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]

He comes back into the living room, dressed more appropriately, no longer wearing his makeup, but I still can't help but stare. He's petite, and he's really got a nice rack, an even nicer ass. I realize just how short he is now that he's barefoot, not in three-inch heels. This is unbelievable. My brother is a beautiful woman...and I'm attracted to him. This is not acceptable.

I hope he doesn't notice that I'm shifting uncomfortably in my seat, loosening my tie. Did he turn up the thermostat? It's all of a sudden a bit warm in here.

I take another sip of my beer, the cold liquid cooling me down a bit. "Yeah, don't mention it, Pete." I can't call him by his female name, not if I want to completely forget he's my flesh and blood. No one in their right mind even entertains the thought of sleeping with their sister, not like I'm doing right now.

"So...you're gonna stay out here, then? You're not going to come home until you're...you again?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"I like it here," I tell him with a smile, leaning over to put a magazine over the small water ring left behind by his beer bottle. Just as good as a coaster. I'm not picky. Heidi would be though... Maybe I need to work on that if I want --

And there I go again, like a fool. I am nit Heidi. I can not replace Heidi. Even if my brother is staring at my tits again. Seriously? I want to grab his chin and make him look up at my face. If I was Boy-Peter, he wouldn't look twice. Well, we both know that's not true. Not when he fucked you on your thirteenth birthday--

I find myself pinching the bridge of my nose.

"I think it's good for me to be out here, don't you? I was thinking that maybe I could get to know Claire a little better...the Bennets don't live too far away--" I'm talking just to talk now and it's more annoying than it's worth.

I find myself gazing at him a little too long. My heart is thumping like a caged bird and I end up shifting away from him, my eyes focused on the wall. It's awkward and I have to break the silence somehow. So I just laugh. I laugh though I feel like crying. It's a standard mechanism for me.

"Uh, this is kinda messed up, right? Maybe I could make it big and be an actress."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

An actress? My little brother? Well, sister...

His gender switch is driving me insane, with desire and confusion both. His laugh is a light, pretty sound, and he's finally smiling crookedly. There's my brother. The ten-year-old kid who almost choked up on stage when he was trying to give one line in his school's Christmas play.

Now it's my turn to laugh, almost spitting a mouthful of beer out onto his expensive carpeting. I stop it just in time, spraying only a little bit on my dress shirt, on my tie, and I groan, "Oh, fuck." Luckily I've got a white t-shirt on underneath--it was cold in Washington, D.C. It's not like this new version of my brother could lend me a shirt anymore.

"Sorry, Pete. Just--didn't expect you to say something like that," I say, trying to ignore his hurt stare as I ball up the shirt and tie and toss them into the bathroom sink. I'll have to take them to the cleaners when I get back to New York.

I don't want to leave him here like this. I want him home. Even if he's not the same person he used to look like, he's still the same person I missed for four months when I though he'd died screaming and burning in the atmosphere over New York City.

I take him by one of his tiny, slender hands. I study it for a moment: he's had a professional manicure, even wearing shimmery pink nail polish. The thought of him being like this forever puts a hard lump in my throat. I don't want him to be Paige forever. I want him to be Peter.

"Come on, Pete. Come home. Maybe being in familiar surroundings will help you change back. What do you think?" I try not to sound like I'm begging him.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I can feel my head bow and I let my chin rest against my chest and slowly turn my gaze upwards towards the man that stands close enough to drive me crazy with his scent and his heat.

I am not the person I use to be. I'm not the wide eyed little boy willing to give anything and everything to my brother. I'm not the desperate young man begging to be Nathan Petrelli's wife the night before he takes another into what was rightfully my own damned bed. I'm not even that scared man I was months ago when he raped me, when I wanted him to do it again. And I'm not the man that nursed him back to health and fucked his brains out and gave everything I ever was to him again. And again. And again.

"Nathan." It's hard to breathe in here and I turn my eyes away from him, just so I am not temped to do more when my hands pull from his. "I don't want to go back. I'm not dead. You can visit me any time you want to. I just really need to work some things out. You understand. Right?"

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I catch the strangest look in his eyes before he pulls his hands from mine, and turns his face away. I can't stop myself from gripping his wrist, pulling him back toward me. The perfume he's wearing, mixed with his own natural scent, is doing something to me that is inexplicable, unforgivable.

I want him. I want her. My own fucking brother. My sister. God, I don't know who he is anymore.

I know this feeling though. It fills me up, spills out of me. I blow out a hard breath as I look him over again. It's something I can't even control, the way my heart is pounding in my chest, the way my blood beats a hard rhythm through my body, the way my dick aches between my legs as my hands thread into his soft, curly dark hair. He's so beautiful. She.

"Peter. Paige. Don't know. Don't care," I say, my throat suddenly tight, my voice lowered substantially by the force of my need. I know this isn't right, but I can't stop it. I have to pull her up to me by her arms to kiss her, and she tastes like strawberries.

She is the devil herself. I knew it the minute I got here, even though I tried to deny it. I have no way to explain the power she's got over me, except give into it.

Okay I lied. One more for you.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I could so easily push him away and yell at him and slap his face and keep him from touching me. Oh, the scene plays out in my head. I'm insenced. I scream and push him twice until he half falls over the chair. 'Nathan!' I say, looking hurt and confused, disgusted. 'What the fuck!?' I run to the bathroom and fling his shirt at him. I tell him to get out. To get the fuck out and go back to his wife.

But I can't. I don't. Pressed against him as Heidi must have been so many times, my arms linger at his shoulders before they bend at the elbow so that I can touch his hair and pull him down to kiss him ever more deeply.

I'm damned. This is my entire fate. This is who I am and what I was born for. Oh...God.

I can feel my heart beat for him as we kiss, as his tongue moves into my mouth and I close my eyes. His arms move around me. His large hands press into my back. It doesn't matter to me why this is happening.

I already know.

It's destiny.

I'm so glad you lied! <3

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

This has happened before, I'm sure of it. I don't know how I know. She isn't stopping me, not throwing me off, not slapping me or spitting in my face or screaming.

She's kissing me back, moaning into my mouth. She's pulling me down to the lush, cream-colored carpeting, and her fingers work at my belt, and her little hand wraps around my cock before I can even take another breath.

I squeeze my eyes shut while she undresses me, trying to understand why this is happening. Why my brother, in his female form, is so willing to take me to bed. It's insanity.

When I don't feel her touch anymore, I open my eyes, wondering if she's changed her mind and fled.

Far from it. She's nude before me, except for perfect full breasts barely contained in an extremely expensive-looking black lace brassiere, the rest of her in matching panties.

This can't be Peter in there, I agonize. Peter is my brother...he'd never...we'd never...

Another memory flashes behind my eyes while I search hers, trying to find Peter Petrelli in them. An image of my brother, in his real body, his male body. His smooth chest heaving, his head thrown back, arching and twisting beneath me...

"Nathan," she whispers, and then she blinks. The image is gone. If he's there, I can't find him. Just her. Paige.

She's out of the bra and panties now, and my body surges with lust and confusion. I lower my head to her chest, take her nipple and a mouthful of her breast and suck relentlessly, switch to the other side, and I don't even have to look while I grab a condom from an inside pocket of my briefcase. She's a woman. Need protection.

I'm on top of her a second later, her nails clawing up my back, her thighs clenched around my sides as I plunge into her again and again. I test my theory and bite viciously at her neck, her chest, and her bruises heal rapidly. Christ, it really is Peter...

I moan my brother's name and his other name until they mean nothing and everything all at once, until Peter and Paige are one and the same.

I repeat the same words I asked the first time I spoke to her over the phone. Not in anger. In a desperate need to know why she--why he--seduced me.

"What did you do to me?"

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My head is on his shoulder as he lays on his back. I scratch lightly at his chest, his pectoral muscle closest to my head, as if he's a cat and I did not just ruin everything for us. His question is understandable and I close my eyes, pretending for a moment that this is a lazy Sunday morning, that we'll go out grocery shopping in a few hours and perhaps go to visit an important senatorial friend of his for wine and cheese as the sun goes down. I could be that pretty wife on his arm, the one that the old men in office flirt with. And I'd humor them, and then go home with Nathan and as he made love to me before we go to sleep, we'd laugh about those horny old men.

Nothing like that happens. It's just me, here, holding onto something that's never been mine. Just because Nathan is the only person in the world for me does not mean that I can ever rank higher than four or five in the grand scheme of things.

"I tried to stop this," I finally reply, glancing over his body at the used condom resting on the magazine. We hadn't used one the first time. And...he was carrying one in his wallet. Christ. There's another woman too. Besides me. I sit up, jealousy something I've been working on but still have trouble controlling. I find my clothes and get dressed, hair dishelved and smelling like Nathan's sex. "We can't be happy, Nathan. Not as lovers. We never have been...not even when I was just a kid. The only peace... The only peace we'll ever have is if you forget me."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I blink away tears, and so he won't see, I sit up and look around for my own clothes.

The realization takes my breath from me, twists a sharp blade in my gut, and the tears come down anyway. Peter tried to do it himself. He did do it himself. He selectively took away almost every memory I have of him, my brother, my lover since he was fourteen years old.

His alteration was imperfect, in more ways than one. He didn't completely erase everything, and he didn't make the one person forget who needs it most. Himself.

I know I was happy before Peter took the liberty of screwing around inside my brain. He was the one who needed peace, and he thought he could find it by running away. His fatal flaw has always been his love for me.

I woke up lost and alone, because Peter was gone from my heart, from my life. That empty feeling is gone now, because I have him back again, even if he's a 'her'.

For this to have been effective, he's the one who needed to forget me.

I swipe at the tears angrily, trying to get some anger and indignation up for what he's done to me. But I can't. I can't be angry at him for trying to salvage the pieces of his own life, after he gave me mine back. But in doing what he did, he made everything worse. I know this, though I can't remember much of it.

"You should have called the Haitian," I choke against the hard lump in my throat. I wrap his little body up in my arms, afraid he'll fly away if I don't hold him close to me. "You're the one who needed to forget, infinitely more than I ever did. Give it all back, Peter," I moan into his hair. Even as I say the words, I don't think he can.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I'm defeated. I was from the very moment he took me aside when I was a boy to teach me how to kiss so that I didn't screw it up with a girl when I got older. I still desire them, those simple kisses, back when he was mine and the world was uncomplicated. I turn in his arms to let him hold me the way we both want and make a soft snorting laugh under my breath. "I'm never giving up any moment, any memory I have of you. Even if it kills me." That's too close to home though. I know he is not in love with me the way that I am in love with him. He needs me, sure, but it's more the thought of me, the safety net, the person that will never leave him than as an equal in the way we feel for each other.

I already know that undoing what I took will be difficult, but only because my heart is not into it. I did not destroy the memories of us. I just repressed them. Sent them down and sent them deep. But I'm not the Haitian. I have his powers but I can use them even less effectively as I used Matt Parkman's.

"Go home, Nathan. Let this be the last time. I can't do this anymore. It makes me so tired." I came across the country to get away from hm. Running in the best course of action here. If I don't run, I'll ruin his life. "Let me work on getting my real self back. And then let me work on learning how to only be your little brother. I can't do that with you here."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"You're killing me, Peter." He is. He's breaking my heart all over again. He knows it too. He picks up my thoughts easily. He always knows.

I hug him to me as hard as I can, but I know I have to let him go. He thinks by excluding himself from the place in my life he's always occupied, that he can just magically fix this. He thinks my life will be perfect if it doesn't include my love for him.

"You're not just my little brother, and you fucking know it. You want to run, fine. Run. Hide. Don't come back, then. Leave me like you did when you were in Ireland. I'll be in New York, in my perfect house, with my perfect family, my perfect job. I've just been appointed junior Senator of New York. Not that you'd know. But I'll be there, Pete. Waiting for you, like I always do."

I grab my suit jacket and my ruined shirt and tie from his bathroom, and I'm out of his door, out of his fucked-up life before I can stop myself.

Because it's what he wants.

I didn't purchase a return ticket to New York, because I knew I was going to need this after I found my little brother. I look up into the sky briefly, and take off towards my home, away from the man I love the most, because he's gone. Peter Petrelli doesn't exist anymore.

I increase my speed, flying as fast as I can, my heart hammering beneath my ribs, my lungs burning oxygen faster than I can take it in, and when I finally smash the sound barrier, I feel something inside myself break too.

It feels like I've lost my brother all over again.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I clean up the mess, toss out the used condom and the magazine it was resting on, throw out the clothes I had been wearing, the beer he had been drinking, and do my best to straighten myself up. This includes a long shower and some tea and finally, when all of that is finished, I let myself cry. I wish I could say it was a healing cry, but it's not. He's going to go back to drinking. He'll have his affairs with pretty lobbiests in Washington. Heidi will keep on forgiving him because she loves him. His beautiful boys will hopefully grow up to be nothing like the two of us. I never want another living soul to endure this loneliness.

I can't call Nathan anymore, and calling Heidi is right out. Not with my voice sounding like this. So, as the days become weeks, I get all of my news about my rising star of a brother from the internet. For once, I'm not bitter about it. He's doing what we both want for him...to be the best he can be. I've only ever hindered him.

I've been at the cafe for just over a month when I find myself having to run in heels to get from the coffee bar to the bathroom so that I don't throw up on a customer. Two of the girls, Peggy and Slice -- the latter has purple hair and bright green contact lenses -- rush in after me as I heave into the toilet. This is the third day in a row that I've been sick in the morning and I groan, checking my uniform for any mess I might have made.

"This is not my day," I complain, trying to smile. My hair's grown out a little and I usually wear it in low pigtails.

Slice frowns, glances at the redhead beside her, and leans down to put her hand on my forehead. "Paige, when's the last time you've gotten your period?"

I panic until I remember that women tend to get it once a month. So far, I've been a woman for almost two. My cheeks redden. "I... A few months."

"We're hitting the pharmacy on lunch break, girl."

I've never been so scared in my life. Sitting on the toilet, panties around my ankles, Peggy and Slice filling the doorway, I let the purple haired woman take the stick from me. There's a pink plus sign.

"Well fuck," Slice mutters under her breath.

Fuck is right.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I haven't heard from Peter--Paige, I keep reminding myself because it makes it hurt less--in a month. Heidi and I are still doing well, because she pretends to be blind as a bat. She found a phone number in my pocket, lipstick on my collar. She leaves the evidence of my transgressions, my infidelity, on the bed for me to find before she goes to sleep in one of the guest rooms every night.

I haven't touched her since the last time, before I found Peter. She doesn't act any differently towards me in front of the children, but when we're alone together, she won't look me in the eyes. She loves me, and she hates me. It's how it's always been.

So I continue my affair with Tracy Strauss, and another woman who works in my office. An intern who can't be more than twenty-two years old, slight, top-heavy, and brunette just like the girl my brother is now.

The funny thing--her name is Vanessa. I wonder if it's that girl he lied to me about. I'll never ask her. I don't want to know anything about her. All I want to do is drink until I don't feel anything anymore, fuck until I can't see Paige, the devil-woman my brother's become to me.

That would work, only that at least once a week, I'm flying to California and back on "business", lying to everyone, something that's almost as fundamental to my existence as breathing.

I watch my brother as he flirts with men and brings them coffee, shaking his ass and shoving his tits in their face, taking their money and their advances and making his living. Little whore. I want to slap him.

I watch him in his apartment, having his little girlfriends over, watching Lifetime movies and eating ice cream and chatting about boyfriends and going out to the clubs, graduate school, sex.

One night he's actually in his bed, naked and fresh from a shower, and he's taught himself how to masturbate as a woman. It's one of the most beautifully erotic things I've ever watched, and I can't help it when my hand slides inside my pants and I come against the wall outside his window. He lives in a very secluded area, and no one will have seen me.

Something's strange about his body, I notice. He's a little fuller in the breasts, in the belly. He needs to start exercising if he wants to keep his girlish figure, I think darkly as I speed home to my perfect life, more ashamed of myself than ever.

A week later I'm back, in the cafe where he works, and I tell the hostess I want Paige as my waitress. He almost drops my coffee on me when he sees me, wearing my huge shark's smile. "Hello, Paige."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"N-Nathan!" I want to run, but not only is that generally impossible in a place that has one main exit and is packed to the teeth on this Saturday afternoon, but it tends to be a bad thing to do in heels when you're almost three months pregnant. I gaze down at him with our matching eyes and take two steps back. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I have other tables to wait on, other customers to serve, but I can't move from this spot. I'm more afraid of him actually seeing what he's done to me than anything else. At least these uniforms hide a lot under their full and frilly skirts.

"What do you want? I have work to do." I will not put up with him, not when he ran out on me like that last time. I can't. I won't. I need stability right now and he's not stable.

We could never be stable.

I just hope he doesn't cause a scene. I need this job.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I never stop smiling, and I make it painfully clear to some of the patrons around my table that yes, I know this girl, quite well. Not in the way they think I do, but just the same.

"Paige," I say very sternly. "This is how you treat all your customers? Be a good girl and get me some brandy for my coffee, hmm? And a piece of strawberry cheesecake, sweetheart." I toss a hundred on the table and fold my hands, trying not to laugh at how angry I know this must be making him.

He haunts my dreams? I'll haunt his fucking life.

He's definitely gained a little weight. But not everywhere. Just in the lower belly, and his chest. His sexy little work uniform hides it well, but not well enough. I wonder if any of the men in suits who are glaring at me have ever gotten a piece of my brother's tight little--

The thought stops my hand holding the coffee cup halfway to my lips, sloshing the hot liquid right into my lap.

Oh, my God. He can't be...Some of the things my brother's been telling me his whole life come rushing back to me--his wanting to marry me, have my children, his slightly feminine tendencies--this is why he likes being a woman. Because he's never really wanted to be with one. My brother's a homosexual man trapped in a female body. No, trapped isn't the right word. He wants to stay this way.

And look what it's got him. Knocked up. I swear I'll strangle the man who did this to him.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"We don't serve alcohol," I mutter, keeping my voice low and my eyes down so that the anger doesn't course through me to him. This is not what I need right now. "But I'll get you your cake."

I'm in the kitchen when Peggy catches my elbow, giving me a look that speaks volumes. Is that the man whose child I'm carrying? I nod. I nod and burst into tears, crying against her chest as she holds me. "Let me bring that out to him, honey."

"No. No, no." Nathan could tell her that he's my brother and that would ruin the only friendships I've managed to hold down for longer than a few months. "No. It's all right. How's my makeup?"

She smiles sadly. "You look beautiful, honey," she tells me as she plates a piece of cake and sends it out with me. I want to dump it in his lap with the way he's eyes rake across me...but no. I'm classier than than.

"I get done in two hours," I tell my brother, frowning at how his eyes keep going to my budding belly. "If you want to talk. If you just want to cause a scene, you can just leave." Or I'll make him leave.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"All right. I'll be waiting," I say with my ever-present smile, though it's plastered on now, not because I'm enjoying his anger and now his tears. I'm not, not at all. I actually want to hug him and take him home. But I'm still incensed.

I wink at him, though my stomach is sick. Peter's pregnant. What kind of fucking upscale place doesn't serve alcohol? Peter's fucking pregnant.

What in God's name did the Petrelli family do so wrong in the world to deserve these tragedies, one after another? No, don't fucking answer that, I scream at my conscience. I clean up the coffee I spilled on myself, and then very slowly eat my strawberry cheesecake. Peter's the one who likes strawberries. I don't really care all that much for them.

I finish my coffee and push my plate away, and don't even bother asking him for the check, then head for the door. There is a bar a few blocks down from his cafe, and I figure that's where I'll wait for him to get off work and then explain to me what the hell he's done this time.

He'll know where to find me, I think sarcastically as I toss back the first of many shots. I'll slow down once eight o'clock approaches--I don't want him to see me totally smashed. I still won't do that to him, even after everything he's done to me. wI was right when I said Peter would be the one to make me start drinking again.

There's a tall, classy-looking redhead next to me, and I offer to buy her one of whatever she's having.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I feel ridiculous standing in the doorway of that bar, watching my brother flirt with yet another person that is not and will never be me. It's spirit crushing, as if my spirit wasn't already crushed. I place my hand over my purple shirt covered stomach and close my eyes for a long moment. Peggy and Slice offered to come with me -- the latter wanted to scratch his eyes out -- but I told them to stay where they are.

And that I'd call them later. And we could have too much chocolate. I'll admit it. I like being a woman. I like having female friends. I like not having to worry about how they'll think of me if I cry or scream or eat too much in front of them.

"Nathan?" I've gotten changed, and the bump is a little more noticeable now. The redhead glances over her shoulder at me. I can hear her thoughts. She's annoyed that the man she was smoozing -- dressed like someone important -- had a pregnant wife or girlfriend following him. She wrote him off, and vowed to throw out his number.

Nathan gave her his number... Christ.

I'm going to start crying again.

"Let's go back to my place...?"

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

The redhead I've been talking to takes one glance at Peter and fires me a look of scorn.

"Fucking jerk," she hisses, and leaves me alone with my pregnant brother. For all intents and purposes, my pregnant sister. I think about calling after her, telling her that, but Peter would probably flip out, get all hormonal and start crying.

I'm sure I've got enough of that coming to me for the evening, so I just finish the rest of my drink and toss another hundred on the table.

Peter suggests we go back to his apartment, and I just nod my head, anger and alcohol mixing dangerously in my blood. The clothes he's wearing now make it extremely obvious that he's gotten himself into trouble.

He's still the brother who belonged to me when he was fourteen years old. Some of my memories have come back. Peter didn't take them away, he just pushed them down where they wouldn't be accessible. But he fucked up somehow. Just like he's done right now.

When the door slams behind me, I lace into him, all the bitterness and sadness and anger at what he's done to me since he left finally boiling over. I keep my voice low, though. It scares him more when I'm quiet.

"You've done a real good job as a woman, Peter. Three months and you've actually managed to get yourself knocked up. I guess you're a whore no matter what."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My eyebrows raise in tandem and I blink at him with all of the hot pain I have been keeping inside for these long, lonely months. I turn to face him, fingers curling into my palms, and just shake my head, smiling lightly. "He's yours, Nathan." I'm not going to try and be noble and let him think it's anyone else's. I don't want his sympathy. I don't need his help. But he should known.

My lips slowly curl up and I head into the kitchen to put on some tea. I don't know where my obsession with it has come, frankly. I lean against the stove and watch my brother's face stay exactly as it had been before I said anything. He's floored. He hasn't even blinked. He hasn't moved a muscle.

"What, did you think I was with anyone else?" I move the kettle onto the stove and go to shift out tea from my caddy. It's chocolate cookie, Peggy bought it for me a few weeks ago to help cheer me up. "There's never been anyone else, Nathan. Not for me."