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 lift my glass and swallow the last bit of the golden fluid in the bottom of it. Every last bit of it is gone now, but he's still in my head.

My brother is gone, but he won't leave me alone.

The nightmares are always different, but the end result is the same: unbearable heat, scorching flesh, Peter's scream as he ignites high above New York City.

I don't know how I survived it, and I wish I hadn't. There's nothing here for me now except for what Peter has left behind.

I pick up the picture of myself and Peter at my wedding, and the sharp sound of the knock at the door startles me. I drop it, and the glass cracks right through the middle, separating us, just as we are now in this life.

Wherever you are, that's where I want to be, I think, as I slide back the deadbolt and expect to see my mother's angry face.

It's not Ma.

Maybe I'm dreaming again.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I know I'm staring. I almost blubbered about the wrong address and left the door before I see his eyes. I know him, inside and out, just like he knows me. Even through the hazy liquored up gaze and the intense beard he's sporting, I know him.

But what's happened? I look him up and down before I reach forward. The space between us is just that. Space. It's so easy to move my arm, so easy to touch his chest. He's really. I can feel my eyes filling with tears but I laugh, I laugh softly and shaking my head before my fingers slide into his beard. I tug.

Real too.

"Nathan. It's so good to see you."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

It's not a dream, because those are always nightmares. This is real.

My brother didn't leave me alone because he was never gone.

This is the wish that I have had for months, since I woke up in my hospital bed completely healed of the burns, no longer in pain.

Physical pain, that was. Sometimes emotional pain is worse.

But now none of that matters. Peter is here, his hands buried in my beard, of all the places he could have touched me, and he is laughing. As if it never happened.

I just stare at him, because I know if I blink, I will cry. He already is, but that's Peter. My brother.

Too drunk to speak coherently, I just pull him into my arms.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"You smell terrible," I finally say after my nose has been pressed against his shoulder for almost five minutes. I'm not going to let him go. I refuse to let him go. I've spent the flight back from Montreal with my head literally in the clouds, lost in so many memories that I thought my head would burst.

I don't know if Nathan's laughing or crying. His shoulders are shaking, however, and I can't do anything but hold onto him even more tightly.

I don't know how long we end up back in the apartment. It stinks in here too. I need to open the window, but I can't get away from Nathan. He's a mess. The months apart have not been kind to him. He's been drinking himself drunk each night. Ordering pizza and leaving the boxes scattered across the floor. He's broken my things, left trash everywhere--

I'm laughing agai, this time pushing away from my brother. "You need a shower, Nathan, I mean it." And I need to clean up this mess. "Come with me, I'll help you."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

"You've got your work cut out for you. You have been gone for four months," I manage.

Peter's hand slips into mine, and the world shifts violently as he nearly yanks my arm out of its socket pulling me towards the bathroom.

"Go easy," I say. The door closes, and the world is pleasantly dark again. I stand there, completely still, allowing my brother to strip me out of this t-shirt and pair of jeans that I haven't changed out of in--God knows how long.

In a rare moment of clarity, I am embarrassed that he's seen me like this.

I grip his wrists lightly and push his hands down. "Pete, stop, I can do this myself. It's okay. I'm okay."

But I'm not. I don't even know why I said that, because I've been needing him for months. That's how it got this bad. Even after all the time Peter has been gone, my own twisted sense of pride won't let me admit I need him now, now that he is back, now that he's alive.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"If you fall, if you slip, no way Nathan. I'm not going to let you go." I mean that, even if he's protesting. I'm a nurse. My entire career has been seeing people at their worst, though my poor brother should never look like this. Not when he's suppose to be my hero. I gently push my hand through his hair. Thick, greasy, dirty. I suppose I should not be trying to embarrass him. He's giving me those earnest eyes of his. Damn it. I can't resist them, even now.

So I let him have the shower and the bathroom by himself, though I leave the door open. I have other things to do. Like cracking open the windows. Picking up the trash.

My God there's a lot of trash. I stack the empty pizza boxes six high out on the hallway. Four trash bags follow. It's a start at least. I'm occupied with the sound of the shower, of the water falling on my brother's shoulders. Just in case he needs me.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I start to feel like a human being again once I've washed my hair the third time, with this ridiculously girly-scented shampoo that Peter keeps in his shower. I'm still pretty drunk, and it's slow going, but I have a reason now, a purpose. Peter. He's really here.

He's out there picking up the mess that I made of my life. He can't fix it all, though.

He can't call Heidi and the kids and patch up my fractured marriage, and he can't reinstate my position in Congress.

He can't stop the terrible alcohol withdrawal I know I'm going to be going through in a few hours.

But right now I'm happy, because he's here. I'll worry about all that later.

After soaping up another two times, I'm finished, and I've taken so long the water has run cold. I turn it off and reach for the towel Peter has put there for me, white and clean.

I don't even have any clean clothes, I realize, looking in the mirror at myself. And Dear God, I need to shave.

I know I'm not going to able to do it myself. My hands are starting to shake already. This is going to be bad. It's only going to get worse before it gets better.

"Peter," I say, surprised at the weakness in my voice. "I need you." I swipe at my eyes so he won't see the tears.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Of course he needs me. I need him too. It takes a moment before I realize that he really does need me. Physically. I drop the bag I'm stuffing full of forgotten, empty liquor bottles and dash to the bathroom. I nearly skid on the bath mat, grabbing hold of the brass knob to keep myself upright.

"What's--"

He's looking at his beard and holding a razor in his shaking hand. What the hell? If it wasn't a safety blade, I'd have been worried.

I realize what he wants a moment later and though he's only wearing a towel, I take his hand again. "I'll help you." He smells like me now.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I try to smile at him, because his dark eyes are filled with concern and worry. The touch of his hand on mine chases away the panicky, helpless feeling, and I take a deep breath. I may need him, but I can't let him know how bad it really is.

"Okay. You have to find a pair of scissors first, Pete. I don't know what I was thinking," I say, dropping the razorblade into the sink.

Even though I've made a mess of his place, he seems to know where everything is, and he finds a pair of scissors in seconds flat. I close my eyes and let Peter do what he does best--care for people. For the first time in a long time, I let him take care of me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I don't have a barber's smock but I do have an extra sheet, one that doesn't smell like old sweat and too much alcohol. I tie it behind my brother's neck and crouch in front of him, gently trimming his beard and his messy hair while I'm at it. My fingers run through each like a comb, protecting his skin from my scissors.

I'm so gentle he looks like he'll fall asleep but I'm even ready to get the shaving cream. I have stubble myself, but I can shave later. This is entirely about Nathan. About my brother and nothing more.

I am careful with the lather. Even more careful with the razor, leaning in close enough to nearly nudge the smooth skin of my brother's face with my nose.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

It's been so long since he's been this close to me. I can feel his breath on my cheek, and my cleanly-shaven skin actually tingles from the sensation; I hadn't shaved since I left the hospital. I guess I figured if no one could see my face, then no one would see how lost I was without him.

I don't have to hide anymore, I think, as Peter finishes his careful, intimate task. I'm nearly full to bursting with emotion for him, and a whispered "Thank you," just doesn't seem enough.

Before Peter can sit back and admire his handiwork, before I think about what his reaction will be, I turn my face and my lips graze against his, just barely, just enough.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

My fingers tremble against his throat as I sit back against my heels. I know for a fact that I hadn't moved at the last moment and received a kiss meant for my cheek on my lips. And judging by the look in my brother's eyes, he had meant to do exactly what he had.

I can't think, but I shake my head. I am going to pretend it was an accident. I even smile. "A little too much to drink?"

My God, it tingled.

I pull the sheet from around his neck and head into the bathroom to wash my hands and dump the bowl of water I was using as a basin. My brother did NOT just kiss me. He couldn't have.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

Shit. Maybe that wasn't the best way to thank him for helping me, judging by the quickness of his departure.

I have him back, and it begins again, I guess. I start all over again. Pushing him away.

But the adrenaline is rushing through me, as I replay that split second in my mind. It had felt like I thought it always would: more right than wrong.

But I need to apologize, to make it right. He knows it wasn't an accident, and he pretended it was.

I peek into the bathroom, and he is standing in front of the mirror, now tending to his own scruffy face.

"I--I'm sorry, Pete. It...was an accident," I lie, knowing he'll see right through it, because he's my brother.

I hope there's a bottle left somewhere with something left in it that Peter may have overlooked during his quick clean-up, because I really need another drink, right now.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"Oh, I know!" I say almost too quickly. I glance at him in the mirror and then away again, focusing on the blade against my face. I've got a shaking hand. I know I'm going to cut myself, I don't need a power to see that. And, just as predicted, I scrape the razor across my chin and hiss as I bleed.

It's just for a moment, and then the wound closes again.

"Don't worry, Nathan. You're not feeling to well." I finish cleaning up, knowing he's wandering around the apartment, turning things over. I can hear him. He's... Looking for alcohol? That can be the only explination. He's almost frantic. "Hey. Calm down. Let's go to bed. Take a nap. You and me."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

At just the mention of the word "nap", exhaustion blurs the edges of my vision. Maybe with sleep I will escape the brunt of the sickness that is slowly coming over me as the alcohol in my system is metabolized.

"Yeah. Good idea." I turn around to ask him if he could possibly find me something to wear, but he's left the bedroom and gone into the kitchen, and I'm too tired to care that I'm naked. I drop my wet towel to the carpet, and fall into my brother's bed--my bed for the last few months--and I smile. The sheets have been changed, and he added another pillow. Always thinking of me.

I bury myself in the comforter and wait for Peter.

The difference this time: I know he's coming back to me.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I should get something for the refrigerator, but I can't leave him. The store might be on the corner, but who knows what he'll do to himself. Look at what he's already done to himself! I'm quick at my cleaning tasks and return to the bedroom only to flush slightly. The kiss is still on my mind. A life time of caring for my brother and caring for those sick people have at least taken over my brain for the moment.

I kick off my shoes, cover up my brother, and go to take a shower myself. When I return, my short cropped hair is towel dried and I'm wearing a pair of pajamas that smells at least partially fresh. Just the pants.

I can't tell if Nathan's asleep or not, but I slip into bed with him just the same.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I know I drifted off for a short while, but Peter's quiet arrival awakens me. His shoulder is pressed against mine, and it's all I can do not to turn onto my side and pull him in close to me like I used to do when he was five years old, sneaking into my bed after having a bad dream.

But I want to. The urge to hold him won't go away, especially since I thought I'd never even see him again.

He'll tell me if he wants me to let go, I tell myself as I shift over and put one arm around him, resting my head on his shoulder. He's fresh from the shower now too, and I can smell that silly strawberry shampoo, mingled with the scent of shaving cream. His skin is so soft, and I don't even realize right away that my fingers are tracing gentle circles on his hip.

Sleep is stealing over me again, but I force it away. I want to feel him next to me for as long as I can keep myself awake. I put my lips close to his ear and whisper, "I missed you, Pete."

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

I turn my head towards him, feeling the heat of his skin against mine. We're both under the covers, the light is no where near us. I haven't felt him actually touch me in years. The last time we shared a bed like this, Nathan was having his Bachelor's party. I was...what? Fifteen? Sixteen? I don't really remember.

His friends had gotten so drunk that they passed out in the front room of the suite dad rented out for the occasion at a terribly pricey hotel. The stripers had left early, which was something I remember being thankful for. I was underage and they thought that meant that I wanted to be rubbed against.

In the master bedroom, Nathan was still drinking. I was probably drunk too, but we had already decided that we weren't going to tell Mom that I was anything more than a passive watchers of the festivities. I remember sitting on his lap, stradling him as I had seen the girls do before they left, and wrapping my arms around his neck.

"You could always marry me," I had said, as clear as day. "And then you won't have to leave." He laughed at me and held me tightly that night.

I gently stroke Nathan's back as that memory fades away again. My eyes close as his nose presses against my ear. I decide not to fill Nathan in on that little memory of mine. Not right now.

"I didn't remember you," I whisper instead. "Until I saw the picture of us at one of dad's parties...the one I carry around. Don't know how I could ever have forgotten you."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I have no idea what he's talking about, because I'm barely listening now. All I hear is the sound of blood pounding in my ears, my heart racing with excitement because I'm lying naked in my bed with my brother.

The thought is so thrillingly wrong, but I've known I've wanted him like this for years now, and I just can't stop myself. He's going to have to stop me, and even then, I don't know if he will. I know Peter loves me much more than any normal little brother loves his older brother, and it just seems like now is the right time to show him.

"It wasn't an accident, you know that, Peter, don't you?" I whisper into his hair. Then I press my lips to his neck, once, twice, and I feel him shiver. He smells so good, and it's not just the strawberry scent, or the shaving cream, it's him, something solely Peter.

My hand glides over his side, his ribs, over his nipple, and the skin hardens at my touch. His upper body has filled out considerably since the last time I touched him like this, and that's another reason I don't think I can wait anymore.

He's a grown man now, capable of making his own decisions. I'd always hoped that if we sinned, we sinned together.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

This is confusing, but I'm quite willing to chalk it up to the booze. "Of course it wasn't an accident," I tell my brother, grinning at him despite the intimate touches. He doesn't mean them. His hand is straying. And besides, the touches are familiar. They're not uncomfortable in the slightest. Though the kisses...that's what they are? They are different from the way he use to kiss me. No pecks this time.

They are sweet, tinged with desire. I have to put a stop to that. What I might have wanted at six, at fifteen, I've grown out of. Nathan and I are as close as we can be and still be brothers. Anything more is a line I refuse to cross.

And not just because he's my brother. But he's a man too. That's too...taboo. Even for an open minded guy like me.

"Nathan," I say, laughing and pushing him away. "Nathan, you're being silly. You should rest, not try to molest me." I mean it as a joke. Surely, he's not actually trying to molest me. "Nathan, stop."

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

His words, though softly spoken, slam me like a punch in the chest, and they echo, banging around in my head. My heart races faster, and my stomach twists on itself.

He's telling me no?

I can't fucking believe it. Peter led me on, let me lay next to him and touch him, and now he has the nerve to deny me?

I'm definitely not drunk anymore, but I don't feel sick either.

All I can feel now is anger, rushing in my veins, alongside the absolute need I have for him, to make him completely mine. There's no turning back now.

"What did you say?" I hiss, pulling Peter onto his back and straddling him in one swift motion. "Molest you? Is that what you're calling it now?"

I don't even care if he answers me or not. It's too late for that.

Before he can react I take him roughly by his slender wrists and bear my full weight down on him. I know he can feel how hard I am, because my cock is pressed against his bare stomach. The contact makes me gasp involuntarily, and I instantly roll my hips down into his stomach, letting him know truly now what I want. I look straight into his eyes, those eyes that are the same color as mine, and I can't help but smile. I can't read him right now.

I hear his words again inside my head, and though I'm burning with anger, there is a dull ache in my chest, because I find myself wondering if I ever really knew my brother at all.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

"I was joking, Na--" I'm not able to get anything else out. I am far stronger than my brother, but to prove that, I will have to hurt him. I've spent months not knowing who I am. He has spent months believing I was dead and trashing my apartment.

I don't know what he wants, what he really wants. Sure, I'm begining to guess -- it's hard not to with my brother's erection pressing against my stomach -- but I simply can't believe he'd do this.

My heart is beating so loudly in my ears that I can't hear myself think. I am unable to ask the question most on my mind. Why?

He's hurting me. Bruising me. I can feel that he wants to do so much more than that. There are tears in my eyes, but I am not fighting him. I wanted his love, his true love, for as long as I could remember.

I was a child when I first wanted him, I'm a child even now, turning my face up to his when he kisses my slack lips. I'd give Nathan anything. Just not this. He'll hate himself...and he'll hate me...the moment this is over.

"Stop it, Nathan." I'll beg him next if I have to.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

I can hear something in his voice when he says my name, but I can't figure it out. I want him so badly, and I'm not thinking straight. When the anger subsides a bit, I try to understand what it is, why he's telling me to stop.

I'm pretty sure it isn't fear. He's not afraid of me, nor I of him, though I haven't forgotten that he could physically injure me with just a thought. I'm holding him much too tightly, and I'm hurting him, but I can't let him go. He needs to know he's finally getting what he wanted when he was just a kid, when I wasn't able to give it to him.

I open my eyes and I look at his face again, and maybe it's a trick of the dim lighting, but he looks just as he did when he was barely sixteen years old, during the height of his flirtation with me, his need to be with me.

Peter always sat much too close, always held my hand when Mom and Dad weren't paying attention, and the only way to keep it under control then was to push him away. It was damn near impossible.

I remember clearly one specific night--the night it got to me. I was with Heidi, her legs wrapped around my waist, her fingernails buried into my shoulders, and all I could think of was how much I wished she were Peter. After she fell asleep, I surprised myself--I cried, for the first time since I was Peter's age myself, desperately hoping she wouldn't hear me.

With that memory, I realize what I heard in Peter's voice. It is fear, but not fear that I'll hurt him physically. He's afraid that this will break us apart. He knows he wanted it once, and he just thinks he doesn't want it anymore.

This won't break us. No. This will bring us even closer. I have to make him understand.

"Peter, it's what you wanted," I sigh, and my voice is weaker than I intended. "Don't you remember?"

I lean down to kiss him again. Peter's mouth opens instantly, he's not fighting me as I run my tongue along his teeth, then against his tongue, tasting every part of him. God, he tastes so sweet, forbidden fruit I was never meant to taste, and I only want more.

Once I'm sure he'll stay, I release his wrists and I shift my body down on his, until our hips are pressed flush against each other's. He's not hard, and I don't expect him to be. Not yet.

"I love you," I murmur, as my hands slide down the smooth plane of his chest, down to the waistband of his pajamas.

[chimeramimic.livejournal.com]

Love has nothing to do with any of it, I'm certain of that. My weakness is Nathan and his has always been me too. We're connected. I've felt when every major pain in his life has happened as if I was with him. He's just so rarely left me stay by his side for so long.

Who cares if this is what I want? I listen to his words as he plainly states that he knew about my infatuation from the start. It's another mindgame ala Nathan Petrelli, the king of all mindgames. Sometimes I think I should hate him for what he's done to me, to our family, to us.

"Nathan," I breath once my lips are free to speak again. A kiss is one thing. I could sink into our mutual sin easier if that's all he wanted. But he doesn't.

My desire for my older brother was never sexual in nature. It was never something I wanted to get this far. I just-- I wanted him near me. And look what we've become?

"You have to stop--" He kisses me again and I feel myself drifting upwards. If he doesn't hold me down, I'll float away. "You have to--" Kiss me harder. It's his hand on my waistband that finally gets me.

My other fear rises up. I've only been with women. What can he expect from me.

[crashgirl82.livejournal.com]

My hand hesitates at his waistband, because he's still telling me to stop, even while he's kissing me back, even while his body presses up into mine ever so slightly. He has to make a decision: either he wants me or he doesn't. He wants this, or he doesn't.

Looking down at my brother's face now, I can almost see the struggle going on in his mind. As I slide the pajamas off his trembling body, I marvel at how easy it always was to make anyone want me. A man, a woman, it never mattered, all that ever mattered was that I got what I wanted.

With that thought, I'm sure Peter has never been with a man before. First time for everything, I think, dropping the clothing over the side of the bed.

It doesn't matter, though. I want my brother, and he wants me, but he's not making it easy. I trace my fingers down his stomach, my eyes never leaving his. I won't look away from his face until he's fully given himself to me.

"Make me. Make me stop, Peter."