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.

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[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.