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

[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]

Maybe that was not the best idea, offering to put up my so-called "mistress"--because I know that's what Peter considers himself in his times of self-doubt like these.

His jealousy of Heidi is alarming, now that he's actually talking to me about it. Also, I can barely keep my hands off him as it is. Do I really need him around, tempting me all the while I'm supposed to be the husband and father he's been pushing me to be? He tied me to a bed and forced me to sober up all on his own. He went to extremes for me. He got me prescription medication to ease the worst of my symptoms, and he put up with my anger and my violence through the worst of it, too.

And while I'm on the subject of that...if he's so resentful of my life with Heidi and not him full-time, why did he push so hard to get Heidi to take me back? Why did he sacrifice his desire to have me all to himself? I offered him, in the depths of my sickness, to take him away, spend the rest of my life with him. I wasn't lying. I would have done it if he wanted it. He did want it. But he gave it up.

Why is my brother like this?

I follow after him, take his hand. "Yeah. You're right. I don't know what to do, Pete. I guess there's your answer. Settle down. Find a nice girl. Make me an uncle." As an afterthought, as I pull him in for another deep kiss, "I'll always be here if you want me, too."

How do I always fuck these things up?

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

The tears are from frustration alone and I blink them away, accepting the kiss ever so gently with my eyebrows furrowed. My selflessness is what defines me. Claude said it best though, all those months ago, that empaths get the short end of the stick. And that they live only for others and never for themselves.

I put both of my hands on my brother's face and kiss him again. This is the man I have loved in every way possible since I was a child. I've looked up to him. Cherished him. Rooted for him. Covered up his messes for him. Held him when it was too much, gave into his desire to get his dick sucked as often as possible, allowed him to have my virginity and worshiped him as a God.

As my God.

And his choice, each time he's made it, has been Heidi. Ever since we were caught the night before his wedding, when Dad gave him the choice. Nathan picked Heidi. And I don't blame him. I want him to have his normalcy. My lips are trembling as I pull away from my brother and blink a single tear from my lower lashes that he catches with his thumb.

"Yeah, it's a good idea. Now....you're got to take a shower." I've got to be alone for awhile. "Maybe we can go out for breakfast."

I guess...in my helplessness...all I really want to do is be what I wanted to be when I was six years old: My brother's bride.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Okay, Pete. You're actually gonna let me out into the real world again?" I laugh. He doesn't think I'm funny, not one bit. He gives me a defeated look, and I sigh. Offering him a place in my home has really touched a nerve in him. Not that I blame him. I never forgot what he told me the night of my bachelor party, that if I married him, I'd never have to leave him. The thought brings a smile to my face.

I didn't think I was leaving him then, but to him, I was trading him for her, giving him up, replacing him with Heidi, especially now that I remember some of what we used to do together since Peter was only twelve years old. I don't want to leave him now. But he doesn't want to be a homewrecker either...

My selfless, beautiful brother.

These thoughts spin through my head faster than I can deal with them, and I just cradle his chin in my hand and kiss his scruffy cheek softly, then get into the shower.

God, it feels good to be able to do this for myself, I marvel, as I step into the hot spray and wash my bruised, aching body. But the pain is proof of my brother's love for me. All of the pain I've been through in the last two weeks is, in fact.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

The cold doesn't bother me. I've dressed and walked from the bedroom to the sitting room to the large wrap around balcony doors and pushed out into the darkness. It's still snowing, but just flurries. From out here, with the noise of the traffic and the special sound proof glass and the shower running, Nathan's not going to hear me. I stare into the darkness for a long, long while.

The snowflakes hit my cheeks and melt. They cling to my hair. My eye lashes.

And then I throw back my head, thrust out my arms, and just let it out. Let everything out. I scream. I scream so harshly and for so long that my voice just goes out. My throat aches, but it won't stay that way forever. I stumble, grasping the edge of the railing, and fall to my knees to gasp and shake my head and cry. I don't have much time....but it's just enough to make the aching stop.

One hand leaves the railing above me and presses to my chest. I can't breathe.. I'm actually having a panic attack. Me. Good old, mellow Pete. Really.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I dry my hair and my ears, and walk naked out into the bedroom, not able to locate any clothes for myself. I'm sure Peter's probably been out with my credit card and picked up something for me to wear, since I ruined the only pants I had when I was so stubborn and unwilling to accept Peter's gift to me that I pissed through them. How humiliating. At least I barely remember most of it.

I call his name, but he doesn't seem to be anywhere. Then I see him. Peter's on the balcony, his arms spread wide, and for one terrifying second I think he's going to jump.

Indestructible. Claire used to kill herself all the time, remember? Death can be cathartic for an immortal...right?

But that's not what this is...he's not jumping, not doing anything. Suddenly he falls to his knees and lowers his head, and I wonder what's wrong with him. This isn't his empathy catching up with him, is it? Is it because of what I said about Heidi? The stress of what my sickness put him through?

I wrap the towel around my lower half and run to the balcony, slide back the glass, and I hear it--he's crying, sobbing pitifully, gasping, his breath crystallizing in the cold. Snow falls on us both as I drop to my knees, shivering almost immediately. I hold him tightly to me.

"Shh, Pete, it's okay. You're gonna be okay."

Somehow, even I don't believe the lies.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Nay-Nay-Nay--" I can't breathe, and its making me stutter like some poor child. Clinging to him doesn't help. He's wet. Wet and in the cold. I blink at him through my torrents of tears and bend to scoop him up. His skin will freeze to the expensive, decorative brick. He's not immortal like I am. And I can not bear him to be hurt.

Yes, even now, even when it is the greatest moment of stress in my life, I can not do anything but think of my brother. He's still precious to me. More precious than I will ever be to myself. Shivering violently from emotion more than from cold, I half-carry him, stumbling, back into the luxury suite and dump him on the couch.

"A-Are you c-c-crazy..?!" The panic attack is not subsiding. Each time I look at him, it gets worse. But I can't leave. One truely sober day does not make a man rehabilitated! He needs more. He needs more of me and my time. And I will give it to him as he needs. "Stupid..idiot...!"

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"Pete, I'm fine," I laugh, wrapping us both in the comforter, stealing more of his body heat than I share with him. "Yeah, I'm a stupid idiot, too, I'll give you that." He's having trouble breathing, and I try to calm him down. I know what it is, because I've had them before. A panic attack.

I know this won't kill him, but he's scaring me just the same. "You're not fine, though. You don't have to take care of me anymore. You did what you had to do. We're gonna go back to New York, and the first thing I'm going to do is get into AA, okay? Promise. I promise you, Pete."

I can't help but feel like this is my fault. A delayed reaction to my own suffering. He put everything to the side for me, and he just doesn't take care of himself. Now he's paying for it in spades.

"Shh, Peter, you're gonna be all right. Just breathe. Come on." He sucks in air like it's a novelty, and he clings to me for dear life. He's crying unintelligibly, and I'm reminded of how I found him the night of his birthday. He probably hasn't dealt with that either. Sylar tearing through his head, raping his mind.

My brother doesn't deserve half the shit this life throws at him. It hurts even more to know that he'll live forever, probably, and I can't be here forever to help him when he needs me.

But I can help him now. This is why he did this for me, why he broke me down and built me back up. Because he wants me to be with him in this world for as long as I can.

I will try my hardest. "I love you," I whisper into his wet hair, rocking him until he's quiet.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I've fallen asleep against his bare chest before I can do much more than protest. His breathing schools my own into doing what it's suppose to do. Intake air. Exhale air. That's how we do it. My eyes flutter closed as he strokes my hair. Listening to his heartbeat is soothing enough to take away the pain.

We don't talk about this again, not for the entire week extra we stay. We don't fuck, but I do give in to making out with him on a nearly hourly basis. I can't go any further than that and still put on a smile for when we're about to go home.

It's been nearly a month since my brother has seen his children and his wife. Ex-wife. Soon to be wife again, I guess. I don't begrudge him a moment of it, standing at his back as he embraces them on the doorstep.

Heidi, beautiful woman, wraps her arms around my neck. "Peter, thank you so much for what you've done," she whispers in my ear. I hug her back.

"Don't thank me," I reply weakly and then refuse to come in for coffee and dessert. "Been gone a long time. I have to see if my apartment's still here."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

A week and a half goes by. Heidi and I are finally getting along, and Monty and Simon are very receptive to our reconciliation. I'm glad to have brought stability back into their lives.

I'm planning on asking Heidi to marry me again. Maybe in the summer, after her birthday, when the kids are off from school. I have to replace my wedding ring anyway; I don't know what happened to it after Peter pressed it into my hand that night.

I hope he found it and held onto it. I know in any other life beside this one, I would have spent it with him. We were always destined to be lovers; a cruel trick of fate made us brothers. That's something I believe with all my heart.

Aside from missing Peter, life is good. I haven't touched a drop of liquor, not one, and I did what I promised I would. The AA meetings are actually therapeutic. I never get up and speak, which is funny for someone who made their living as a lawyer first, a politician after. I don't care about the stupid chips, the days I've been sober. I'm proud of myself. I haven't gone back to work though, not yet. Heidi and I have enough in the bank to live comfortably for the rest of our lives, and I figure I should enjoy this time with my family before rushing back to the daily grind.

Peter's been distant this whole time, and I've only spoken to him once since I watched him walk away from my front doorstep. I think of him, my beautiful brother, the man who saved my life, while making love to Heidi. I don't let it interfere, but I can't help it. My heart belongs to both of them.

Peter tells me he's been seeing someone, but he won't let me meet her or send me a picture of her. I had to badger him on the phone for twenty minutes just to get him to tell me her name. Vanessa.

I suppose that's all right if he wants to keep her secret for now. I hope it's not because he thinks I'll be jealous, because I won't. I want my brother to have a happy life, just like the one he's given back to me. He deserves it far more than I do.

It's my birthday today, and I have a desperate need to see my brother. I miss him. I tell Heidi we'll go out tomorrow night to celebrate, and she understands. She always has when it comes to Peter.

I call his cell, but he doesn't pick up. I hope he answers his door.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My apartment is immaculate. I paid my dues for my sins in being tidy. I painted everything a deep blue with white trim. That was two weeks ago, though, but the thought of going out to buy furniture sickens me. All I have now isa bed, nothing more than a mattress on the floor and a fully stocked kitchen. It's all I need.

I haven't slept in days, trying to figure out what to write in Nathan's birthday card. There are seven cards littered around my room, stuck on windowsills or in piles of books or magazines. Somehow, it doesn't feel right to tell my brother that he's my everything anymore than it does to simply sign my name under the Hallmark Greeting.

I'm expecting Chinese food, not my brother at the door, and seeing him makes me hold my breath. "Nathan? Hey!" The hug is quick, but tight. I smile, because I always smile when I see Nathan, even if he breaks my heart. "Happy birthday. I was actually just going to call to see if you wanted to hang out this weekend. I've just been so busy with Elizabeth, you know?"

He stares at me, following me in. "What happened to Vanessa?"

Yeah, he caught my bullshit. I'm a bad liar. I stumble over my words as I go to get him a beer and then think better of it, returning with water instead. "We didn't work out. Happens..."

I'm totally full of shit.

"How's AA going?"

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I step inside Peter's freshly painted, surprisingly empty apartment and shut the door. Now, I may not have Peter's mind-reading ability, but I spent much of my career knowing when asshole defendants were lying through their teeth on the stand, perjuring themselves to save their sorry asses from a long hard prison stretch.

Peter's been lying to me. I wanted him to be happy, so badly that I just blindly believed him. This was why he wouldn't let me meet her, or come by to see him. This place is Spartan now, free of clutter. There's no way he'd bring a woman here. There's barely any furniture anymore. Does my brother even live here? Oh, Lord. He's not whoring himself out in the clubs again, is he?

I swallow roughly and smile, and pull open one of the folding chairs that stand against the wall. That familiar ache for a drink pounds in my gut and in my blood, and I accept the glass of water he holds out to me. "Oh, you know, it was going really well until right this fucking second, Peter."

Peter was the one to make me stop drinking, and I have a sickening feeling he'll be the one to make me start again.

Could he blame me?

"Start talking. Now."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Talking? What about?" I laugh, though it dies in my throat when I look at him. "My apartment? I just had it painted." Another lie. I hate doing this, but it gets easier with each one I tell. "Do you like the color? I was thinking of a white couch to go with--" He's staring at me and I feel my face burning as I stand as far away from him as possible in the small living room. "Happy Birthday, by the way..."

Why is this so hard? It's not like I lost him. I never had him to lose.

"How's it going with Heidi and the boys?" That question stings almost as badly as the few times I've woken up from a dream where I've become Heidi, taking her place in Nathan's life, being with him as a true partner, as more than simply family, and yet family just the same.

Small talk will only last so long before it fizzles out in my throat. My tired eyes scan his, lingering on his lips. I want to kiss him, but I can't. There's no way in hell that I can give into that again. Not when I'm still healing from the simple fact that I will never be happy.

He's still staring me down, so I sigh. "I did date Vanessa. Once. I just didn't want you to worry about me, Nathan. You have a family to fix. I'm sorry."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"You're sorry," I say, repeating the words with a not-so-subtle hint of sarcasm. "I like that one, Pete, really. You know, sometimes I wonder if this selflessness you have going on, if it's just an act to cover up your stupidity," I spit, shoulder-checking him on my way to the kitchen.

I pitch the glass of water into the sink and open his refrigerator, and surprisingly, he's actually got food in it for once. And beer. It's not liquor, but it's still cheating. At least I won't lie to myself like he's been doing.

God damn you, Peter.

I crack the top of the can and take a long swallow of it just as I turn the corner back into Peter's sorry excuse for a living room, settle myself back into my chair. "Thanks for the birthday present," I say, my voice half-sad, half-sarcastic as I raise the beer can to him in an imaginary toast.

I'm finishing this and getting the fuck out of here. Peter wants to live like this? I can't stop him. I can't tie him to a bed and parade women in front of him until he finds one he wants.

Because he wants me. That's what this has been about since he cried on the balcony in the snow. Since he was six years old. An addiction that I can't fix.

One that I caused.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I think I'm just too shocked to react at first when he takes a swig of beer. I let him take several mouthfuls before I dart forward to snatch it out of his hand. "You said that you didn't want to drink until you saw me," I say between gritted teeth. I'm my brother's poison, more than this ever was. The realization hits me so hard that I can't breathe and I throw the can and it's contents against the wall. So much for a new paint job. "I'm not stupid. And I'm not selfless. I'm killing you and I'm too blind to see it."

I physically pick him up out of the chair and push him towards the door. I'm not really angry, and certainly not at him.

"All of my life I have tried my best to help everyone and in return, anything I touch turns to shit." I can't believe it's taken me so long to realize this. I'm so incredibly selfish. When he turns around, once I let go of his shoulder, and I smile at him sadly, shaking my head. "You're going to have a long, happy life, Nathan. You have a beautiful daughter, two beautiful boys, and a beautiful wife. You'll make something of yourself, I promise you. Get back into politics. Be a lawyer again." I find myself absently fixing his tie. "And I'll be in that life as much as I can. I'm not leaving you. I just...need some time to figure things out."

To forget someone I've never been able to forget. Not even when you let Dad take me from you.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I grab him by his dried-paint splattered t-shirt and before he can protest, pull him in for a long, desperate kiss, biting at his lips, feeling him gasp into my mouth, his breath filling me with a terrible, aching need for him.

"Figure what out? That we're in love with each other?" I gasp. "Think we've known that for a long fucking time, Pete. That not a day goes by that I wish you weren't my brother? That I'd trade it all for you?"

I pull us both down to the newly-carpeted floor, pin him under me. The lingering paint fumes and the bit of alcohol in the beer has my head spinning a little, and I drive my hips hard into him. I've just turned thirty-nine years old, and Peter can still get me hard in record time. Even when he's struggling and trying to push me off.

"Where's the super-strength now, Peter?" I demand, my voice rising in pitch. "Where's that fucking telekinesis, Peter? Nowhere. You're not leaving me. Stop fucking lying to yourself. Didn't all that bullshit at the hotel teach you anything? You can have me. Anytime you want," I finish, my voice soft again. I lean down to suck at the pulse that runs fast under the skin beneath his jaw, roll my hips down into him.

"Mine," I whisper into his ear. All I've wanted since he left me. All I've needed, really needed, since he was twelve. Peter doesn't know how much of what happened before Dad messed with our heads I can remember now; once the alcoholic haze lifted from my brain, some of my memories came back. He never told me what happened like he promised he would, and there are still gaps.

But it doesn't matter, does it?

Then I surprise myself. I let go of him and stand up, straighten out my clothes.

"I have to go, Pete," I say reluctantly, picking up the crushed beer can and depositing it into the wastebasket.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

The last time I physically tackled my brother was when I was eighteen years old and we were playing football on the lawn with Dad as Mom and Heidi drank long island iced teas on the porch overlooking us. Heidi was pregnant with their first child then, and Nathan was on me about never bringing a girlfriend to family functions, teasing me that he was the only one destined to carry on the Petrelli name through his offspring. I hadn't meant to fling myself so hard at him, but I broke his wrist in the process when he hit the lawn. Dad watched us wrestle for a moment before he picked me up by the collar. Nathan didn't mention his wrist until Heidi saw it at dinner, blown up like a balloon.

Now, breathing hard against the back of his neck as I lay over him, I have to wonder if anyone saw us. It's not like I have the whole floor to myself and right now, we're both on the ground in the hallway. I have him pinned beneath him, the bruises sucked into my skin have already gone.

"Are you all right?"

We're both breathing hard, but I'm worried about him just the same. Slowly, he nods and I close my eyes, nose nuzzling the back of his ear. I don't care who sees us. Or what they might think.

"Please don't leave me." I am weak in the end. But then again, for one of the strongest people in the world, power-wise at least, I am truly the weakest.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"I won't. You haven't learned anything, have you, Pete? Bad puppy," I snicker, tucking his hair out of his face.

I start laughing and hug my brother tightly to me, give him a few kisses on his face, smack one right on his mouth. Then there's the sound of a door creaking open. Then a little old lady peeks out of the door next to Peter's. She's got to be ninety. She's got a shocking white poof of hair tucked under a little plastic bonnet, and glasses that make her eyes look cartoonish.

I haul Peter to his feet and brush him off, and I keep laughing, a bit uneasily now that someone's seen us, even though she's probably more nearsighted than a mole.

"Are you quite all right, gentlemen? I heard a fuss and screaming. Do you need help?"

I don't even know what to say, and Peter's staring at her in shock. I nudge him. "Say something!" I stage-whisper.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"No, we're fine, Mrs. Gareth! Just thought we saw a...rat." A rat? What a lame excuse? Who catches rats with their bare hands? I want to roll my eyes, but instead, I give her a big, genuine sort of puppy look.

Nathan and I have some business to attend to. Some matters to discuss. A deal, I guess, to hammer out. And my next door neighbor is not someone I wish to waste time on.

"Rats!" She says, her thin hand pressing to her lips. "Oh dear, Peter, honey. Please just call a rat catcher!" Really, she's cute. I usually help her with her groceries if I head out to get some myself. She's never asked about my personal life. I think she's a good New Yorker, really. Minds her business for the most part.

"Yeah, I'll do that, Mrs. Gareth."

"Good boy. You two have a good night now."

I glance at Nathan and smile at him. "I hope we will."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Peter and I laugh our way back into his apartment after the sweet little neighbor of his closes her door.

"Jesus Christ, Pete," I say, shaking my head in disbelief. "That was close." My body is thrumming with the arousal of moments before, the adrenaline of Peter tackling me to the ground. Not to mention the fact that his neighbor almost caught us making out, on top of each other in his hallway.

I take a few breaths to calm myself, run my fingers through my hair. I toss my suit jacket on the back of the chair, loosen my tie, roll up my sleeves. Why did I dress so formally to come see my brother? Just a force of habit, I guess.

Maybe I just like the way I look in a suit.

I look around his apartment, waiting for one of us to break the now uncomfortable silence. I stare at the blue paint job, now marred by the splatter of beer running down the wall. I didn't even really want it; I was just drinking it to make a point.

"So, Pete...it's my birthday. What do you want to do?" I definitely know what I don't want to do: fight with him. There's been enough of that in the past few months. I give him my bright Cheshire-cat smile.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"If you give me a few, I'll shower and we can go to dinner." I can literally see the wheels turining around in his head. What am I suppose to do, though? Drop my pants and bend over for him? Getting Nathan out of my head is not helped by sleeping with him whenever I can.

Of course, there's no help in these matters. I don't know how it happened, but one moment I was in the bathroom getting undressed for the shower and the next, I was in Nathan's arms. In my bed. Flushed and whining and pleading for him to go slow. To keep on moving. To never let me go. I know that I'm asking for too much of him.

I can not have everything. It's simply impossible.

We make love, real love, after that. And when we are both satisfied he wraps his arms around me from behind, his flaccid cock between my thighs.

"There's got to be a better way," I whisper to him, feeling like that thirteen year old kid who spent each afterglow with my brother dreading the inevitable. He'd get up. He'd leave. And it would be awhile before he came back to hold me again.