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]

The mirrors are ingeniously placed and as I draw his pleasure slowly out of him, I watch the places that we connect with glee. His hand on my breast, or my waist. The kiss of our thighs. His cock sliding out of me with a delicious wet sound. I toss my head back and close my eyes until we both come.

It's my last night apart from him, though he and I have connected far more than just physically. We're emotionally dependant on each other and the piece of paper we're signing tomorrow proves it.

I'll be Paige, his wife. And when our children are born, I'll be Peter his brother. Both roles are important to me and I can finally have each.

Afterward, when he's mostly asleep and cradled in my arms against my chest, I gaze up at our image in the mirror. It's perfection. "We belong together," I murmur into his curly locks.

Morning arrives quickly and Nathan leaves the house early to get himself to the courthouse. I'm left with my friends, who do my hair and makeup and pamper me. "We should have done a bachelorette party," Peggy complains as I try to sip some water through a straw so that my lipstick isn't smeared.

"Paige wanted to fuck her fiance one last time," Slice points out and I have to laugh. "You two were loud. And we were across the mansion!"

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I roused myself as early as my body would let me this morning, after last night's round of lovemaking, and reluctantly left the comforting arms of my fiancee for the last time. The next time I hold her, she'll be my wife, but one thing will never change; he will always be Peter, always my brother. Last night I dreamt he was his male self again, and all I could do was hold him until we both cried, the tears mixing with our kisses. Peter told me he loved me, and that he forgave me.

I miss him, but I'll see him soon enough.

Today is Paige's and my wedding day. Peter's and my wedding day, my mind supplies. I smile at the sudden image I get of my six-year-old brother and his gentle, somber insistence that he would one day marry me.

I circle around the few blocks surrounding the courthouse, looking for a parking space. I took my car this time, so that Paige and I will have some privacy on our drive to the restaurant at which I've made reservations for lunch. Peggy and Slice will meet us there, of course.

My heart almost stops dead in my chest as I parallel-park the car and notice the license plate of the car I've pulled in behind. My mother's car.

She's here. The wicked, conniving woman she's always been, no doubt threatening to ruin everything I've wanted for my brother and myself my whole life. I don't expect her to understand why Heidi and I called it quits. I don't expect her to understand why Peter's become Paige, or that she's pregnant with my children. I know Ma's been dreaming; that's the only way she could have an inkling of what's taking place today.

I don't expect her blessing or her forgiveness; I don't want or deserve either. I just want her to accept it for what it is and leave it alone. She knew about Peter and myself when he was just a teenager, and she did nothing to stop it then. In fact, in her own way she almost encouraged it. She was very protective of her 'little one' as she called him, and expected nothing less from me.

Our mother would find Peter in my bed, or me in Peter's, in various states of undress, and she'd simply shut the door and make sure to wake us before our father ever found us. She never breathed a word of it to anyone, ever.

I suppose now that her golden boy is flaunting it out in public, now is when Angela Petrelli finally has a problem with her sons' incestuous affair. Maybe she's here on Heidi's behalf. Or maybe she's really just here to play along some more, wish her son and her son-turned-daughter well in their new life together, the culmination of everything she allowed to go on in her house when we were younger. Yeah, I'll just bet, I think sarcastically.

I won't know until I find her. No use worrying about it until then. I open my phone to call Peter to warn him, and that's when I feel a surprisingly strong hand grip my arm. I can feel her nails digging into my skin even through my suit jacket. I turn around, and a hard backhand slap whirls my head sideways, sending my phone flying into the gutter.

"What the fuck, Ma?" I spit angrily, touching my lower lip, my fingers coming back bloody. She's actually split my lip with the force of her blow.

My mother's found me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Angela Petrelli had long since decided several things. One, she was not the best mother. Her ambition did not allow her to be. Since she was a teenager, she'd lived on her own, trusted only her own kind, and pulled herself from nothing to become a hero. She only had the best intentions, but even the best intentions can be twisted by a false sense of power.

I never really understood my mother until this moment, standing behind her as she kicks Nathan since she managed to push him down to the gleaming, polished floor of City Hall. For such a tiny woman, she's got so much strength.

"Oh my God, that woman is beating up your--"

"That's my mother," I say without thinking. Peggy puts her hand to my shoulder, trying to give me strength I think. But how can she give me strength when I've picked up everything that was going on inside of my mother's head?

My birth was planned for a particular reason. I was to keep Nathan in line, to give him a connection, and ultimately, to kill a lot of people to boost his career. My mother foresaw so many things. Her gift was a curse, but she followed her visions blindly.

The fact that she's grown a conscious now should make me laugh, but it doesn't.

I sway and then stride forward, so easily breaking the hold on my shoulder as I rush in white pumps to stop the fight. "Please--"

"My God, Peter!"

I pause and straighten up, smiling softly as I touch my stomach. "Paige, actually."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

This day started out really well. Now I'm on the marble floor of City Hall, bleeding from my lip and my nose, and being stomped by my mother's size seven heels. She's the epitome of a woman scorned, and I don't think I can remember the last time I've seen her this angry. She lands a severe blow to my ribs, the point of her shoe stabbing me right between two of them, and now I can hardly breathe. I cover my face and she kicks me again, this time in the wrist. I moan, "Ma, would you fucking stop it? Peter, do something before she puts one of my eyes out!"

Paige's eyes go wide as saucers, and she reaches over and grabs our mother before she's able to stab me in the jugular vein with the heel of her pump.

Peggy and Slice are looking at one another and mouthing, "What the fuck? Who the hell is Peter?" They have no idea about how severely dysfunctional the Petrelli family really is. And I just called my brother by his real name. Fuck.

Peter is the next recipient of our mother's rage. She pushes him off with strength I can't even believe she has, and Peter lets go, more stunned than overpowered. I have just enough time to notice she's actually a little taller than he is, before she goes after him. She cocks back and slaps him across his face too, and spits, her eyes burning, "You should be ashamed to call yourself my son, Peter. Did Nathan put you up to this charade?" As I get to my feet, she turns and kicks me once more in the shin for good measure.

People are milling around to watch, and I swipe at my bloodied face and dismiss them with a brilliant smile and a wave of my hand. "Everything's fine, folks, nothing to see here." I lean in and grip my mother's arm. "Ma, you have to calm down. You're making a scene," I advise her. Someone here is bound to know that I'm a New York State Senator, and just like that, this altercation will be all over the news. I hope Peter has some kind of tricks up his sleeve to get control of this situation before it gets even more out of hand.

This is a nightmare. I should have known if I wasn't going to screw this up, the Petrelli matriarch would do a fine job of it in my place.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Stumbling backwards, towards two girls ready to claw out the eyes of anyone that hurts me, I stop time. I'm alone in the silence after that, and it lets me drop to my knees to sit out the fit of hyperventilation I'm experiencing. It's been awhile since I've had a panic attack, and I accept it as it is and just let it go, exhaling through my nose until everything stops spinning.

I don't know how to handle this. Situation control is not my forte and I pick myself up slowly to move to Nathan's side. He's still got our mother's wrist, and that's good enough.

I touch them both and for them at least, the world resumes it's course. Everyone else is struck with looks of confusion on their faces. Immediately, Mom pulls herself away from us and gives me a push as she looks around, makeup smeared on her face.

"You have no idea," she says, choking on her own tongue as she tries to stop her quaking, "what you two are doing!"