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]

"That's another thing that's not your fault, Peter," I say, blinking back tears. I can't help but smile down at him while I rub his neck, and stroke his hair. He's so impulsive and affectionate; he's been that way his whole life.

He's right, I realize. I'm really not alone. I have my brother. It pains me to admit to myself secretly that if I had to choose between Heidi and my children, and Peter, I would choose him every time. I love Heidi and my children, but I've loved Peter for twenty-seven years. More than I should have, more than anyone else in my entire life. I hope he knows that.

"You're right. I've got you, and I've got Ma. Speaking of which, she's expecting us, correct? We better get our asses over there before she comes here. I don't want her seeing the mess we left in your bed. Come on, let's get a move on."

I nudge Peter lightly with my knee, and he obediently lifts himself from my lap. I get up too, and we stand there face-to-face. I'm momentarily lost in his intense hazel gaze.

Peter loves me more than he should, too. It's just the way we are.

We're brothers, and we're lovers. Nothing will change it. I don't think either one of us would ever want it to change, either. We'll learn to live with our guilt somehow. I'm sure of it.

I slip my arms around him and lean in to kiss him, and I feel his body relax against me, his mouth soft, his lips gentle, his hands tangling in my hair. I pull back and breathe, "God, I love you, Peter."

He smiles, and he flushes slightly. He makes a move to let me go, but I'm just not done yet. I never want to let him go.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

We get to Mom's two hours later. I'm sore, but not from another round in bed. There were quite a lot of crushing kisses and a little bit of heavy making out on the couch, but the stress is what has done me in more than anything else. I've bandaged Nathan's hand, we finished cleaning up our mess, and manage to keep our hands off of each other as Mom tried to strangle me to death.

Explaining where I've been is tough. It's the first time I've sat down and actually spoke about it. Mom is interested, but it's Nathan I'm watching as I whisper the secret things I've done. My time at the Company. Ireland. Kaitlyn. Finding the box with Nathan's picture in it. All of my memories rushing back...flying home.

There's more to tell, like the misjudged robbery and the crazy blond bitch, but I don't want to worry them needlessly. Sylar's dead. My life can be normal again. I have Nathan...

Mom retires the three of us into the lounge for tea and I can't help but feel out of place as she speaks with Nathan. I'm forever that ten year old kid forced to sit on the ottoman and behave. She even gave me three times the cookies she gave Nathan. I'm the child and will always be, listening to a conversation I'm not expected to join in.

And endure far too many wet kisses for. And hair pets.

All I want to do it pull by brother away someplace quiet.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

My mother fawns over Peter the entire first hour after we arrive, and she's even holding his hand now as the three of us sit together in the lounge. She doesn't cry though, and for that I'm grateful.

Because it would make me feel even worse than I do now.

The last time all three of us were here together, Peter's lifeless body was stretched out before us, delivered to us by Mohinder Suresh with an uneasy apology.

Mom didn't cry then either, but I thought that I'd die right there with him.

And what did I do after Claire woke him up? I continued to allow all the people around me to manipulate me in their interests of power. I was ready to sacrfice him again, even though Peter virtually assured me he couldn't die now that he had my daughter's ability.

My head is spinning with the guilt of it all, and I know I shouldn't let myself think along these lines anymore. Though Heidi and my kids are no longer a part of my life, we're all alive and well. Peter saved the cheerleader even though I tried to stop him, and we saved New York by a hair's width, though it was mine and my mother's grandiose plan to unite the world by destroying it.

Ma is talking to me, but her voice sounds like it's coming through water, an unintelligible murmur that I barely hear above the scream in my blood for alcohol. I can't control it anymore, and I interrupt her rudely by getting up and going for the liquor cabinet.

I can feel my brother's eyes burning into my back as I fill a glass, drain it, and fill it again.

My mother says nothing about it; she's always been the type to ignore a problem, and by doing so, it no longer exists. She doesn't condone my actions, but she'll let me get away with it for now.

Mom picks up her conversation without missing a beat, and I act like I have the slightest idea of what she was saying, nodding and making affirmative sounds when I'm expected to. Peter just glares at me while he eats his cookies, looking very much like a twelve-year-old kid. I almost can't believe he's the same person who just last night fucked me until I was exhausted.

My face burns with shame. How can I even dare to think of my brother like that with my mother sitting right there? Thank God she doesn't have Parkman's ability.

I go very easy on this second glass. The liquor warms my stomach and smoothes over the sharp edges of my guilt. Halfway through, I'm feeling much better, but Peter looks disgusted.

I can't win this fight.

I'm sorry, Peter. I'm not strong enough.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

The moment my brother gets up to get a third drink, I have to say something. "I think you've had enough, Nathan." He's a nasty drunk. I don't try to change people, but I don't want to eat my own teeth every other day when he's so plastered he can't control himself.

My mother makes a little gesture with her dainty, somewhat withering hand. I always forget how old she is. She had me almost twelve years after Nathan. She was not a young woman anymore, but she did care for me dearly. She was totally over protective while I was growing up. "Leave your brother alone, Peter," she says.

It's resigned. She's seen Nathan become the man I found two days ago in my apartment with a thick beard and unkempt hair. And so fair, she's said nothing about how he's cleaned himself up. "Mom, you can't--"

"Hasn't he been through enough?" she snaps at me and I grow silent.

I've been through enough, too, that I don't deserve what he becomes when he's drunk.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

How doesn't my brother understand that I'm not drinking to get drunk? I'm self-medicating, for Christ's sake. He has to understand it's an illness, and I need help. He's a goddamned nurse. But I don't need him to take care of me right now. I swear to myself this will be the last one for now, but I won't give him the satisfaction of letting him know I'm going to take his advice.

"Maybe if you had a drink yourself, you'd calm down, Peter." It comes out sounding a lot more combative than I intended. Peter couldn't even get drunk if he tried; his body would see the substance as foreign and clear it away in an instant.

Maybe I'm better off that I won't live forever.

"So what's for dinner, Ma?" I ask, ignoring Peter's ever-present glare.

"I have something very special planned for this evening's meal, dear. It's a surprise; let's not spoil it just yet," my mother responds. She looks at Peter, and then at me, and I see it in her eyes; something has alarmed her, caught her attention. Her hand shakes slightly as she lowers her empty teacup. I wonder if maybe she's been dreaming again. Maybe she already knows what terrible desires lurk inside her two sons. Maybe she's already seen the sins we've committed, and that we enjoyed each and every minute of them.

Dear Lord, I hope not.

She looks like she could use a drink herself, and I bring her a glass of wine.

"Thank you, dear. You know me so very well," she says with a half-hearted smile. She takes it from me with a grateful glance, and I smile inwardly at the fury I see in Peter's eyes this time.

I know it's childish to try to make Peter feel like Ma loves me more than she does him, but that's what alcohol does to me. Turns me into a nasty, vindictive bastard.

It's going to be an interesting evening, to say the least.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I can't believe that we're playing this games still. He's fourty years old and he still has to one up me. I feel bitterness towards him and realize that sibling rivalry is the least of our problems right now. I want to speak with him alone, but our mother will not leave him be. We move rooms together, the three of us, until I just can't take it anymore.

"Sorry, it's been a hard few days for me," I say, making the excuse to go upstairs to the bed I use to sleep in until I moved out a few years ago. It's exactly as I left it, posters and everything else I did not take with me when I left. My old teddy bear is here too and I curl up with it.

There's no footfalls down the hall, though I wait for them, hoping Nathan will follow me. He does not. I fall asleep with the stuffed bear, curled up as if I was still a six year old, and woke up only to the feeling of--

"Uncle Pete!"

I open my eyes as the boys jump on me, stirring me immediately. I grin, pleased to see them. I always did love my nephews. "Monty! No shoes on the bed!"

"Aww."

"Come down stairs, Uncle Pete!"

I rub the sleep from my eyes and take Simon in one hand, Monty in the other and let them pull me down the stairs. My mother's there to greet us and get hugs from her grandsons. "Where's Nathan?"

"Talking with mommy in the garden," Simon supplies.

I smile. "Oh? Well, how about we go play hide and seek before dinner!"

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

"You're looking well, Nathan," my wife--ex-wife,I remind myself--says to me, looking me over discriminately. She doesn't mention my wrinkled dress shirt, my five o'clock shadow, my bandaged and bruised hands. "You're still drinking," is the next sentence out of her mouth, and it sounds like she's accusing me of committing murder.

I give her a genuine smile, but Heidi doesn't smile back. Her lips are drawn in a tight line, and those clear blue eyes are now fixed on the glass and the bottle on the table.

Though I feel bile rise in my throat, and angry words on my tongue threatening to cut this reunion short, my heart aches for her. I miss her desperately.

I want to kill Ma for this. The divorce was final three weeks ago, and I'm breaking the law right now just by being here. Gritting my teeth, I say, "Ma put you up to this, didn't she? You filed an order of protection against me, Heidi. What, are you planning on having me arrested?"
"I dropped it, Nathan. I figured it was the least I could do, since you didn't make this harder than it had to be in court."

"I didn't even go to court!" I yell. "I signed a goddamned paper! I gave my entire life to you!" Heidi recoils, as if I've put my hands on her again. I have to lower my voice. I do not want the first visit with my children in four months marked by my sudden fury at their mother.

"I was fucking depressed, Heidi. If I didn't care about Simon and Monty as much as I do, you'd have nothing except for what you came into this marriage with," I hiss, knocking back another long swallow of my Scotch.

Heidi shakes her head sadly. "I'm not going over this again, Nathan. Spend some time with your sons. They miss you, though I couldn't imagine why." I hear the venom in her voice. She really hates me, though she's forcing herself to be civil for Simon and Monty's sake. Part of me wants to slap her again, and the other part of me wants to drop to my knees and beg for her forgiveness.

I just want everything to go back to the way it was, before Kirby Plaza. Before these abilities changed our lives. Before I ruined everything, gave everything up because of my brother.

The alcohol is feeding the flames of anger that rage inside me, at my own inability to cope with my losses, at my mother for bringing Heidi and the kids here, at Peter for leaving me.

I set the glass down and keep my mouth shut, and I can tell Heidi is satisfied with herself because she's gotten the last word.

She turns, and I look up, at the sound of my children clamoring through the doors toward us. "Daddy!" Monty and Simon yell in unison, both of them launching themselves at me, hugging me. I put my arms around both of them and hold them close.

"We're playing hide-and-seek with Uncle Pete! Did you see him?" Monty exclaims, tugging himself away.

"I don't know if you'll find him, guys," I say with a wink. "Your uncle has a lot of tricks up his sleeve. He once told me he could fly like Superman. He says he can turn invisible, too. Like the lady from the Fantastic Four."

"Even if Uncle Pete's a superhero, we'll find him!" Simon declares, running off as quickly as he came.

"Love you, Daddy!" Monty says, hugging me again and kissing my cheek before he follows his older brother.

I glance over at Heidi, a self-satisfied smirk curving my lips, and I refill my glass again.

Heidi looks like she wants to hit me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It's cheating, I know it, to sit on top of the gable overlooking the courtyard and the small city garden my mother has kept and maintained for decades. It's cheating to be eavesdropping, but I can't stop the jealousy. Nathan is not a man made for exclusivity. He rarely has one partner in anything and I am foolish to think that I will ever be enough. Still. I think it.

The boys are running around outside before I hear my mother call that the cook proclaimed dinner would be in fifteen minutes. Not even Nathan's little quip about being a superhero makes me smile though.

Heidi is all fire and ice as she gazes at my brother, the frown melting away after only the smallest while. It's hard to remain mad. She's a good woman. The best woman I know really. She's a perfect mother. She stuck by him through all of his cheating, especially after her accident left her unable to dance.

But all of that is different now. I lean against the gable, gazing down at the pair as Heidi makes several false starts.

"If you get counseling, Nathan, if you go into rehab for your alcoholism, maybe we can start again."

I almost choke.

"The boys need their father."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

Heidi stares at me, but I still don't say anything. I'm perfectly content not to speak to her for the remainder of this evening. Dinner was supposed to be a quiet affair between myself, my brother, and my mother, and now it's just going to be a staged endeavor, wrought with false appearances and buried animosities. Anger is simmering steadily in me, even among the beauty of our surroundings, the lush dark evergreen bushes, the crisp evening air. It's not as cold as it usually would be this time of year in New York, two weeks before Christmas.

Heidi's face softens, and I think I see just a flash of the love she still has for me cross her porcelain features. She lays her hand on top of mine, and grips it tightly.

She tells me going into rehabilitation will fix it all. All I have to do is dry myself out, and she'll give me back everything I've lost. She tells me the boys need me.

I laugh bitterly. She can't really be serious, can she?

"You're going to tell me that now? After all of this? The divorce, the order of protection? Everything? I doubt it," I scoff.

"Nathan, please," she implores, sitting next to me, tucking a stray strand of my hair back into place.

"Your hair is long," she says, and lets out a nervous little laugh. She may hate me, but I know she still loves me; I can see it in her eyes she's clearly rethinking her decision to leave me.

"Peter's the reason you let this happen to yourself. He's all right, but you're not. You're sick, Nathan. But you can get better. You have a reason. Your brother. Your boys. Us."

She wraps her arms around me, and I'm almost stunned at how quickly she is ready to forgive me. I don't deserve a second chance from her, just like I didn't from my brother.

This is Peter's fault. Even though I told him it wasn't, the angry, irrational part of me insists. Even with Heidi in my arms, I can't let go of my pride, my self-destructiveness. I take a few deep breaths, and I know I'm putting the nail in my own coffin with my next words. But I say them with a smile.

I push her away gently and shake my head. "No, Heidi. What's done is done. Live your perfect life without me."

The alcohol is starting to hit me harder, and I need to get away from her. I get to my feet and drain my glass, then leave her alone in the garden. I can hear her crying as the door slams behind me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

It had started to rain pretty heavy while I was up on the roof and the weather report I heard this morning about freezing rain makes me laugh. It's already freezing to my hair, to the back of my neck. I shiver, but do my best to stay where I am. I want to hear what's going on. I want to know what's being said and discussed. I want to find out my fate.

Heidi and Nathan are under the balcony so all I can do is hear them speak and pull their winter coats around them. I probably should have worn a coat myself. The rain beats down on me like needles. I have to endure it for just a little while longer. I have to.

"You have a reason. Your brother. Your boys. Us."

The fabric is shifting. I hear a soft: "Oh Nathan." I've seen them hug many, many times. I don't have to see it now to know that they're clinging to each other. The guilt I feel for hating Heidi is intense. The happiness I feel for my brother reclaiming his life makes me want to vomit. The relief I feel for the boys takes my breath away and I slip off of the roof before I can hear anything more. I'll claim I was hiding outside when the rain started. I go back in the house through the front door and mom freaks out about her hardwood floors.

Never mind that I am frozen to the bone, wearing just a t-shirt and some jeans, and looking like someone just killed my cat. It's hard to remember that she loves me.

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I step into the living room to see Peter dripping wet, his shirt clinging to him, his dark hair plastered in his face. My mother wraps a towel around him and scolds him,"You'll catch your death out there! Whatever possessed you to go outside half-dressed?"

I'm trembling with anger still, at this whole ridiculous situation she's put me in the middle of, and I want to shake her and scream at her.

Peter can't fucking die! How the hell do you think he survived going nuclear? Oh, that's right, because of the daughter you hid from me for sixteen years!

I force myself to hold it in, and I feel like my heart's going to burst. I'm totally smashed now. Ma's fault too. Once Heidi arrived, I broke my promise to myself to go easy.

Maybe rehabilitation isn't such a bad idea.

But for now, I'm still an alcoholic, still angry, still a failure.

Once Peter is dry enough, he goes up the stairs to find some new clothes, and I consider going up after him. I have to talk to him, or I'm going to lose it.

But it's all his fault, taunts the devil on my shoulder.

No. I can't. Not like this. I don't want to fight with him, not here, not with my boys in the same house. Later, when we get back to his apartment.

But as I look out the large bay window, I see that the seemingly innocuous rain has become a full-blown ice storm. If it doesn't let up by the time we finish with dinner, we're not going anywhere.

I don't want to be stuck here with my mother and Heidi. I want to be alone with my brother,even if I am pushing all the blame on him. It's just the alcohol.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I still have clothes here. And they still fit. I think I stopped growing in high school when the rest of the kids in my grad were shooting past me another few inches. I sigh. There's a pair of jeans in my closet that I haven't worn in eight or nine years. And do they still fit? Yes. Quite well. Mom probably has her cleaning service up here airing everything out once in awhile. These clothes don't smell stale, aren't frayed, and probably should have been donated to charity a long time ago.

I'm cold enough to get out one of Nathan's old sweaters, crossing the top floor of the mansion before I hear two little voices scream that they found me. They did indeed.

Dinner is incredibly tense, though my attention is on my nephews and not the accusing stares of my brother across the table from me. Heidi looks like she's been crying. Mom's on her third glass of wine. I stopped counting how many Nathan's had.

It's clear that he's going to pass out though. Luckily, the boys have gone to watch TV in the study, giggling with glee that schools have already been closed. I can heard the news caster talk about ice half an inch thick already on cars. "Stay home, stay inside, stay warm!"

If only. I'm not sure if I'll ever be warm at this rate.

I leave the uncomfortable silence to sit with the boys until Heidi joins me. And cries on my shoulder. Christ, what did I do to deserve this? I comfort my brother's former wife as best I can, both of us trying not to disturb Monty and Simon. But they know. They know something is wrong. And moments later, they are both crawling all over her to offer her comfort.

I take that as my cue to check on Nathan.

Fuck.

His head is on the table. Mom just left him there. Immediately, I go to his side, cooing his name. "Nathan...Nathan...let's get you to bed..."

[law-anddisorder.livejournal.com]

I feel someone shaking me, and I swat at the person to leave me alone. I'm too drunk to lift my head, and I just want to sleep.

God damn it. I got myself so drunk I passed out at the dinner table. I open my eyes, and my vision is blurry, but I can still make out my brother's face, his fringe of longish dark hair. Stupidly, I notice he's wearing one of my old sweaters.

"Looks good on you, Pete. I'd like to tear it off you," I whisper.

Peter almost yanks me up out of the chair and shushes me.

"Okay, okay." Pain lances through my head as I wobble on my feet, and Peter leads me through the family room, past Heidi and the children. They are cuddled up with her, Simon nodding off on her shoulder, and Heidi is sniffling softly, and Monty's crying too, patting her hair.

"Daddy's gonna be okay, Mommy, isn't he? He's gonna be okay, right?"

When Heidi sees me, she hisses, "Look what you've done to us, Nathan. You're a selfish bastard. I should have known you'd never change."

I feel like crying, and I want to throw myself at her feet and repent. I want tell her I'll do it. I'll go to counseling, rehab, anything. I'll do anything to fix this. I can't keep doing this to myself. To my family.

Peter sees the tears come to my eyes, and he forces me to keep walking up the stairs, one foot in front of the other. Sleep. That's what I need.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

God, Heidi is not helping. She wants her kids to be well adjusted -- she told me so just moments before -- and now she's making a scene? Simon and Monty are just little guys. Little guys that don't understand where this is going or why it's doing there. I feel for them. I really, truly do. Patting Nathan on the back, we continue up the stairs and I say something that I really can not believe.

"Stay in my room, you and the boys." It's big enough, the bed's got room for all of them and I still have my toys from when I was little in what use to be an attached nursery that later became my office or den as I hit high school. "I'll bunk with Nathan."

I see my mother, wine in hand, grim look on her face as we finish the last few steps out of sight. She's just come from the kitchen. She's got the most knowing look on her face.

I frown. God, she can't know does she? I could read her mind, but I refuse. I can't know for certain. I'd rather be forever in the dark. Sighing, I follow Nathan onto the top of the landing as he turns to look at me.

I hate the tears on his face, but I wait until we are alone and the thick, heavy door is locked to kiss them away.