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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[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."