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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[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I take a deep breath, and all the words I know he can't say come spilling out of me.

"Peter, what I did to you was wrong, and I know that. I should have never kissed you. Should have never touched you. Shouldn't have called you a slut. Shouldn't have forced you..." The list goes on, and suddenly, I'm apologizing for everything I've ever done to him. Today. Four months ago. A year ago. His whole life.

I rock him as if he were a child, my arms so tight around him he probably can't breathe. "I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. Please. I love you more than anything in the world."

I'm nearly gasping for breath now too, because Peter's arms tighten around me, and my heart is hammering in my chest; he must be able to feel it. But the words won't stop, and they pour from me like water.

"I kissed you because I love you, more than I should. I've loved you since the day Ma brought you home from the hospital, and I'll love you even when I'm dead and gone. We're connected. Forever. We have to put it back together, Pete. But you gotta let me."

I kiss away the tears that are slipping down his face. My voice shakes when I whisper, "Please don't cry, Peter. Please. You're killing me."

But I know it's only just started, so I hold him while he does. He's all I have now, all I ever really had. I need him.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I let Nathan talk because he needs to do just that. It's not up to me right now, my mind is blissfully blank of everything that is going on. To actually be comforted is what I need, though I know it is selfish once more on Nathan's part.

You're killing me.

"I'm not killing you," I manage to say, almost shocked to hear my voice, and the terrible pitch of it. It makes my stomach recoil, how dry and empty it all is. How dry and empty I've become, despite the tears. "You're killing me."

I'm not your slut, Nathan.

"I would have... I would have let you..."

That is truly the awful truth. What is moreso, I will let him do it again if he desires it. I know it already without having to do any soul searching.

"But you took it." It should have been bliss. It should have been romance and love and desire. Well. I guess the desire was there. I do not thrash in his arms, though I want to. I simply card through his hair with my fingers.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

Peter finally speaks, and the sound of his voice is like nothing I've ever heard before. Like dry, ancient paper crackling beneath fingertips. Peter stares right at my face, his accusing eyes still filled with tears.

You're killing me.And the worst part about it is, he's right. His tears aren't killing me. I caused them.

Because of my daughter, Peter can't die, not physically, but I can kill him just the same. I couldn't break his body, but I definitely broke his heart.

I took his innocence. I took something he would have given to me willingly, if I had just been able to control myself. If I'd just been able to remember, in the height of sexual desire, that he wasn't like every other barely legal boy I'd ever slept with. He is my brother, and I love him.

I should have made love to him.

But there's no way I'll ever touch him like that again. Never again.

"Never again." I repeat it like a mantra as I hug him still tighter. Peter's fingers are buried in my hair, almost hard enough to hurt. I rest my forehead against his, and I just sit there with him.

"I'll never hurt you again, Peter." Somehow, I know that's not true, because I've promised myself that for my whole life. But I know I'll never ever hurt him like that again.

I ruined something that should have been beautiful, just like him. I ruined him. The person I love most in the world hates me. I ruined everything.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

He still has no idea how I feel, but it hurts far too much to speak to actually do much more then let my own anger go. It will do no good sitting in the bowels of my stomach. Nathan smells like my shampoo, and I decide almost at once that I don't care for it. It's not that I don't like the things I use, but it's not the way my brother is and it's not the way I want him to be, either. Holding onto that is like holding onto fire. It doesn't matter if I can heal. It still hurts like hell.

Eventually, the tears fade and the exhaustion follows. We might have become a little broken, but it's nothing that togetherness can not fix. That, at least, is my goal.

Why?

"Hold me tighter," I rasp.

I need him. My lips curl against his throat. It's not quite important, the things I'm thinking. It's not even important that my sigh is more relaxed now than ever before. I love Nathan. He can do as he likes to me, but I'll never leave him.

And yes, that is troubling. Even to me.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I don't know what to do with my brother right this minute. Peter is holding on to me for dear life, as if I let him go, he'd fly away.

I wonder how he is even able to stand my touch after what I've done.

His face is still buried into my neck, his lips pressed against my skin in a perpetual kiss. I hear him sigh softly as I hug him a bit tighter like he asked.

"Hey. You look really tired, Pete. You want to go lie down? You'll feel better after you sleep awhile. I'll tuck you in if you want."

I turn his face up to mine; his eyes are closed, and his breathing is slow and steady. I wonder if he's fallen asleep already.

I can't help myself but watch him, and I stroke his cheek. Ordinarily I'd run my fingers through his hair, but he's hardly got any left. His hair hasn't been this short since he was twelve years old. I miss it; it was always so soft.

Peter doesn't move, and I'm pretty sure he is out. I decide I'll stay right here with him. I won't move until he wakes up.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It's dark when I wake up, but I can't place where I am. There's something warm against me, and I realize that it's Nathan. I would have known by the smell, except he smells like me. Like I've marked him somehow by enforcing my soap and shampoo on him. "Take me to bed." It's probably not the first thing I should say to him, but he's my brother, he understands what I want.

It's not comfortable to be here on the couch, not for him at least though in his arms I could spend eternity. He lifts me so easily, rising from the chair with his powers and not the muscles of his legs.

It's like we're floating. Maybe we are. I feel light in his arms, my head against his shoulder as he lays me in bed and climbs in beside me.

I don't move away from him. It doesn't matter what he did to me, I decided this already but I can reaffirm it now with absolute certainty. The moment he's against me, I turn towards him and rest my head under his.

It's several moments before I can speak again, and my throat feels like it's cursed. "You...won't leave..."