against my head. Of all the things I feel right now, of all of the betrayal and confusion and hormone laden desires I can not describe, one thing shines right on through.

No matter what else, Nathan does protect me. Even if they are in very small, sometimes thoughtless ways.

"We should have our memories repressed," I tell him softly, ignoring the pitch of my voice, or the way it feels to have my breasts pushed against his chest. "We can go back to just being brothers." Or brother and sister if I can't reverse this.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Hey, the kids are fine," I say softly. "They miss you," I say with a smile, trying to put him at ease. I know I'm staring, making him uncomfortable, and a strange over-protectiveness overcomes me. I've never had a little sister before, but I do now, it seems. So let me treat him like it. He shouldn't be walking around like this.

I take off my suit jacket and wrap it around his bare shoulders, button it in the front to cover him up, and sit him on the couch. I kiss him on top of his head, my lips moving over teased up, hairsprayed curls, and walk into his kitchen. He's got beer in the fridge like usual. It'll do. I don't feel like getting totally hammered, anyway. Peter's seen me like that enough. I don't need his alter-ego to see it. He's still the person who saved my life, and I may have relapsed, but I haven't forgotten what he did for me in Philadelphia.

This place is a lot nicer than his other apartment. He must have had an interior decorator come in here, paint, choose matching furniture, brighten the place up.

I hand him a beer, and sit in an armchair across from him. Her. He crosses his legs like a woman, carries himself like a woman. He's very pretty. It's actually quite strange.

"Would you prefer I call you by the feminine version of your name?" I ask, my voice serious.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Jeez, Nathan!" He's not trying to be funny, but I give him that out just the same should he want to take it. I hope he does because, frankly, I have no desire to have him question my desire to become a man again. As much as I want my old body back, this body is...well. It's easier in a lot of ways. I'm not trying to climb into his lap or kiss him right now. This body is calmer.

And a better fit for a man that wants his life to be shining whenever in public. Oh God. There I go again. Thinking about being a good little wife when I can be anything but for him.

"I might not be able to starve to death, but I'd like to eat. And this... Well I'm trying. Trust me."

I decide to stop before I go into overkill about being a lesbian. I don't want to come off as trying to hard. I watch him with his beer, and do my best not to frown. It's not my problem anymore, I tell myself.

"It's...nice out here though. It's not New York, but I'm tired of being a hero. I usually just end up making things worse."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Peter's words hit me like a slap in the face. No, more like a kick in the balls.

He's yours.

That isn't possible. We used protection.

Not the first time, you didn't.

All the images of the devil-woman that I've been seeing during my waking life, in my dreams, now suddenly make perfect sense. Three months ago...was the day after my birthday, the day before he left me. He did spend my birthday with me. I remember it down to every detail, especially how I forewent the condom because he was just going to change back to his male self anyway.

I think my heart's stopped beating. I can't take a breath. I try, but my body won't move. I'm going to faint.

None of that happens. I haven't died. I haven't collapsed. But I still can't move. I don't see anything but my life crumbling to pieces under the implications of this terrible revelation Peter's handed over to me, accompanying it with tea, milk, and sugar, like this kind of thing is normal and it happens all the time.

My brother is having my baby. He's getting what he wanted.

Finally I'm able to take a breath, and I collapse onto the couch. "What--what are we going to do?" I ask weakly. I can barely take my eyes off his rounded belly, and when I do, I look at his face, and I can't believe the way he's smiling softly. This can't be fucking happening.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"We are going to do nothing," I tell him blandly. "I am going to take care of him." I've cried enough in a lifetime for him. I'm still scared. I'm still alone. And while I should be happy that I'm finally getting a piece of him I can actually hold onto, a child.. A child isn't what I want. Not really. I can't be a parent, but I'm going to be. And I'm going to do my best, even if it will be alone.

Perhaps Nathan will visit from time to time...perhaps not. I am not going to go and check into the future. It has a tendency of changing just the same, nothing is ever set in stone.

"I'm not asking for anything, Nathan. I know you have your own family to worry about." I was your fucking family long before they were. "And your position in the senate." We're silent, the two of us, for a very long time. The kettle whistles and I pour the water over my tea leaves.

I wait.

And wonder.

And just as I lift the cup to my lips, my hands start to shake. "I won't try to ruin your life, if you're worried about that," I say with wet, glazed over eyes. Tears fall down my cheeks. "I only have ever wanted the best for you..." I cross my arms over our unborn child. I should learn to be careful of what I wish for.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I give Peter's little hand one more squeeze, and then get up to begin clearing the few dishes that had escaped last night's telekinetic overload. "Don't you worry about any of that right now, Peter. I'll take care of all of it." I drop a kiss on top of his head and turn the hot water on in the sink.

Marrying my brother's female incarnation is going to be a bit of an undertaking, but it's nothing that calling in a few favors can't handle. I'm more concerned with Peter's health, the well-being of our baby. I'm especially worried about Peter's momentary loss of control. I know he'd never intentionally hurt me, even if he was that angry at the thoughts running through my head. It's the only explanation for last night's actions.

If Peter loses control for one second over this female body, the child will cease to exist, I'm sure of it. Let's say that doesn't happen. There's still other things to worry about, like the risks to this child's health. I'm no doctor, but I know the danger inherent for children born of incest. Peter's healing ability is one thing that's going to alarm any doctor. In order for Peter and the child to get proper care, I would have to tell them the truth.

Oh, by the way, Doc, my sister is having my baby.

No fucking way.

This is enough to make me start panicking. Hasn't Peter considered any of this? Well, if he's in my head right now, he will be.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I'm content with watching him work, my fingers laced across the slight bump in my abdomen. He's worried, the empath in me can taste that worry. I want to make him feel better about it, but I'm not sure why he's nervous and if I push him, I might discover that he could be having doubts about all of this again.

I pride myself on my confidence. I have to draw on the man I was, the one that slugged my brother in the chin for calling my attempt at flight a suicide attempt. I have to remember who I am, without Nathan Petrelli to hold me up. I'm good enough for him.

I deserve to be with you. I am going to be with you. We will always be together.

I believe that. Standing up, I lean against the sink and reach up to touch the curls around his ears. "You've always taken care of me," I whisper with a smile. "I trust you, Nathan."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

When I wake for what feels like the hundredth time, the bed is empty and cold, the comforter and sheets tangled up around my naked body. My sleep was fitful and interrupted, and filled with dreams I'm glad I can't quite remember.

My body aches from all the sex I've had this week. I think I'm getting laid more now than I ever did when I was in college.

I shower and dress, preparing myself for the quick flight to D.C. and my morning meeting. My brother is sitting in the kitchen with his hands curved around a cup of tea. His robe has slipped off one delicate shoulder, and I lean down to place a kiss there. I catch the faint scent of my cologne and our sex on his skin; he hasn't showered yet, but he's taken off his makeup, pulled his hair back.

He's put on coffee for me, and for that I'm glad. I fix myself a cup and sit at the table with him, place my hand over his, my ridiculously large wedding ring replaced by a platinum-and-diamond engagement ring that actually fits.

He told me he didn't want fancy, but I'll never forget the way his face lit up when I presented him with this at dinner. I looked into his eyes when I slipped it on his finger, and I didn't see Paige; I saw Peter the six-year-old child whose only wish in the world was to marry his older brother. All he's ever wanted was my love, and I'll give it to him, no matter what else comes. He deserves it.

"I'll see you on Friday, Peter," I say, kissing his lips once more, smiling sincerely down on him. I'm loathe to leave him here in California, but I take comfort in the fact that once I get him home to New York, he will finally, truly be mine.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Friday is a very long time away. Watching him go breaks my heart, but I have to believe that he will be back. My eyes settle on my diamond. This is the embodiment of his promise. He's bought me frivolous things before to placate me. It's his usual MO. 'Sorry, Pete, can't make it to your game, so here, have a new mitt!'

That's not fair, not really. Nathan was there for me when I needed him too. He helped me train for track. He taught me to play baseball. He showed me so many things. And he loves me. This uncertainty will just eat me. I have to learn to trust him despite the times he's proven that he's not a good man.

That he's not suitable for a committed relationship.

We talk every day. He makes time for my phone calls and makes me laugh during them. He seems calm and happy, he's not hiding anything, he genuinely cares for me.

I relax.

Peggy and Slice have a shower for me. We go shopping for dresses for the civil ceremony we've got planned for later this month. I want to be married before I show too much. And I want to return to New York as soon as possible. I want my friends to come with me.

I've already determined to ask Nathan if there's any way he can possibly manage to get them jobs. Neither have ties to California...both want to be actresses. And New York is as good a place for that as LA is.

Friday. I hear the drapes rustle and I nearly spill my tea on myself rushing to the balcony. Nathan. "Nathan!"

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Peter," I say once more, fighting him halfheartedly, until there's nothing left in me, and I finally submit to his power. I'm panting, my heart racing, forced to listen as my brother reminds me of every wrong I've done him. I try to speak, but he holds my mouth shut so tightly that my teeth ache. Just as well. How can I refute any of it? I'm a rapist, and a pedophile. A selfish, violent drunk, a cheater, a hypocrite. A jealous would be-killer.

Deep inside, no matter how much I try to convince myself I loved Peter, I know I'm all of these things. I've hurt him for the last time, I know it--I can actually feel when he puts pressure on my carotid arteries with Sylar's God-damned ability. I wonder if my desire to find Sylar was just my subconscious mind trying to find a way to commit suicide, because it seems Peter is taking my advice. I'm dying.

Tears sting at my eyes, and suddenly, the world begins to dim out. Painful pinpoints of light, blinding white and brilliant colors, explode behind my eyelids.

Peter! I hear myself scream. I'm sorry, Peter!

No. Just imagining it. I can't talk. Can't see. The last thing I hear is Peter swear to me that I'll never hurt him again, never hurt our children. My last thought is of how much I loved my brother and how much I hurt him, and the last thing I feel is shame, because I'm forcing him to end my life.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I almost hold him too long. I can feel his life slipping away and there's something inside of me that is almost giddy because of it. I could kill him. I really could. Right now, I could let his life slip away and it would be absolutely over. No more Nathan. No more heartache.

But that very thought stops me.

No more Nathan.

I let my brother go at once and catch him before he can fall and hurt himself. My arms are strong and I pull him against my chest, kissing his neck as his head lolls to the side. My poor Nathan. My broken brother. He does this to himself and usually I am the one that has to pick up the pieces.

I guess I still am picking up the pieces in a way. I bring him to bed. I remove his clothing so that he is comfortable.

And then I do something I would have found unthinkable only a week ago. Only an hour ago.

I rewrite him. I find and remove the sicknesses. I know how to do it. I can see them. Sylar's power is inside of me, and so is his hunger, but I am stronger than that. I can do this without killing Nathan.

I can take the cancer of his self destruction out of him.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I look around in the silence, at all the people stopped in varying states of action. Two police officers are at the entrance to the hall, and I make a mental note to point them out to Peter before he decides to set the timeline back to normal. Hiro Nakamura's power. I can't help but smile at the thought of him and his broken English, his hero-worship of me because I could fly.

I pull a handkerchief from my inside jacket pocket and try to stop my nosebleed. "Tell me, Ma, what exactly is it that we don't know? What, you think things like this just go away? Peter and I have been romantically and sexually involved since he was old enough to even use his dick," I comment angrily, not even giving a shit if she doesn't approve of my language at this moment. She never stopped us. The only reason it ever stopped was the fact that Dad found us. I just can't understand how her sense of morality has come into play now, more than ten years later. The only possibility I can entertain at this moment is that my abrupt split from Heidi has something to do with it.

"Did you really think Dad's quick fix was enough to make us forget that we're in love with each other? Didn't you realize it once I couldn't let him die and kill millions just to boost my career? I love him, Ma, and this is happening whether you want it to or not."

My mother's started crying, partially at my harsh words, and more so because she's actually had a chance to take a good look at her younger son, who is now female and pregnant. Ma goes white, and she caresses Peter's cheek lightly with her shaking hand.

She gives me a pained look, and I see disappointment in her eyes, directed at me. "I don't understand this. Nathan, you were supposed to end this. Peter. Oh, little one." She circles him in her arms. "These children will be the death of you, Peter. You know what has to be done," she finishes, her words echoing mine from just two weeks ago.

"Ma, what did you see?" I ask her gently, reaching for her hand. She slaps me away and continues to stroke Peter's face. "Change yourself back to my son, Peter, and end this. Please."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My eyes narrow, not because I'm angry with my mother, but because I'm trying to see into her mind, to see if I can puzzle out what she's not saying. The problem with Parkman's power is that I can only 'hear' a person's mind. I can't see what's in it. I can't see the pictures that flash through their minds unless they are describing them mentally in words. My mother is a visual person. And she knows exactly what I am trying to do.

"Stop it, Peter. You know..."

"I don't know anything," I interupt her shrilly, stepping away from her hand. "I know that I've seen the future and that it's not come true. I know things can change. I know your dreams aren't--"

"My dreams are never wrong--"

"You interpret them wrongly sometimes then!"

It's her turn to raise her voice. "Peter Petrelli, you are my son--"

"And I love you, Mom. I really do. But for the first time in my life I have a purpose... I want my children. I want my husband. I want this life--"

She's crying. And not just blinking back wet eyes. I find myself crying too. She's so distraught. She's so hurt. She's so afraid.

"You'll kill us all, Peter," she whispers. "If you keep those children, you'll kill us all."