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

[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]

I almost start to tell him that I'm not going back out to Long Island. I know I told my mother I was going to wait until after the holidays, but Heidi's rude comment to me as I was leaving made my mind up for me.

I won't trouble Peter with any of that, though. I'd rather stay with him at his place, but I'm not going to impose on him. I suppose after we leave here tomorrow, I'll just stay with my mother if she'll let me, and keep the drinking under control, if I can.

"Okay, Pete," I sigh, squeezing him tight against me before letting him go. I stand up and retrieve the bottle of alcohol from the cart, then strip out of my jeans and my shirt, folding them up neatly and placing them next to me on the nightstand. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I do it anyway. Pouring myself another glass of the golden-colored liquid, I knock it back, letting it burn away the rest of my unecessary worry about Peter. Just because I found him in the shape he was in doesn't necessarily mean he was sexually assaulted. He may have just gotten in a fight.

Yeah, a fight. With some random guy he picked up in a club and brought back to his motel room. With some random guy he fucked. Peter was supposed to be mine.

Irrational thoughts find their way to the forefront of my brain now, thanks to the liquor. I never said Peter couldn't have anyone else, but why is this jealousy burning in the pit of my stomach at the thought of another man's hands on my brother?

"Not to sound like a jerk, Pete," I ask, knowing perfectly well I do sound like one, and a jealous one at that, "but, what the fuck were you doing dressed like that, wearing makeup?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I sit up slowly after he leaves my side and watch him move around the room. I won't comment on his drinking. On his inability to do anything for me, even when I am merely trying to give him what he wants. Nathan is flawed, in many ways more than I am. He seemed to want to touch me, and when I offer myself, he backs away. This is a game to him. And he's killing me with it.

When Nathan, stupid, beautiful Nathan asks me about my dress, about the makeup -- I still have liner on, it's hard to remove even through sweating and a shower -- I feel the corners of my lips drifting upwards.

Oh God, what will I say? Nathan told me to go out, to find someone else. And I've been doing that with so many someone elses that I've lost count.

"Was at a club," I finally manage. "This is what you wear when you want to be noticed, Nathan."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Thinking about Peter dressed like that, beautiful as he is, men coming up to him with stupid pick-up lines coming out of their mouths, only one thing on their minds--it's getting me hard and making me want to slap him all at the same time.

I walk up to where he is sitting on the bed, and I stand behind him. I rest one hand heavily on his shoulder, caress his cheek with the other. "Did they notice you, Peter? Did they ask you your name? Did they ask what a pretty thing like you was doing in a place like that?"

Then I shift my body closer to him, let him feel the start of my erection as I press my hips into his back. My voice drops to a low, threatening whisper now. "Did they try to get you drunk? Did they dance with you? Did they take you into the back room and bend you over like a little whore, Peter? Did you like it?"

I move around the bed now, and Peter's eyes lock with mine right before I lean over to give him a rough, biting kiss. "Did you give them what was mine, Peter? Did they leave you there on the floor when they were finished with you, or did they stay with you and hold you? Did they love you like I do?"

My heart is pounding now, pumping a strange mixture of arousal and jealousy through my veins, and a dull, heavy ache between my legs. I want his mouth on me so badly; I have a feeling he's done it before, but I just can't remember. My dick stands out at a comical angle through my underwear, and I push them down, standing as closely to Peter as I can, letting him know what I want him to do to me. Because he's mine.

He's been mine for more than half his life; I'm sure of that much.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My eyes slowly move from his dick up to his face as I sit back on my heels. He hasn't actually let me get a word in, so I simply smile at him and slowly blink as my eyes move back to his erection. "You don't own me," I tell Nathan simply, ignoring the way he half thrusts his cock towards my lips. "You get to have everything you want, you've always had."

I leave the bed, leaving his cock unsucked, remembering countless cocks that have passed through my lips in the past few days. Remembering the times I use to suck him off several times in a row on a long drive up to our family home in Maine or while he was studying or when he was on the phone with one of his girlfriends.

I know just how he likes it, but I will not give in.

"And no one can love me like you do," I murmur, standing naked at the window. "No one has ever hurt me like you can either." Not even Sylar, as devistatingly violating as that was.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

He just walked away from me. I can't fucking believe what he's doing right now, what he's saying to me. He's taking this out on me? I wasn't the one that hurt him tonight. Why can't Peter let anything go? He forgives, but he never forgets, it seems. I'm trying to help him, but he won't let me.

I refill my glass again. So much for just one. It never is, is it. Not when my family is involved.

"I get to have everything I want? Is that so?" I'm aware my voice has gone up an octave, but I'm controlling myself, keeping myself from outright shouting at him. "I want you to tell me why the fuck you were staying in some shitty motel room, and why when I got there, you were crying like a little bitch, covered in your own blood.

"I want my goddamned wife to stop thinking every time I leave the house I'm fucking some whore I just met. I want my kids to stop looking at me like I've intentionally done something to hurt them.

"Heidi left me because I was drinking too much. Mourning you. I fucked my entire world up because it meant nothing to me without you in it. You're alive, and I still can't fix anything.

"Please. Tell me how I get everything I want, Pete. I can't quit drinking. I can't even get a fucking blowjob." I take a hearty swallow of the liquor, my eyes running up and down Peter's naked body. If he didn't want anything like that from me, then why did he take his clothes off? Why tease me with something he has no intention of giving to me?

My beautiful, perfect, fucked-up little brother. I made him this way.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Nathan does not have all of the answers but he has the key to my guilt. He knows the codes, the buttons to push, and while I was nearly able to see through his bullshit to the self serving politician that my brother is, he wounds me over. And over. And over.

It's like being shot. I've had glass through my skull before, trust me, I know the feeling.

"I was trying to find a replacement for you," I say, still not looking at him. "Before last week, I've slept with three people in my entire life. You, Simone and Caitlin. The last two were only once each. So that's saying a lot for me, right?" I couldn't tell Nathan how many men I've been with. Seven, eight a night? Maybe more when they were lining up to get their loads off inside of me and moving on. Christ, just how many people...

I'm ashamed of myself. But I'm not going to cry again.

"As for why I was crying like a little bitch--" Why can't I hate him? Nathan deserves hatred. All of what I feel inside of myself FOR myself, Nathan deserves to have. But I can not. "Sylar cut my head open. He took everything inside of my brain. Everything." It was worse than rape. "He's not dead, Nathan."

I'm not going to say anything else, I already feel like throwing up. There's nothing in my stomach but alcohol I can't process.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Maybe it's just the effect of the alcohol clouding my ability to comprehend, but I'm just not understanding any of what my brother's just told me.

He was trying to replace me? Just because I wanted to try to mend my relationship with Heidi? Because I wanted to be present in the lives of my boys? How could he think that whoring himself out in a club would compare to the love I have for him?

I will admit, Peter did have the right idea, wanting me to stay with him at his apartment at least for a little while. To ease myself back into their lives slowly, instead of trying to pick up right where I left off. I just made it worse by not thinking ahead. Now I'm contemplating leaving her.

And Sylar...I thought that bastard was dead. Just last week, he told me and my mother that Hiro Nakamura had run him through with a sword. Peter assured us it was over. I don't understand this either. Claire pulled that shard of glass out of the back of Peter's head. That shard of glass that Sylar had put there. He killed my brother, for all intents and purposes. Now he's hurt him in a way that I can't even imagine experiencing. But he's still alive. Why did Sylar let him live?

I walk up behind him and place my hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to look at me. I ask, "What do you mean, 'he took everything in your brain'? All your...abilities? Is that what you're talking about?"

A sick feeling coils in my gut, and it's definitely not the excessive amount of alcohol I've consumed in the past half-hour. If he took all of Peter's abilities...that means he can do everything Peter can do. He's even more dangerous now. He's fucking indestructible.

I want to kill Sylar myself, and now I can't even do that.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It was so much more than my abilities. He took my thoughts. My desires. My sicknesses. He processed them all, mulled them over, and told me exactly what I've been too afraid to tell myself. I am a sick little bastard. Pathetic and weak. I want to be a hero, I have the tools to be a hero, but I'm too scared to get my hands dirty.

Looking up at Nathan, I know one thing all too well. One day he will grow old. He will die. I will be alone. Alone with Claire. And Sylar. Everything else in this world will change and I will remain eternal.

That's probably the most depressing thing I've ever had in pass through my head, but it's the jolt I need to press my face against Nathan's chest. I should be happy to get of him anything I can.

"I want to go home tomorrow. You were right, Nathan. You're always right. I'm not a hero. I can't be a hero anymore." I'm just a sad little puppy with no other choice in his life by to be addicted to my abusive older brother.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I was definitely notright, not for a second. I pushed Peter away, and I let him fall right into the hands of his mortal enemy. His now immortal enemy. I am beyond angry. I'm incensed. But I'm also powerless. This is a fight that only Peter can resolve now, because I was not gifted with Peter's beautiful curse of an ability. All I'm able to do is fly.

Peter is Sylar's archnemesis, his antithesis, and I would just be a means to an end. To kill Peter the only way he possibly could: kill me. Sylar would laugh in my face and kill me where I stand, probably with just a thought. The world is a dangerous place with Sylar in it, and Peter has to find a way to stop him. I will help, in the only way I can: be his older brother. Step off the stage and let Peter shine in the light. He can do it. I know he can.

"No, Peter, don't give up. I won't let you give up. You are a hero. You saved the cheerleader, remember? You saved me. You can do anything. I'm jealous of you, Pete. I worked all my life, hurt a lot of people, did a lot of hurtful and selfish things to attain power. You care about everyone, everything. You are a gentle, beautiful soul, and you've been rewarded with your ability. You're special. There's no one like you anywhere. I bet tons of people can fly. But you? I'm...actually honored to be your brother. To love you as much as I do." I never let my gaze leave his eyes while I say these words to him, and when I finish, I can't stop myself from kissing him, just a soft brush of my lips against his. His birthday present will most likely have to wait, unless he makes it clear to me it's what he wants. "Come on, let's go to bed. We'll fly home in the morning."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

All I want right now is his touch. My eyes close, heavy tears slipping down my cheeks as I curl myself up in his arms. It's not the first time I've stood naked against him like this and I doubt it will be the last. The kiss alone, the words he says... Honored? Honored to be my brother? It's almost laughable.

I manage a smile as he picks me up and carries me, bride like, towards the bed. It's a shame to waste this room. He spared no expense for me. While there's a niggling feeling in the back of my skull that shouldn't trust him, that he has some ulterior motive here, I was lost from the moment I came into this world, the first time he held me.

I part my lips as we collapsed into the bed, purring against Nathan's mouth as I run my fingers through his hair. There was a reason I went back to that club night after night. I could never find what I was looking for...

Because he's right here.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Missed you--" I groan against his open mouth as the fingers grip a handful of my hair. "I was such a jerk to you before--" Peter's teeth catch my lip, and the unexpected pain shocks me into silence. Peter doesn't want to hear my apologies; he wants me. That's what this was all about, why he came here.

My fault.

Over and over again I do this, and most the time I don't intend for it. A sharp, sudden truth spikes into my gut, overpowering the deep ache of my desire. I will never stop hurting this man that I love more than life. He will never stop forgiving me. We are destined to repeat this dance until the day we--no, until I--die. That will be the last time I hurt him.

"I'm sorry!" I gasp. He just kisses me harder, saying nothing. He's probably already forgiven me, even as tears continue to wet his cheeks. His kisses are rough, but his touch is soft as he slides his other hand stealthily beneath my shirt, grips my belt buckle. I can feel the heat of Peter's naked skin even through my clothes as he presses himself against me. "Peter--I love you."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My hands move around his waist to his back after their task is finished. The feel of his bare belly against mine just makes me cry harder. This is so pathetic that it's not even worth the time it takes me to register everything he's saying. "I know," is all I can answer. We don't have to talk. There's only moments now. And this is one of those moments he's choosing me over anyone else.

I'm not wasting it. Not for a moment. Tugging his belt looser in his waistband, I shove his pants down his ass, grasping his flesh the moment I can get my hands onto it.

Wriggling around like worms on a hook, we substitute lubrication for a pad of butter. I won't let him leave my side and he's too insistent on reclaiming my body as his own. I yield for him. Bite back on the pain. It's over and finished between us before it even starts. We were both too worked up. Nathan's too stressed out.

It doesn't matter.

At least I no longer feel empty inside. Giving up my sanity is a small price to pay to have moments of connection with the only soul that matters to me.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

When Peter presses the butter into my hand I almost laugh and throw it at him. But he's serious, and I figure it's my fault since I wasn't exactly thinking, Peter's upset and needs your help; don't forget the Astroglide.

It works as well as anything else, and I don't waste time being gentle. We're both way too far gone for foreplay. My heartbeat, and the thrusts of my hips pound to the mantra running through my head. You're mine, Peter, always mine.

The act itself lasts for four, maybe five minutes tops, culminating much too soon in a brief flare of heat and pleasure that will have to suffice for now. A far cry from our best performance.

But that's not what this is about, I think, when I roll off him and Peter finds his usual place, back pressed squarely against my chest. "Happy birthday," I mumble breathlessly into the back of his neck.

He needed me, and I came for him. We needed to be with each other, and not just for this. This only makes up part of who we are. I would do well to remember that.

Maybe that thought only comes so easily now that I've had him again. My jealousy and possessiveness have been replaced with a strange sense of failure, but I let that go, too. I came through for him. Peter and I are here together, and he's safe in my arms.

And there's always next time.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Sleep is so much easier now with Nathan here, with the feel of his sweat against me and the comfortable numbness that has signified every interaction I've had with him in my entire life. His arms around me are soothing and I rest my fingers against his knuckles as I close my eyes. His knees press against the backs of mine and into the warmth of his body and the fine silk sheets I can finally get some rest.

I wake up just after dawn and Nathan is still there, snoring lightly against my ear, spooning me intimately and with a possessiveness I have never minded in him. I close my eyes for half an hour longer, just enjoying him, before nature forces me out of his arms.

I shower after that, call for room service, and return to bed with a wet head and warm lips willing to overlook his morning breath. "Nathan..." He came for me. Though we fought, and fought worse than we ever had in our lives, things had worked out for the best. "Nathan...the coffee's here."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Coffee is good," I murmur into his lips. I snuggle deeper into my brother's clean, soapy scent, realizing just how much I need a shower myself. I didn't overdo it on the alcohol last night thankfully, but I know I still need to get control of this problem. If not for myself, at least, for Peter's sake. I can't keep using my alcoholism as an excuse for my abusive treatment of him.

The thought of AA makes me cringe, but what other choice do I really have? An inpatient program would probably be the best choice, but that's something my own pride will never allow. I can just see Heidi in my mind's eye, denouncing her drunken, philandering ex-husband to her fucking country club friends, her colleagues at work, answering her with such placating sentiments as, We told you he'd never change, dear, and Once a cheater, always a cheater. I still love her, and I always will, but whatever happened to in sickness and in health?

I push those angry thoughts from my brain before Peter gets wind of them, and I sit up, stretch my kinked-up limbs. I must have slept like a rock last night, because I don't think I moved once, and my muscles are stiff and sore. Peter hands me a steaming cup of coffee, made just how I like it, cream, just a dash of sugar. I smile gratefully when I realize he has not sent the bottle away with the remains of last night's little picnic dinner. He's not going to be happy when I spike my drink, but I do it just the same, because I have to keep the withdrawal symptoms to a minimum if he hopes for me to function today. Go easy, Petrelli, I command myself.

He has no right to be hypocritical of me right now anyway; I know what goes on in those fucking clubs, and I don't doubt for a second Peter's ingested more illicit substances in the last week than I did in four years of college. Though I did do my share of experimenting, alcohol was always my drug of choice.

"So, what do you want to do today, Pete?" I ask, downing the coffee, heading for the shower. I leave the door open so he can talk to me while I let the hot spray work the tension out of my body.

"You want to go right home, or do you want to stay here awhile? Maybe do some Christmas shopping?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Wrapped in a white, complimentary towel -- who would want to wear the mess I wore here ever again -- I sit in the doorway to the bathroom with my head leaning against the jam. "I'm not going home." I know that this will spurn another argument, but the trust is that I was simply weak last night because of what had been done to me. Because of the man that Nathan had pushed me to becoming. No, that's not entirely fair, but since when did that matter in the long run. Nathan and I will always blame the other, always.

My eyes closed because I can hear him turn the water off. Does he think he has a magical penis that can right any wrong with a single fuck? I have to pinch the bridge of my nose because yeah. Yeah, Nathan probably thinks exactly that.

I'm not upset with him. I know my brother far too well now that my memories have returned. Sylar gave as much as he took, I suppose, though the memories are simply cruel.

"Mom knew about us when we were younger," I say softly, knowing he can hear me. "I don't know why she thought it was all right --" Lies. She loves Nathan the best. He's her favorite and I? I was cannon fodder for her. I was her gift to Nathan...first to fuck and then to die in order to boost his career. "But when Dad found out, he took our memories, took them all, took them deep. Guess he didn't want it ruining you for your career."

I don't mean to sound bitter.

"What you told me in my apartment a few weeks ago...about the first time you held me when I came home from the hospital? That I was born for you? That's true. That's all I was born for."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Peter's words put a bitter taste in my mouth, and it's not just the mixture of coffee and alcohol and the fact that I haven't brushed my teeth yet. I scrub the toothbrush along my teeth, the water on my naked body suddenly cold and unpleasant. I don't know what to say, but luckily I don't have to speak yet. I see him crane his neck back to look at me, but I just focus my eyes on my reflection in the foggy mirror.

What in the world incited my brother to bring this up now? Why does Peter remember when I can't? I think about the memory that dug itself out of the deepest recesses of my mind while I was with Heidi, and all I can recall is feeling lost, in the dark, mine and Peter's sinful act illuminated only by the flash of lightning, accompanied by the intermittent music of Peter's cries, of distant thunder. I don't know what happened that night. I don't know if I ever will. But it's starting to make perfect sense the reason why someone would want me to forget.

"Ma knew? She fucking knew? That means she knows now, you know that, don't you, Pete?" I almost trip over him in my haste to exit the bathroom, because he's sitting right in the fucking doorway. What the fuck is going on? If someone wanted us to forget, then how did it happen all over again?

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Oh, my poor brother and his poor ego. His pride, his image, it's bad enough for the two of us to be lovers, but now that someone else knows, it's going to scar Nathan for life. I pull up my knees as he passes and then stand up. I watch him pace. And run his fingers through his hair. And pace some more. And frown. And wave his hands around like any good Italian politician. It use to make me smile to sit on his bed and listen him give his openings and closings. And afterward, to suck his cock.

I follow him now, follow him towards the balcony where he sighs and frowns, picking up a piece of toast in passing to hand it over to him.

"I don't care who knows," I say, though I realize he does. I can't just be his anymore. I'm my own man. "And if you're worried that I'll tell, or write a book about you, I won't."