(no subject)
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. ~Charles Dickens
After Nathan and Suresh had left, Peter couldn't sit still. He wanted to do something, be on the move. He wanted something to do that wasn't thinking. He wanted to not have to think about how much it hurt that Kensei wasn't Adam and Adam wasn't someone he truly knew beyond a voice and a face and this man he wanted to spend forever with but he'd kept asking and pushing for why and how could he and now Peter wasn't sure he knew. He couldn't face within himself the way Nathan has stumbled over his words, pausing just a touch. If he thought about it, he might wonder just how Nathan felt about all of this rather than doing what he'd been told to do and just be happy and do whatever it took to make himself happy.
He couldn't let himself think and so he shrugged into a jacket and left a note and left. He walked, head down against the wind that was too cold for the sunny day and he ignored the world around him. But that didn't let him not think. It made it easy to think, walking the city by rote so that his feet knew where he was going before his mind had registered he was there.
Children played in the grass, sprawling out like sunbeached things and ran about with high shrieks and soft whispers. Their mothers sought refuge on the few benches in the sun, talking and laughing as babies fed and children pleaded to be fed. The day was bright, too bright and yet the wind bit through layers of clothes, winter's last hold on what would soon be the spring into summer.
Pausing on the outskirts of the families, Peter watched the children. He'd never have any of his own, not the way things were. There would be no cousins for Simon and Monty, no niece or nephew for Nathan and Claire. He wouldn't pass on the Petrelli genes, pass on Arthur's life as well as his name.
Was that what he wanted, how he wanted things to be? Could be always be the one that had made the demands and still stood in the shadow of his mother? Would there be forever or just until the next face, the next power, the next one he wanted and Peter took Angela's role, playing the elder love to a newer lover? Would he be as calm if that choice was Lyle, Claire's brother but not quite related to Adam, just as Peter wasn't quite related to Adam and yet Angela's son?
Peter turned away as he realised there was no peace here. There was not peace. Not here in a world where he was reminded of all he was sacrificing despite all he would gain. So he turned for home, stopping to pick up a pretzel on his way, picking at it as he made his way back to his apartment. Maybe he should decorate, buy furniture. Yet doing that meant he was here, that this was permanent and Peter wasn't sure of anything anymore but Nathan anymore. Not his place, not the future. Least of all what was permanent.
After Nathan and Suresh had left, Peter couldn't sit still. He wanted to do something, be on the move. He wanted something to do that wasn't thinking. He wanted to not have to think about how much it hurt that Kensei wasn't Adam and Adam wasn't someone he truly knew beyond a voice and a face and this man he wanted to spend forever with but he'd kept asking and pushing for why and how could he and now Peter wasn't sure he knew. He couldn't face within himself the way Nathan has stumbled over his words, pausing just a touch. If he thought about it, he might wonder just how Nathan felt about all of this rather than doing what he'd been told to do and just be happy and do whatever it took to make himself happy.
He couldn't let himself think and so he shrugged into a jacket and left a note and left. He walked, head down against the wind that was too cold for the sunny day and he ignored the world around him. But that didn't let him not think. It made it easy to think, walking the city by rote so that his feet knew where he was going before his mind had registered he was there.
Children played in the grass, sprawling out like sunbeached things and ran about with high shrieks and soft whispers. Their mothers sought refuge on the few benches in the sun, talking and laughing as babies fed and children pleaded to be fed. The day was bright, too bright and yet the wind bit through layers of clothes, winter's last hold on what would soon be the spring into summer.
Pausing on the outskirts of the families, Peter watched the children. He'd never have any of his own, not the way things were. There would be no cousins for Simon and Monty, no niece or nephew for Nathan and Claire. He wouldn't pass on the Petrelli genes, pass on Arthur's life as well as his name.
Was that what he wanted, how he wanted things to be? Could be always be the one that had made the demands and still stood in the shadow of his mother? Would there be forever or just until the next face, the next power, the next one he wanted and Peter took Angela's role, playing the elder love to a newer lover? Would he be as calm if that choice was Lyle, Claire's brother but not quite related to Adam, just as Peter wasn't quite related to Adam and yet Angela's son?
Peter turned away as he realised there was no peace here. There was not peace. Not here in a world where he was reminded of all he was sacrificing despite all he would gain. So he turned for home, stopping to pick up a pretzel on his way, picking at it as he made his way back to his apartment. Maybe he should decorate, buy furniture. Yet doing that meant he was here, that this was permanent and Peter wasn't sure of anything anymore but Nathan anymore. Not his place, not the future. Least of all what was permanent.