Fic: Ritual (13): Gratitude, part two
Title: Ritual (13): Gratitude (2/3)
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, explicit m/m sex, power/pain play, alcohol use, angst, language
Spoilers: Season 1
Summary: During the Thanksgiving holiday, Peter and Nathan struggle to communicate with each other. Their tangled web of fear, desire, and love threatens to tear them apart, but instead holds the key to keeping them together.
Part Two
--
THANKSGIVING NIGHT...
The Coopers' home was slightly less ostentatious than the last time Nathan had seen it, almost ten years ago; despite their best efforts and those of his father, the Coopers hadn't been able to hang onto more than a fraction of their questionably-obtained money. The mass of antiques had largely been sold and replaced with simpler, clean-styled, cheaper European furnishings, but the Coopers still occupied a five-story town house in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the world, and were throwing a lavish Thanksgiving Day dinner party for a hundred guests.
Nathan wasn't about to feel sorry for them. The fine they'd paid for tax evasion was fairly steep, but it wasn't like they'd ended up on the street, thanks largely to the legal expertise of Mr. Petrelli. The Coopers herded Nathan into a media room and made him look at slides of their vacation in the Florida Keys with their new yacht (written off as a business expense, Mr. Cooper crowed triumphantly) before they'd let him get a drink.
Not that Nathan was all about the alcohol tonight; he mostly wanted a cocktail glass to use as a prop so that no one would ask him why he didn't have a drink. He and Heidi walked around in his mother's shadow for a while, being introduced to a dozen people whose names, faces, and characteristics he carefully memorized and filed away in his brain for future use. Angela suddenly stopped and stared through the crowd at someone Nathan couldn't see. "I'll be back, dear," she said tensely, slipping away and disappearing between the milling bodies in the main
parlor.
Heidi watched her leave, then turned to Nathan with her eyebrows raised. "Happy holidays... and good luck remembering all that," she smiled, clinking his glass with hers. "Are you all right? You haven't touched your scotch. Don't tell me you don't like it anymore."
"You know I'd never tell you that," Nathan said. He smiled back at her, and sipped his drink. All the ice had melted, and now he just had a glass of chilly Macallan and water. It wasn't a very good combination. "I should get a new one. I'll be right back, sweetheart. You just stay here by the fire; stay warm." He kissed her on the forehead.
Heidi beamed up at him and squeezed his arm. "Oh, I'm warm enough, thank you. Actually, I think I'll call Mandy," she decided. "Check up on the kids. I know it's hard to get Monty to sleep sometimes."
"Good idea. How 'bout I meet you back over here by the fireplace."
"Done deal," she said, and wound her way along the wall away from him.
Nathan slowly meandered through the party toward the bar, greeting people he knew and trading season's greetings. Nathan knew a substantial portion of the guests; a lot of them were lawyers, and ran in the same circles as his father. Nathan lost track of time in the barrage of superficial communication and earnestly festive faces. He felt disconnected from everything around him, but not unpleasantly so; he had the sensation of drifting through the crowd, observing, listening, all his senses finely honed. Searching for something that wasn't a cocktail.
Where was Peter? Nathan had lost him as soon as they'd come inside. Peter ducked out of saying hello to the Coopers and disappeared. He could have been anywhere. Nathan hoped to God that Peter hadn't just bailed entirely; he didn't look forward to explaining that to Mom and Dad.
Maybe Peter had gone off to see if the Coopers' basement-level bathroom was indeed still intact, and spend some time in ecstatic memories. Nathan felt agitated. He didn't want Peter going there without him; if Peter was going to go down there, Nathan wanted to be there, too.
Everything dreamlike in the artificial sky-blue glow of the night lights, but still so dark in there, with the door closed and locked... some part of me inside some part of Peter... his breath in my mouth, his pulse racing under my fingers... oh, my sweet, dirty little boy who wants me so, so much...
Nathan stood still for a moment, his thoughts racing. But I'm here with my wife. We can't do that. Peter and I cannot be alone this Thanksgiving. It's not right. It's too dangerous. We have to behave ourselves this year, keep our hands off each other. We have got to kick the habit. But the holidays always throw us together, and I never seem to be able to exercise discipline. It's so hard to say no to him when he wants me. I have to tell him no. But... God, I'd love a kiss right now; I'd love to feel him clinging to me. I'd love to hold him in my arms, like a teddy bear. Like a security blanket. For some reason, I am afraid. Something strange is going on. I'm scared and I need him.
"Well, hello, Nathan. How wonderful to see you." A loud, cheerful, accented voice broke into Nathan's consciousness like a glass of cold water thrown into his face.
Nathan just stared for a moment before he could speak. What the hell was this guy doing there? Did he know the Coopers, too? Dad might have introduced them... but why would he do that? Wouldn't Dad want to keep his clients separate? And wouldn't Dad want to keep absolutely anybody separate from him? But the game was still being played, and Nathan knew his part, and knew his place.
"Good evening, Mr. Linderman," Nathan replied, flashing his teeth, but it wasn't really a smile. "Happy holidays."
"Likewise, thank you."
"I'm surprised to see you out in this neck of the woods," Nathan said. "I'd think you'd want to stay in Vegas, where at least it's warm."
"Ah, but the charms of New York in winter cannot be overstated, and since I'm in the city for a business meeting anyway, I decided to accept Cooper's gracious invitation. And here I was, thinking I would be crashing a small, intimate family supper." Linderman looked at Nathan intently, as if expecting a reaction, and when Nathan said nothing, Linderman looked away again, letting his eye be caught by the buffet supper spread on the long table in the center of the room. "This is my favorite of the purely American holidays. Thanksgiving." The expansive, grand way Linderman said it, it should have been painted onto a huge scroll to be hung outside a circus tent. If he ever wanted to get out of the mafia business, Linderman could have a great career doing voice-overs for car commercials. "An entire holiday centered around the concept of gratitude. Giving thanks... through excessive consumption. I completely understand that concept," he chuckled. "As I'm sure you can imagine. But gratitude... that's a concept that we should really keep firmly in mind at all times."
"Indeed," Nathan replied. He struggled to keep the profound unease from his voice. "How's the casino business doing?"
Linderman replied heartily, "Oh, wonderfully - booming, one might say. Your father has been an invaluable help in facilitating the process; keeping the wolves from the door. Helping me stay not just one, but two steps ahead. Business is excellent, and growth is assured." Linderman's smile faded slightly, but his wide, fathomless crystal-blue eyes lingered on Nathan, examining every detail of Nathan's face, his suit, his shoes. Just as Nathan was beginning to squirm under the scrutiny, Linderman looked away and out over the crowd. "How is your brother? I hear that he works at the East Lang Assistance Center downtown."
Nathan furrowed his brow, wondering how the hell Linderman would know that. Had Dad been talking to him? That wasn't the kind of thing that Dad would mention to someone else; Dad wouldn't talk about Peter with Linderman. Would he? Nathan tightened his jaw, seized with a sudden urge to punch out the white-haired older man. It would be a terrible mistake to even try such a thing. "Peter's... fine. He's in school."
"Wonderful. I'm glad to hear he's doing well." Linderman sipped his drink. It looked like vodka and tonic, but he stood close enough to Nathan that Nathan could smell that there was no alcohol in the glass, nor tonic water. Soda water with a twist of lime? Linderman had the advantage, as always. "It seems a good job for someone with his personality."
"Oh, you think so? Why?"
Linderman regarded Nathan coolly, his expression telling Nathan that he knew that Nathan wanted to deck him, and that Nathan would never dare. Never. Not as long as Nathan had loved ones; not as long as Nathan had goals.
Like Nathan's father had said, a long time ago, Rule number one: Do not fuck with Mr. Linderman. Just play along, or regret it for the rest of your life.
"Peter is very... compassionate," Linderman replied. "A person of deep feelings, and a profound need to help humanity. I understand how he feels. The next year will be a most interesting one for us. The world is changing; a sincere desire to help may well be the most valuable asset of all."
"How can I help you, Mr. Linderman?" Nathan asked coldly, dropping his smile.
Linderman smiled enough for both of them, and suddenly looked every inch the somewhat daffy, eccentric old uncle from a children's storybook - trustworthy and wise, full of excellent humor and funny stories. "Oh... for now, just make small talk. I am currently in hiding from your mother."
"Mom? Why?"
Linderman made a "you know how it goes" dismissive sound. "She and I don't often see eye to eye. That's been the case for years, though she and I have so much, fundamentally, in common. She'd rather think the opposite, but we're quite similar, your mother and I. Still... we had a brief chat earlier tonight, and I do believe that she's quite come round to seeing my point of view on something that's been a sticking point for years. Unfortunately, this new understanding has left her somewhat... agitated."
Nathan felt completely confused. This wasn't unusual, around Linderman; it was one of the many things that Nathan didn't like about him. He felt sweat breaking out on his forehead. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh... It's really nothing you need concern yourself with, dear boy. A trivial matter of the sort that older people get up to, and blow all out of proportion to its actual significance. Have you ever seen a row break out over shuffleboard? Or bingo? Terrible... kicking, scratching... it's awful. Never take a cruise, under any circumstances." Linderman glanced out at the crowd again, watching, looking for someone. "How's your wife, Nathan?"
"She's fine," Nathan bit out.
Linderman smiled teasingly back at Nathan. "You know, I must confess that I was quite surprised when you married her. I know that there were extenuating circumstances... nonetheless. Not only did you seem such a committed bachelor..." Linderman's smile grew to a grin, and only the lowering of both eyelids at once removed any suspicion that he was winking at Nathan. "But Heidi hardly seems your type. I always thought you had a taste for... blondes."
"Just what the hell do you mean by that?!" Nathan hissed, the blood draining from his face.
Linderman gazed balefully at Nathan, as if to say, We both know exactly what I mean.
Then the cheerful, dotty smile returned to the older man's face. "Tut tut - just small talk. Small talk. I wish you nothing but the absolute best. You, and your family. And speaking of your loving family, I think your brother has been looking for you."
"Where is he?" Nathan demanded.
Linderman shrugged."I'm flattered that you assume I'd know. I can't tell you definitively exactly where he is now, but last time I saw him, he was on the second-floor terrace with a group of other young people. I do believe they were smoking pot." Linderman chuckled, like he'd just said something naughty. "I certainly hope so... it's such a beautiful relic of a gentler time."
Nathan was stymied. Peter didn't normally seek that kind of thing out; he must have been in a really bad way. Suddenly, his thoughts were consumed with concern for Peter. "I'm fairly sure smoking pot never completely went out of style, Mr. Linderman."
"Indeed," said Linderman, grinning. "I wouldn't know anymore... I leave all that stuff to the young people these days. I had my fun. I can see that you want to find Peter... Happy Thanksgiving, Nathan. You are a very lucky man, with a bright future."
Nathan said "Good evening," quickly, already on his way through the crowd, headed for the stairs.
Peter was indeed out on the second-floor terrace, and there was indeed a small knot of teenagers and college-aged kids, passing a joint around. When they saw Nathan, the girl who was holding the roach dropped it into her spangled clutch purse and gave him a weak smile. Nathan barely noticed her; his focus was entirely on Peter. He stood out on the terrace, but he wasn't with the smoking group at all. Instead, he was pressed against the railing, the freezing wind whipping his shaggy hair against his forehead, gripping the wrought-iron barrier with his bare hands, staring up into the sky as if wishing he could take off into it. He looked beautiful and demented and pure.
"Hey, Pete, you okay?" Nathan asked, gently resting his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter gave a slight lurch as he turned his head to look at Nathan. "You don't even have your coat on. Aren't you cold?" Nathan took Peter's hands in his, holding them close to his body to warm them up.
"Nah," Peter replied. "I'm warm with booze. I had some hot rum punch. And then I came out here, and got a contact high." He smiled sloppily at the retreating backs of the smoking kids, who had suddenly and universally decided they'd go back in. "Thanks!" he called after them.
"That's not such a good combination..." Nathan muttered, putting his arms around Peter and herding him back inside, too. The hallway was as steamy-hot as a sauna compared to the bleak freshness of outdoors, and Nathan was tempted to turn around and go back out. But he didn't want Peter to catch cold, not in the middle of the holidays.
"I dunno, I think it's pretty great." Peter laughed, his body wavering in Nathan's arms. "I... kinda got the spins, though."
Nathan drew back a little. "Are you going to puke?"
"No, no," Peter said reassuringly, gently touching Nathan's cheek. "I just had to go outside. For a minute. I'm fine. I'll have some coffee. Hey... do you want to go see if they still have that... bathroom in the basement?" He leaned in close and stage-whispered, "I'll let you finger me."
"Peter," said Nathan warningly, staring around the hallway. Fortunately, the corridor was all but deserted, now that the stoner kids had all gone in search of Scotch broth and champagne. "No, we shouldn't," Nathan continued. "I told Heidi I'd meet her. Look - Peter, Linderman's here."
"What?" Peter immediately seemed sober.
Nathan was glad to see it. He stared into Peter's eyes. "He knows where you work."
"So," said Peter sullenly. Nope, still pretty drunk. He couldn't quite focus his eyes on Nathan.
"What the hell do you mean, 'so'? He knows where you work. He doesn't need to know that."
Peter shrugged and made a face. "No, he doesn't, but I don't care if he knows. I don't care who knows. It's my job," he declared, talking too loud.
"Shh...! Peter, look, you don't understand."
"The fuck I don't!" Peter stepped back and scowled at Nathan. "I'm sick of this! You said you'd drop it!"
"It's... dangerous," Nathan said, knowing too late how it was going to sound to Peter. But there was no other way of putting it. There was so much that was true about that statement, and it would take all night - and longer, the way Peter was being - for Nathan to explain it.
Peter took it just the way Nathan knew and feared he would. "I'm done," he snapped. He held up his hands, palms out. "You know what, I changed my mind. I am gonna go home. Because fuck this." He turned on his heel and stomped away from Nathan.
Nathan wiped his face with his hands, wondering how much more wrong this night could go. He went back outside for a while, pressing himself against the railing and staring up into the sky, wondering if he could just...
But, instead, he went back inside. He got another scotch, neat this time, and drank half of it straight down.
On his way back to the fireplace, to rendezvous with Heidi (it seemed like hours had gone by since he'd last spoken to her), Nathan was intercepted by his mother. Angela was as white as a sheet, her fingers on his sleeves trembling. "Nathan," she breathed, then put her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. Nathan appreciated the embrace, but asked, "Ma, what's wrong?"
"Where's Peter?" she asked shakily. "I want to see him."
"Uh, I think... he said he was going home. What is it, Ma? What's the matter?"
Angela shook her head and pressed her lips together. "I can't sit back and watch him suffer like this. It isn't right. Nathan," she said urgently, "you have to help him before it's too late."
Nathan shrugged helplessly. "He doesn't want my help, Ma. He told me so about twenty times tonight."
"Peter doesn't know what he wants. He's a sweet boy, but he doesn't understand what's really right for him. You saw him. He's a mess." She took a deep, shaky breath, then abruptly relaxed and broke into a wide smile. "Oh, look... how wonderful. I was hoping that he'd be here. That's Dr. Richardson... the director of the Coalition for the Homeless."
"You know him?" asked Nathan, surprised.
"Of course I do. Do you really think that I wouldn't know the man my son works for? I met him at a charity ball in September. And... I saw that his name was on Mary Cooper's guest list."
"That's a handy coincidence," Nathan mused.
Angela quirked her eyebrows at her son, and briskly straightened the knot in his tie. "There's no such thing as coincidence, dear - only impeccable planning. It's a small world, and among those in power, it's even smaller. Now, I know that the central office is always hiring fund-raising supervisors. This is a great opportunity for you to help your brother. Now, Nathan," she said, "go work some of your magic. Change Peter's life, for the better."
Nathan squinted at her. "Ma, he's not gonna like that."
She fixed him with a determined stare. "We know what's best. Your brother deserves better than 'flat broke.' He can keep helping people, without having to starve half to death."
"Good call, Ma," said Nathan, half resigned, and half excited - welcoming the chance to have some work to do, something to allow him escape from his confused, emotional thoughts. And, as always, he stood in awe of his mother's deviousness. Nathan was good, but he had a long way to go to catch up with her. He was just grateful that she was on his side. "You're right. Do me a favor and go talk to Heidi - she's right next to the fireplace. Let her know that I didn't get lost."
"That's my good boy," Angela replied, kissing him on the cheek, and winding her way through the crowd. Nathan stood for a moment and watched her go, then finished his drink and approached Dr. Richardson with a commanding stride and his most charismatic smile.
Think about anything other than Linderman.
~~~~~
FRIDAY.
Peter awoke in an unfamiliar bed.
Alone.
He sat up and blinked at the room, baffled and unhappy, and gradually it came back to him; this was his bedroom, or once it had been his room, but his bed used to be over there, along that wall. And there used to be an Italian La Strada movie poster across the room on the facing wall. And he used to look at that poster, think about obsessive and destructive love, and jack off until his wrists went numb.
Now the room was all lilac-and-white, with odd little fussy flowers, and lavender-scented sheets and pillows on the bed, and none of the sublime chaos of Fellini anywhere. This felt like a girl's room now, and a gloomy one, too, with the pale-violet walls making the room seem cold and drowsy. Peter would have liked to just roll over and go back to sleep, but now that he realized that he hadn't actually gone to his apartment last night, but to the home of his childhood, he was too annoyed to relax.
In the shower, he pieced together as many details as he could from the night before. A lot of wine drunk very quickly at dinner at home, and not much food consumed. He knew he had gone to the Coopers' in the car with his parents, but he didn't remember anything about the ride; did Dad drive, or was there a driver?... Three cups of hot rum punch at the supper, and no food, because the alcohol had killed his appetite. Out on the terrace, getting caught downwind of a handful of toking prep-school kids. They'd offered him a hit, or a bump of coke, but he just wanted the air and the cold.
Waiting for Nathan to find him, which he did.
Unfortunately, what Peter had hoped would happen at that point hadn't happened; he hadn't gotten dragged down into the basement, into that bathroom (or any other; any one would do), thrown up against the wall and... whatever. Fucked or sucked or fingered or even just kissed breathless; something, anything to take him away.
Instead Nathan had just repeated that he thought Peter wasn't good enough to do his job, or smart enough to know his own mind. And then told Peter that Linderman was there, as if that justified Nathan's opinion, when everybody knew that Linderman didn't care about him. It was just more of Nathan throwing his weight around, more of Nathan trying to manipulate him, making excuses for why they were wasting time when it would be so easy to just sneak off somewhere for ten minutes.
Peter fought off his hangover and his resentment for just a few seconds, just long enough to masturbate away his morning erection. What he'd wanted last night, and hadn't gotten, was so vivid in his mind, burnished with fantasy and frustrated desire, that all he needed was a moment of visualization, and a few firm strokes, to bring him to orgasm. He hissed through his teeth - a tiny shaping of breath that would have been barely audible, even without the noise of the water.
"Nathan...!"
Maybe, now, he could just be done with it for a while. Just because it was the holidays didn't automatically mean that he and Nathan would play together, and now, with the aching tension in his groin relieved, Peter resolved to set his longings aside. The time just wasn't right. Maybe later; maybe mid-month, maybe after the start of the new year...?
Peter put a stop to that train of thought; it was thoughts like those that had gotten him into trouble before, and made him drink too much last night. The hoping, the waiting, the wanting. Goddamn Nathan. "Forget it, Peter," he said sternly to his reflection in the mirror. "Not this year."
Downstairs, in the sun-bathed dining room, his family was already breakfasting, and today, Simon and Monty were there, too. Peter was glad to see the children; not only did he love them, but they were even more of a barrier between him and his parents. Who would bother to focus on Peter when there were two adorable kids in the room? He came around the table and gave the boys hugs and kisses, and then sat down. "Good morning," he said, trying to come across as cheerful, personable, and mature, but not excessively so. He wasn't completely successful - to himself, he sounded uptight and artificial. Peter hoped that no one would notice or care. He was going to behave himself today if it killed him.
"Did you sleep well, dear?" Angela asked lightly.
"Yeah, thanks," Peter said.
"Early night for you last night," Nathan mentioned, stirring his coffee. "When did you leave?"
"I have no idea what time it was," Peter said. "I was... really tired. Just glad to get home. I mean - here. Thank you for letting me stay."
"Of course; you're always welcome here. This is still your home, too, Peter," Angela said.
"Oh, I'm not complaining," Peter said, taking several slices of toast and jam. "At least there's food here."
Heidi looked at Peter so sadly that he was tempted to say something to reassure her, but Angela began briskly announcing items on her to-do list, and nobody else could say anything. "Today we are going to the Art Museum for the Santangelo retrospective, and then lunch. Dinner at five sharp, then our tickets are for seven. Make sure you eat dinner, Peter; it's a long play. Overton is making you a soufflé of asparagus. It's very good, I've had it before. And tomorrow at one, the photographer comes to take our Christmas card picture. There's still time for you to get your hair cut, Peter, and please do."
Peter looked at Nathan imploringly, but Nathan only blinked at Peter, and sipped his coffee.
The art museum was tolerable, mostly because Peter spoke only when spoken to, and that wasn't very often. He tagged along behind everyone else, listening to the Mountain Goats on his iPod, trying hard not to worry about what was going on back at East Lang. Usually he treasured his rare days off, but this one had been imposed, and he couldn't shake the fear that something would go wrong.
After lunch, when they had all returned to the house for tea, Peter excused himself and went out to the snowy courtyard, getting out his phone. There was a message on it from the district supervisor, which had only happened once before - when Peter had been notified that he had the job interview for the East Lang intake clerk. "Call me as soon as you get this, Peter," the district supervisor's message said. Her voice was much warmer and more relaxed than it had been that other time. "Don't worry; it's good news."
He returned the call, and asked the receptionist to be patched through. "This is Peter Petrelli," Peter said, once they had been connected. "What can I do for you?"
"How soon can you start?"
"Excuse me?"
"We could use you first thing Monday morning - eight o'clock, here at headquarters; you remember from your last interview, it's at West 39th and Fifth, suite 322. Congratulations, and I look forward to having you as part of our team here. It'll be good to have someone who's had experience at East Lang; most of the staff there don't usually end up here -"
"Excuse me, Ms. Doran, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"Your interview, Peter. For the Lower East Side regional fund-raising coordinator. It's just a formality to introduce you to the team, really. I'm surprised you didn't apply for it to begin with; the position was open then, too. I think you've got it, no problem; you... have the right skills." Her voice trailed off as she guessed that it hadn't entirely been Peter's idea to apply. "Is there something wrong?"
Peter nodded slowly and didn't say anything for a moment. "I... changed my mind," he said at last. "I'm not actually ready to make such a major change right now, what with school and all. Thanks for... your consideration, though, Ms. Doran, I... think I'm just going to stay on intake at East Lang for the time being. Thanks for your time; I'll speak to you later."
He clicked off his phone, and slid it back into the inner pocket of his sports coat, going back indoors, his pulse roaring in his ears.
Heidi and his mother were seated on the long couch in the parlor, one child in each of their laps, laughing over photo albums, cooing over how cute Nathan and Peter had been when they were Monty and Simon's age. Nathan sat separate, watching them and smiling. Peter stood in the doorway, and said off-handedly, "Nathan, can I talk to you out here for a minute?"
"Sure, Pete," Nathan said, and walked out to join Peter in the hallway. "What's up?"
Peter gathered all the strength in his body and focused it into a single punch to Nathan's jaw. The blow nearly knocked Nathan down, and it hurt the hell out of Peter's hand, but it was worth it, just to see Nathan's expression. Nathan straightened up with murderous rage written on his face. "Come on," Peter taunted, breathing hard. "Hit me. I dare you. Show me what you can do, since you're so much better than me at everything. Fuckin' asshole. C'mon, hit me."
"Look, I did you a favor," Nathan said between pain-gritted teeth. "It's a good job - I just got your foot in the door."
"I told you to stay out of it!" Peter shouted.
Angela and Heidi came running out into the hall, Heidi still holding Monty, who began to cry. Angela shouted "Peter!" and Heidi cried "Nathan!" at once. "Oh, Peter, how could you?" Angela added reproachfully, carefully examining Nathan's face, where the ridges of Peter's knuckles had left bright red welts. "Your brother was just trying to help you."
"Oh, you knew, too?" Peter replied, his body quaking with adrenaline. He shrugged, trying to shake it off. He couldn't, and now he felt sick and had the shakes. It was awful; he wanted to fight, wanted to get hit back, for things to make sense, and it wasn't going to happen. Goddamn you, Nathan, denying me that, too. "Dad, too, probably, huh? How 'bout you, Heid? No surprise there. All of you and your plans for me. I'm going home - my home - and I'm not coming back. I'm going to kick his ass if I stay here." He smiled and shook his head. "I'm all holidayed out. I appreciate what you were trying to do. But please... don't. When I need help, I'll ask for it."
No one said anything for a while, and Peter held his breath so that he wouldn't just start crying. "All right, Peter. We'll find someone to take your theater ticket; it's a shame to let it go to waste," Angela said calmly. Heidi bounced and shushed Monty, taking him back into the parlor, where Simon had begun to cry, too. "But please... our Christmas card photo tomorrow. Please be here for that. Just one picture, Peter. Just for our memories."
"Okay, but I won't stand next to him," Peter said, glaring at Nathan.
Nathan narrowed his eyes right back, and added a slight, smirky smile. "That's all right," Nathan replied smoothly, "I've got Heidi for that."
Peter felt all the anger drain out of him, his skin suddenly cold all over, and lowered his gaze. Without another word, he went back to the bedroom that was no longer his, and gathered his things. When he returned downstairs, only his mother stood there, gazing at him with an expression of heartfelt guilt, sadness, and love. He went to her and hugged her tight, kissing her cheek three times. She returned the three kisses. "I'm sorry, Peter," she said. "I'm just so afraid for you. You're my baby, and it's a scary world." He wanted to reply, to say something that would make everything all right, absolve them both, but he had nothing. He gave her a weak smile, and turned and left the house.
~~~~~
SATURDAY.
The photographer herded them all together in front of a green velvet drape in the parlor. He wanted to put Peter and Nathan beside each other for symmetry, like all the previous Christmas card photos, standing behind their seated parents with Simon on Angela's lap, and Nathan and Heidi standing next to each other, Heidi holding Monty. But Peter had made his decision and stubbornly stuck with it, forcing the increasingly annoyed photographer to come up with an entirely new configuration. Monty had caught Simon's cold, and would not stop crying, even when he was given a candy cane and a toy truck. Simon saw that preferential treatment, and kicked Monty. Monty grabbed Simon's ear and pulled hard. Parental yelling and further crying ensued. Peter just stood off to the side, leaning against a door frame, watching it all, expressionless. "Can we hurry this up?" he said.
"You're a spoiled, ungrateful brat," his father snapped, infuriated. "You're worse than those babies right there."
"Oh, fuck off, Dad," Peter said without enthusiasm.
"Peter, you're not helping!" Nathan said sharply.
"Hey, it's not my fault the kids are crying. They're sick; they don't want to be here."
"Peter," Heidi's tense voice broke in, so sharp and authoritative that both of her young sons instantly quit crying. "Nathan. Both of you. In the kitchen. Right now. Angela, please look after the boys for me for a minute." She sounded so much like a silkier, higher-voiced version of their mother that Peter and Nathan obeyed her without thinking twice about it.
They stood in the kitchen, several feet away from each other, staring in opposite directions, until Heidi joined them, quietly shutting the door behind her.
"You guys are both acting like assholes," she said. Peter blinked; he had never heard her talk like that before. "Yes, both of you. Both of you are wrong. Both of you are right. That's the simple fact of the matter. Arguing over right and wrong isn't going to get either of you anywhere. Nathan, apologize to Peter."
"But -" Nathan began.
Heidi wasn't finished. "Peter," she snapped, her eyes flashing like blue flares at Peter, "apologize to Nathan. Not to me. Not in front of me. Apologize to each other. We're going go back out there, and we're going to take that picture for those damn Christmas cards. And then both of you are going to go away, and I don't want to see either of you until you've worked this out. And I don't care how long it takes, because I can't live with you when you're like this, Nathan. It was stupid and insensitive for you to do what you did, no matter how pure your intentions are - and Peter, you're just being an immature jerk. You're sulking, and pouting, and whining. And I've got two little boys at home, so I really don't need another one here. Grow the hell up and start appreciating your family. This is my vacation too, okay? Stop wrecking it. Now get it together. Your father has a heart problem; he doesn't need this."
When she left, she left the door slightly open. Peter and Nathan looked after her for a moment, then hazarded a glance at each other. Too soon. Both dropped their eyes to the floor and shuffled their feet, then Peter left the kitchen without a word. Nathan followed slowly behind him.
The Petrelli family posed successfully for the photograph - the father on one end, Nathan holding Simon, Heidi holding Monty, Angela, and Peter at the far right, one hand resting on his mother's arm. Nathan had to turn slightly toward Heidi to hide the redness and swelling on his face, and Peter's expression could only grudgingly be called a smile. "Wonderful," said the photographer in a voice that might have been sarcastic. "You're a beautiful family. Thank you."
After they had finished, Dad went upstairs without another word, and slammed his bedroom door. Nathan had a brief, murmured conference with his mother, during which she kept her eyes on Peter. Peter, standing near Heidi, caught her eye. "Sorry," he offered, but she just rolled her eyes and shook her head and turned away from him.
"Go away," Heidi said quietly.
Nathan walked up to them and took Peter's arm, firmly but gently, steering him to the coat closet, and then the front door, without saying a word. The two of them settled into Nathan's car, and Nathan drove into the post-holiday-shopping traffic, headed downtown on Eighth Avenue. Wherever they were going, it wouldn't be quickly, not on the biggest shopping day of the year when about a million people were headed for FAO Schwartz and Macy's.
Neither of them spoke for several agonizing minutes. Peter switched on the radio, and Nathan immediately turned it off again.
Peter sighed with annoyance. "You apologize first, and then I'll apologize," he said.
"I'm not ready to apologize yet," Nathan retorted sharply. They retreated back into resentful silence for a long time before Nathan spoke again. "Where do you want to go?"
"How about the zoo," Peter replied, sighing. "It's been a while since I've been there. It'll be nice to walk around in the cold. I've been cooped up too much lately." Nathan said nothing, but changed direction, headed back toward Central Park.
Peter felt a kinship with the zoo in winter. It was always so odd and poignant to see the animals, especially ones from much warmer native climates, dealing with cold and snow and confinement. They were out of place, and Peter knew that he identified with that sensation; being uncomfortably on display at times, ignored at other times, but never quite right; never quite comfortable, and never free.
The colobus monkeys, though, didn't seem unhappy in the slightest. They romped through the branches of their temperature-controlled monkey house, not being shy of the onlookers, but being rather more involved in their own interpersonal goings-on. They were a large group, maybe fifteen monkeys, all swarming around, momentarily still, then all of them active and chaotic again.
Peter found that as he watched closely, the interactions became clearer to him. Two of the black-and-white monkeys kept harassing each other; as soon as one tried to strike or bite the other, they would hide behind other monkeys in the group, who chattered and coughed at them. Then, when one of the quarreling monkeys hid behind the biggest monkey in the group, the big monkey abruptly grabbed the hiding one, and tossed him at his adversary. The monkey group exploded into screeching and arm-waving, like an excited stadium of spectators. The two monkeys who had been picking on each other from the start had a brief, scrappy fist-fight, then broke apart and ran away from each other, shrieking. When the hubbub of the group died down, the two fighters met up with each other on a lower branch, and began to groom each other as if nothing had ever happened. Peter found himself laughing faintly.
Nathan had been watching that interaction, too. "That's a trip," he said.
Peter turned his gaze to Nathan, and rested his hand against the back of Nathan's neck, underneath his scarf, then ran his fingernails up into the smooth, short, velvety hair at Nathan's nape. Smiling a little, Peter tugged on Nathan's earlobe, peeked into Nathan's ear, and plucked lint off his scarf.
Nathan smiled too, running his fingertip along the edge of Peter's coat collar. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head at how simple it was.
"I'm sorry, too," Peter said. He glanced around quickly, and seeing that they were momentarily alone in the monkey house, he dared to press a brief kis against Nathan's lips. It only lasted a second, and they broke away and didn't touch, but they had passed the barrier of personal space, standing only a few inches away from each other, close enough to feel each other's warmth. "And I believe you, but you know it's not enough. You know what we need to do," Peter continued, his voice quiet and intense. "You know what we need. We can't talk about this. We can't talk this through. We can't. I can't understand you right now when you talk. You say things, and I know that's not what you mean, but I'm always inclined to believe what you say to me, even when I know I shouldn't. But you can't lie to me when we're... together. I can show you what I need. I always... I ask you for what I need; if that doesn't work, I show you what I need. And I give you what you need. 'Cos you need it. And if you think you don't need it, you're crazy."
Nathan lowered his gaze, and shook his head. "You're crazy for insisting that I do." His words sounded hollow, even to himself.
Peter smiled and closed his eyes. "See?" he responded. "You don't mean that. You've trained yourself so well to never say what you mean - only what people want to hear, only what's 'right' to say. It's not what you really feel."
"You want me to tell you what I really feel?" Nathan challenged, raising his eyebrows. "You want to hear something that's true, and see if you understand it?" Peter raised his too, challenging back. Nathan smiled nervously, and took a deep breath. "Linderman."
"Linderman?" Peter echoed, shaking his head. "I don't understand."
"I have... a memory," Nathan said. "I didn't... know if it was real. I think I've been telling myself that it wasn't, but now I'm pretty sure it was real. And he reminded me of it himself on Thursday night." Nathan stared back at the monkeys, the majority now hiding in the thicker branches, and the two grooming pals having climbed up higher, but still separate and still together.
"I was a little kid," Nathan continued, speaking slowly, with difficulty, feeling Peter's eyes burning into him. "It was before you were born, before you were even thought of. He came to our house to talk to Dad, but Dad was doing something upstairs in his office, and he hadn't come down to meet Linderman yet. And Mom was... somewhere else; I don't remember where. Downstairs fixing drinks, or something. Maybe she'd been told not to come in. To leave us alone for a minute."
Peter stared at Nathan with blank horror. "He didn't-"
Nathan frowned, shaking his head slightly. "Kind of," Nathan said. "Well, not really. Not exactly." He sighed, trying to sort his jumbled, blurry thoughts. They clarified slowly, like the mist evaporating from a window, and returned to startlingly sharp focus. These vague, fragmented images from dreams that had been with him for so long, the violent unease he had felt in Linderman's presence at the dinner party, all suddenly coalesced and made sense, standing this close to his brother, still feeling the comforting imprint of his lips. "He was kind of crouched down, so that we were at eye level, and he was standing really close to me. He touched... my face, right here, where the scars are now." Nathan brought the back of his hand to the deep scoring on his chin and jaw, where the perfect lines of his face lost cohesion, where the Navy doctors had stitched his face back together. "Like he knew."
He hesitated for a long time before he continued, "That wasn't the weird part, though. The weird part is what he said. He said...'Yes, Nathan. It will be you. Good; I'm glad it's you. You'll do fine. You'll do extraordinary things one day, you know. You'll look out over the whole world and say "This is mine." You'll walk into a room filled with the most beautiful women, and the sexiest blonde in the shortest skirt will come up to you and say, "I'm yours." And when that happens, you need to take her, Nathan. It's not love, but in a way, it's better.'" Nathan shook his head, then continued, in the same whispery voice he'd been using to quote Linderman, "'Don't ever defy me, Nathan. It would be a mistake.'"
"Jesus," Peter whispered.
Nathan shook his head, returning to the present. "And I forgot about it. I made myself forget. It was too weird. It didn't make any sense. I didn't feel violated, or molested, or anything; I just... wondered what he was talking about."
"You were how old?" Peter asked.
"I dunno... I'd say six or seven, I guess. Old enough so that I knew he wasn't supposed to talk to me like that, even if I didn't understand what he was talking about. I mean, hell, even now, it still doesn't make sense." Nathan swallowed and shrugged, lowering his eyes. "Anyway, the next day or maybe the day after, I told Mom."
Peter stared at him. "What did she do?"
Other zoo visitors had joined them in the semi-warmth of the monkey house, and Nathan sighed at their intrusion. Peter took no notice of them, watching Nathan intently. "She just gave me a quick hug and told me that I hadn't done anything wrong, and not to worry about it. So I didn't. We never mentioned it again. And I remember... things got kind of weird between her and Dad for a while; they weren't fighting, not in the way that I think of fighting, but enough to make me feel kind of anxious. And then it went away, and everything was just normal. But I started boarding school pretty soon after that." Nathan shook his head. "I think maybe they sent me there to protect me."
"But nothing like that ever happened to me," Peter mused. "Maybe that's why I didn't have to go away to school."
Nathan said, "Maybe. Maybe Mom just wanted to keep an eye on you; that's what she told me, anyway. Maybe she wanted to make sure that he didn't get her other kid alone. I mean, Linderman isn't a pedophile. As far as I know. He didn't - you know. I didn't really get that vibe from him at all. Kids can tell. But... even at the time, he seemed like... he didn't want to, but he would, if he needed to." Nathan shook his head. "He's interested in control. He wants to control me - and he knows that a very effective way of controlling me is by putting you in danger. So I... tried to get you away, because he knows where you work, what you do."
"But that doesn't make any sense," Peter said, holding up his hand. "Linderman doesn't care about me."
"I care about you, Peter," Nathan said. "I care. And he knows that. And that gives him power over me."
Peter gazed into Nathan's eyes for a long time, unable to resist the vague smile that spread across his face. Nathan didn't smile back, his eyes wide, dark, and vulnerable. But brave, too; brave of him to maintain eye contact, after having disclosed something so intense. "So stop caring about me," Peter offered. "Problem solved."
"I can't," Nathan said. "I'd love to," he added, with a short laugh, then he lowered his eyes. "But I can't. I love you. And I'm scared, remembering all that, all of a sudden, suddenly knowing that I didn't just imagine it. It's been on my mind, and it made me... I don't know. I want to protect you. And I'm scared of what all this means, and... I need you to comfort me." He spoke in a half whisper, grimacing and trembling, like he was doing emergency surgery on himself - cutting into a snake bite to drain the venom from it, putting in his own stitches, digging a bullet out of his flesh.
Peter smiled for a moment, observing this. "Me, comfort you," he said, his voice combining disbelief, amusement, quietly simmering anger and desire. But relaxed, infinitely relaxed. Because they'd done this before, said this before; sometimes not aloud, sometimes not in words. But they had done this before, over and over again. This was part of the process, too - the stinging splash of astringent in the self-inflicted, therapeutic wound. Nathan admitting that he was weaker than he wanted to be, and Peter agreeing, knocking Nathan down, too, to prove it.
"The great Nathan. Needs comfort. From little Peter. Don't you have a wife for that?" Peter said, visibly struggling to keep the smile off his face, but his eyes sparkling.
Knocking him down, and then picking him up again.
Are we gonna play now? Please please please?
Nathan locked eyes with Peter, and slowly shook his head. "It's not the same. It's nothing to do with this. This is between you and me."
Oh yes, we play.
"You've made me very angry, Nathan," said Peter sternly, but in that coded, intimate tone of voice that they only used with each other.
"You've made me very angry, Peter," was Nathan's comeback, almost smiling, but not quite. "Are you ready to deal with that?"
"Oh, yeah," Peter said.
Nathan briefly angled his head toward the monkey house's exit, and they left side by side, neither of them leading the other, not touching but keeping close, and walking in perfect step.
An elderly couple, standing closer to the railings separating the monkey's tree habitat from the floor, watched them go, then glanced at each other. "I wonder how long those two have been together," whispered the lady to the gentleman, making him giggle.
***********
on to Part Three
back to Part One
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, explicit m/m sex, power/pain play, alcohol use, angst, language
Spoilers: Season 1
Summary: During the Thanksgiving holiday, Peter and Nathan struggle to communicate with each other. Their tangled web of fear, desire, and love threatens to tear them apart, but instead holds the key to keeping them together.
Part Two
--
THANKSGIVING NIGHT...
The Coopers' home was slightly less ostentatious than the last time Nathan had seen it, almost ten years ago; despite their best efforts and those of his father, the Coopers hadn't been able to hang onto more than a fraction of their questionably-obtained money. The mass of antiques had largely been sold and replaced with simpler, clean-styled, cheaper European furnishings, but the Coopers still occupied a five-story town house in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the world, and were throwing a lavish Thanksgiving Day dinner party for a hundred guests.
Nathan wasn't about to feel sorry for them. The fine they'd paid for tax evasion was fairly steep, but it wasn't like they'd ended up on the street, thanks largely to the legal expertise of Mr. Petrelli. The Coopers herded Nathan into a media room and made him look at slides of their vacation in the Florida Keys with their new yacht (written off as a business expense, Mr. Cooper crowed triumphantly) before they'd let him get a drink.
Not that Nathan was all about the alcohol tonight; he mostly wanted a cocktail glass to use as a prop so that no one would ask him why he didn't have a drink. He and Heidi walked around in his mother's shadow for a while, being introduced to a dozen people whose names, faces, and characteristics he carefully memorized and filed away in his brain for future use. Angela suddenly stopped and stared through the crowd at someone Nathan couldn't see. "I'll be back, dear," she said tensely, slipping away and disappearing between the milling bodies in the main
parlor.
Heidi watched her leave, then turned to Nathan with her eyebrows raised. "Happy holidays... and good luck remembering all that," she smiled, clinking his glass with hers. "Are you all right? You haven't touched your scotch. Don't tell me you don't like it anymore."
"You know I'd never tell you that," Nathan said. He smiled back at her, and sipped his drink. All the ice had melted, and now he just had a glass of chilly Macallan and water. It wasn't a very good combination. "I should get a new one. I'll be right back, sweetheart. You just stay here by the fire; stay warm." He kissed her on the forehead.
Heidi beamed up at him and squeezed his arm. "Oh, I'm warm enough, thank you. Actually, I think I'll call Mandy," she decided. "Check up on the kids. I know it's hard to get Monty to sleep sometimes."
"Good idea. How 'bout I meet you back over here by the fireplace."
"Done deal," she said, and wound her way along the wall away from him.
Nathan slowly meandered through the party toward the bar, greeting people he knew and trading season's greetings. Nathan knew a substantial portion of the guests; a lot of them were lawyers, and ran in the same circles as his father. Nathan lost track of time in the barrage of superficial communication and earnestly festive faces. He felt disconnected from everything around him, but not unpleasantly so; he had the sensation of drifting through the crowd, observing, listening, all his senses finely honed. Searching for something that wasn't a cocktail.
Where was Peter? Nathan had lost him as soon as they'd come inside. Peter ducked out of saying hello to the Coopers and disappeared. He could have been anywhere. Nathan hoped to God that Peter hadn't just bailed entirely; he didn't look forward to explaining that to Mom and Dad.
Maybe Peter had gone off to see if the Coopers' basement-level bathroom was indeed still intact, and spend some time in ecstatic memories. Nathan felt agitated. He didn't want Peter going there without him; if Peter was going to go down there, Nathan wanted to be there, too.
Everything dreamlike in the artificial sky-blue glow of the night lights, but still so dark in there, with the door closed and locked... some part of me inside some part of Peter... his breath in my mouth, his pulse racing under my fingers... oh, my sweet, dirty little boy who wants me so, so much...
Nathan stood still for a moment, his thoughts racing. But I'm here with my wife. We can't do that. Peter and I cannot be alone this Thanksgiving. It's not right. It's too dangerous. We have to behave ourselves this year, keep our hands off each other. We have got to kick the habit. But the holidays always throw us together, and I never seem to be able to exercise discipline. It's so hard to say no to him when he wants me. I have to tell him no. But... God, I'd love a kiss right now; I'd love to feel him clinging to me. I'd love to hold him in my arms, like a teddy bear. Like a security blanket. For some reason, I am afraid. Something strange is going on. I'm scared and I need him.
"Well, hello, Nathan. How wonderful to see you." A loud, cheerful, accented voice broke into Nathan's consciousness like a glass of cold water thrown into his face.
Nathan just stared for a moment before he could speak. What the hell was this guy doing there? Did he know the Coopers, too? Dad might have introduced them... but why would he do that? Wouldn't Dad want to keep his clients separate? And wouldn't Dad want to keep absolutely anybody separate from him? But the game was still being played, and Nathan knew his part, and knew his place.
"Good evening, Mr. Linderman," Nathan replied, flashing his teeth, but it wasn't really a smile. "Happy holidays."
"Likewise, thank you."
"I'm surprised to see you out in this neck of the woods," Nathan said. "I'd think you'd want to stay in Vegas, where at least it's warm."
"Ah, but the charms of New York in winter cannot be overstated, and since I'm in the city for a business meeting anyway, I decided to accept Cooper's gracious invitation. And here I was, thinking I would be crashing a small, intimate family supper." Linderman looked at Nathan intently, as if expecting a reaction, and when Nathan said nothing, Linderman looked away again, letting his eye be caught by the buffet supper spread on the long table in the center of the room. "This is my favorite of the purely American holidays. Thanksgiving." The expansive, grand way Linderman said it, it should have been painted onto a huge scroll to be hung outside a circus tent. If he ever wanted to get out of the mafia business, Linderman could have a great career doing voice-overs for car commercials. "An entire holiday centered around the concept of gratitude. Giving thanks... through excessive consumption. I completely understand that concept," he chuckled. "As I'm sure you can imagine. But gratitude... that's a concept that we should really keep firmly in mind at all times."
"Indeed," Nathan replied. He struggled to keep the profound unease from his voice. "How's the casino business doing?"
Linderman replied heartily, "Oh, wonderfully - booming, one might say. Your father has been an invaluable help in facilitating the process; keeping the wolves from the door. Helping me stay not just one, but two steps ahead. Business is excellent, and growth is assured." Linderman's smile faded slightly, but his wide, fathomless crystal-blue eyes lingered on Nathan, examining every detail of Nathan's face, his suit, his shoes. Just as Nathan was beginning to squirm under the scrutiny, Linderman looked away and out over the crowd. "How is your brother? I hear that he works at the East Lang Assistance Center downtown."
Nathan furrowed his brow, wondering how the hell Linderman would know that. Had Dad been talking to him? That wasn't the kind of thing that Dad would mention to someone else; Dad wouldn't talk about Peter with Linderman. Would he? Nathan tightened his jaw, seized with a sudden urge to punch out the white-haired older man. It would be a terrible mistake to even try such a thing. "Peter's... fine. He's in school."
"Wonderful. I'm glad to hear he's doing well." Linderman sipped his drink. It looked like vodka and tonic, but he stood close enough to Nathan that Nathan could smell that there was no alcohol in the glass, nor tonic water. Soda water with a twist of lime? Linderman had the advantage, as always. "It seems a good job for someone with his personality."
"Oh, you think so? Why?"
Linderman regarded Nathan coolly, his expression telling Nathan that he knew that Nathan wanted to deck him, and that Nathan would never dare. Never. Not as long as Nathan had loved ones; not as long as Nathan had goals.
Like Nathan's father had said, a long time ago, Rule number one: Do not fuck with Mr. Linderman. Just play along, or regret it for the rest of your life.
"Peter is very... compassionate," Linderman replied. "A person of deep feelings, and a profound need to help humanity. I understand how he feels. The next year will be a most interesting one for us. The world is changing; a sincere desire to help may well be the most valuable asset of all."
"How can I help you, Mr. Linderman?" Nathan asked coldly, dropping his smile.
Linderman smiled enough for both of them, and suddenly looked every inch the somewhat daffy, eccentric old uncle from a children's storybook - trustworthy and wise, full of excellent humor and funny stories. "Oh... for now, just make small talk. I am currently in hiding from your mother."
"Mom? Why?"
Linderman made a "you know how it goes" dismissive sound. "She and I don't often see eye to eye. That's been the case for years, though she and I have so much, fundamentally, in common. She'd rather think the opposite, but we're quite similar, your mother and I. Still... we had a brief chat earlier tonight, and I do believe that she's quite come round to seeing my point of view on something that's been a sticking point for years. Unfortunately, this new understanding has left her somewhat... agitated."
Nathan felt completely confused. This wasn't unusual, around Linderman; it was one of the many things that Nathan didn't like about him. He felt sweat breaking out on his forehead. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh... It's really nothing you need concern yourself with, dear boy. A trivial matter of the sort that older people get up to, and blow all out of proportion to its actual significance. Have you ever seen a row break out over shuffleboard? Or bingo? Terrible... kicking, scratching... it's awful. Never take a cruise, under any circumstances." Linderman glanced out at the crowd again, watching, looking for someone. "How's your wife, Nathan?"
"She's fine," Nathan bit out.
Linderman smiled teasingly back at Nathan. "You know, I must confess that I was quite surprised when you married her. I know that there were extenuating circumstances... nonetheless. Not only did you seem such a committed bachelor..." Linderman's smile grew to a grin, and only the lowering of both eyelids at once removed any suspicion that he was winking at Nathan. "But Heidi hardly seems your type. I always thought you had a taste for... blondes."
"Just what the hell do you mean by that?!" Nathan hissed, the blood draining from his face.
Linderman gazed balefully at Nathan, as if to say, We both know exactly what I mean.
Then the cheerful, dotty smile returned to the older man's face. "Tut tut - just small talk. Small talk. I wish you nothing but the absolute best. You, and your family. And speaking of your loving family, I think your brother has been looking for you."
"Where is he?" Nathan demanded.
Linderman shrugged."I'm flattered that you assume I'd know. I can't tell you definitively exactly where he is now, but last time I saw him, he was on the second-floor terrace with a group of other young people. I do believe they were smoking pot." Linderman chuckled, like he'd just said something naughty. "I certainly hope so... it's such a beautiful relic of a gentler time."
Nathan was stymied. Peter didn't normally seek that kind of thing out; he must have been in a really bad way. Suddenly, his thoughts were consumed with concern for Peter. "I'm fairly sure smoking pot never completely went out of style, Mr. Linderman."
"Indeed," said Linderman, grinning. "I wouldn't know anymore... I leave all that stuff to the young people these days. I had my fun. I can see that you want to find Peter... Happy Thanksgiving, Nathan. You are a very lucky man, with a bright future."
Nathan said "Good evening," quickly, already on his way through the crowd, headed for the stairs.
Peter was indeed out on the second-floor terrace, and there was indeed a small knot of teenagers and college-aged kids, passing a joint around. When they saw Nathan, the girl who was holding the roach dropped it into her spangled clutch purse and gave him a weak smile. Nathan barely noticed her; his focus was entirely on Peter. He stood out on the terrace, but he wasn't with the smoking group at all. Instead, he was pressed against the railing, the freezing wind whipping his shaggy hair against his forehead, gripping the wrought-iron barrier with his bare hands, staring up into the sky as if wishing he could take off into it. He looked beautiful and demented and pure.
"Hey, Pete, you okay?" Nathan asked, gently resting his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter gave a slight lurch as he turned his head to look at Nathan. "You don't even have your coat on. Aren't you cold?" Nathan took Peter's hands in his, holding them close to his body to warm them up.
"Nah," Peter replied. "I'm warm with booze. I had some hot rum punch. And then I came out here, and got a contact high." He smiled sloppily at the retreating backs of the smoking kids, who had suddenly and universally decided they'd go back in. "Thanks!" he called after them.
"That's not such a good combination..." Nathan muttered, putting his arms around Peter and herding him back inside, too. The hallway was as steamy-hot as a sauna compared to the bleak freshness of outdoors, and Nathan was tempted to turn around and go back out. But he didn't want Peter to catch cold, not in the middle of the holidays.
"I dunno, I think it's pretty great." Peter laughed, his body wavering in Nathan's arms. "I... kinda got the spins, though."
Nathan drew back a little. "Are you going to puke?"
"No, no," Peter said reassuringly, gently touching Nathan's cheek. "I just had to go outside. For a minute. I'm fine. I'll have some coffee. Hey... do you want to go see if they still have that... bathroom in the basement?" He leaned in close and stage-whispered, "I'll let you finger me."
"Peter," said Nathan warningly, staring around the hallway. Fortunately, the corridor was all but deserted, now that the stoner kids had all gone in search of Scotch broth and champagne. "No, we shouldn't," Nathan continued. "I told Heidi I'd meet her. Look - Peter, Linderman's here."
"What?" Peter immediately seemed sober.
Nathan was glad to see it. He stared into Peter's eyes. "He knows where you work."
"So," said Peter sullenly. Nope, still pretty drunk. He couldn't quite focus his eyes on Nathan.
"What the hell do you mean, 'so'? He knows where you work. He doesn't need to know that."
Peter shrugged and made a face. "No, he doesn't, but I don't care if he knows. I don't care who knows. It's my job," he declared, talking too loud.
"Shh...! Peter, look, you don't understand."
"The fuck I don't!" Peter stepped back and scowled at Nathan. "I'm sick of this! You said you'd drop it!"
"It's... dangerous," Nathan said, knowing too late how it was going to sound to Peter. But there was no other way of putting it. There was so much that was true about that statement, and it would take all night - and longer, the way Peter was being - for Nathan to explain it.
Peter took it just the way Nathan knew and feared he would. "I'm done," he snapped. He held up his hands, palms out. "You know what, I changed my mind. I am gonna go home. Because fuck this." He turned on his heel and stomped away from Nathan.
Nathan wiped his face with his hands, wondering how much more wrong this night could go. He went back outside for a while, pressing himself against the railing and staring up into the sky, wondering if he could just...
But, instead, he went back inside. He got another scotch, neat this time, and drank half of it straight down.
On his way back to the fireplace, to rendezvous with Heidi (it seemed like hours had gone by since he'd last spoken to her), Nathan was intercepted by his mother. Angela was as white as a sheet, her fingers on his sleeves trembling. "Nathan," she breathed, then put her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. Nathan appreciated the embrace, but asked, "Ma, what's wrong?"
"Where's Peter?" she asked shakily. "I want to see him."
"Uh, I think... he said he was going home. What is it, Ma? What's the matter?"
Angela shook her head and pressed her lips together. "I can't sit back and watch him suffer like this. It isn't right. Nathan," she said urgently, "you have to help him before it's too late."
Nathan shrugged helplessly. "He doesn't want my help, Ma. He told me so about twenty times tonight."
"Peter doesn't know what he wants. He's a sweet boy, but he doesn't understand what's really right for him. You saw him. He's a mess." She took a deep, shaky breath, then abruptly relaxed and broke into a wide smile. "Oh, look... how wonderful. I was hoping that he'd be here. That's Dr. Richardson... the director of the Coalition for the Homeless."
"You know him?" asked Nathan, surprised.
"Of course I do. Do you really think that I wouldn't know the man my son works for? I met him at a charity ball in September. And... I saw that his name was on Mary Cooper's guest list."
"That's a handy coincidence," Nathan mused.
Angela quirked her eyebrows at her son, and briskly straightened the knot in his tie. "There's no such thing as coincidence, dear - only impeccable planning. It's a small world, and among those in power, it's even smaller. Now, I know that the central office is always hiring fund-raising supervisors. This is a great opportunity for you to help your brother. Now, Nathan," she said, "go work some of your magic. Change Peter's life, for the better."
Nathan squinted at her. "Ma, he's not gonna like that."
She fixed him with a determined stare. "We know what's best. Your brother deserves better than 'flat broke.' He can keep helping people, without having to starve half to death."
"Good call, Ma," said Nathan, half resigned, and half excited - welcoming the chance to have some work to do, something to allow him escape from his confused, emotional thoughts. And, as always, he stood in awe of his mother's deviousness. Nathan was good, but he had a long way to go to catch up with her. He was just grateful that she was on his side. "You're right. Do me a favor and go talk to Heidi - she's right next to the fireplace. Let her know that I didn't get lost."
"That's my good boy," Angela replied, kissing him on the cheek, and winding her way through the crowd. Nathan stood for a moment and watched her go, then finished his drink and approached Dr. Richardson with a commanding stride and his most charismatic smile.
Think about anything other than Linderman.
~~~~~
FRIDAY.
Peter awoke in an unfamiliar bed.
Alone.
He sat up and blinked at the room, baffled and unhappy, and gradually it came back to him; this was his bedroom, or once it had been his room, but his bed used to be over there, along that wall. And there used to be an Italian La Strada movie poster across the room on the facing wall. And he used to look at that poster, think about obsessive and destructive love, and jack off until his wrists went numb.
Now the room was all lilac-and-white, with odd little fussy flowers, and lavender-scented sheets and pillows on the bed, and none of the sublime chaos of Fellini anywhere. This felt like a girl's room now, and a gloomy one, too, with the pale-violet walls making the room seem cold and drowsy. Peter would have liked to just roll over and go back to sleep, but now that he realized that he hadn't actually gone to his apartment last night, but to the home of his childhood, he was too annoyed to relax.
In the shower, he pieced together as many details as he could from the night before. A lot of wine drunk very quickly at dinner at home, and not much food consumed. He knew he had gone to the Coopers' in the car with his parents, but he didn't remember anything about the ride; did Dad drive, or was there a driver?... Three cups of hot rum punch at the supper, and no food, because the alcohol had killed his appetite. Out on the terrace, getting caught downwind of a handful of toking prep-school kids. They'd offered him a hit, or a bump of coke, but he just wanted the air and the cold.
Waiting for Nathan to find him, which he did.
Unfortunately, what Peter had hoped would happen at that point hadn't happened; he hadn't gotten dragged down into the basement, into that bathroom (or any other; any one would do), thrown up against the wall and... whatever. Fucked or sucked or fingered or even just kissed breathless; something, anything to take him away.
Instead Nathan had just repeated that he thought Peter wasn't good enough to do his job, or smart enough to know his own mind. And then told Peter that Linderman was there, as if that justified Nathan's opinion, when everybody knew that Linderman didn't care about him. It was just more of Nathan throwing his weight around, more of Nathan trying to manipulate him, making excuses for why they were wasting time when it would be so easy to just sneak off somewhere for ten minutes.
Peter fought off his hangover and his resentment for just a few seconds, just long enough to masturbate away his morning erection. What he'd wanted last night, and hadn't gotten, was so vivid in his mind, burnished with fantasy and frustrated desire, that all he needed was a moment of visualization, and a few firm strokes, to bring him to orgasm. He hissed through his teeth - a tiny shaping of breath that would have been barely audible, even without the noise of the water.
"Nathan...!"
Maybe, now, he could just be done with it for a while. Just because it was the holidays didn't automatically mean that he and Nathan would play together, and now, with the aching tension in his groin relieved, Peter resolved to set his longings aside. The time just wasn't right. Maybe later; maybe mid-month, maybe after the start of the new year...?
Peter put a stop to that train of thought; it was thoughts like those that had gotten him into trouble before, and made him drink too much last night. The hoping, the waiting, the wanting. Goddamn Nathan. "Forget it, Peter," he said sternly to his reflection in the mirror. "Not this year."
Downstairs, in the sun-bathed dining room, his family was already breakfasting, and today, Simon and Monty were there, too. Peter was glad to see the children; not only did he love them, but they were even more of a barrier between him and his parents. Who would bother to focus on Peter when there were two adorable kids in the room? He came around the table and gave the boys hugs and kisses, and then sat down. "Good morning," he said, trying to come across as cheerful, personable, and mature, but not excessively so. He wasn't completely successful - to himself, he sounded uptight and artificial. Peter hoped that no one would notice or care. He was going to behave himself today if it killed him.
"Did you sleep well, dear?" Angela asked lightly.
"Yeah, thanks," Peter said.
"Early night for you last night," Nathan mentioned, stirring his coffee. "When did you leave?"
"I have no idea what time it was," Peter said. "I was... really tired. Just glad to get home. I mean - here. Thank you for letting me stay."
"Of course; you're always welcome here. This is still your home, too, Peter," Angela said.
"Oh, I'm not complaining," Peter said, taking several slices of toast and jam. "At least there's food here."
Heidi looked at Peter so sadly that he was tempted to say something to reassure her, but Angela began briskly announcing items on her to-do list, and nobody else could say anything. "Today we are going to the Art Museum for the Santangelo retrospective, and then lunch. Dinner at five sharp, then our tickets are for seven. Make sure you eat dinner, Peter; it's a long play. Overton is making you a soufflé of asparagus. It's very good, I've had it before. And tomorrow at one, the photographer comes to take our Christmas card picture. There's still time for you to get your hair cut, Peter, and please do."
Peter looked at Nathan imploringly, but Nathan only blinked at Peter, and sipped his coffee.
The art museum was tolerable, mostly because Peter spoke only when spoken to, and that wasn't very often. He tagged along behind everyone else, listening to the Mountain Goats on his iPod, trying hard not to worry about what was going on back at East Lang. Usually he treasured his rare days off, but this one had been imposed, and he couldn't shake the fear that something would go wrong.
After lunch, when they had all returned to the house for tea, Peter excused himself and went out to the snowy courtyard, getting out his phone. There was a message on it from the district supervisor, which had only happened once before - when Peter had been notified that he had the job interview for the East Lang intake clerk. "Call me as soon as you get this, Peter," the district supervisor's message said. Her voice was much warmer and more relaxed than it had been that other time. "Don't worry; it's good news."
He returned the call, and asked the receptionist to be patched through. "This is Peter Petrelli," Peter said, once they had been connected. "What can I do for you?"
"How soon can you start?"
"Excuse me?"
"We could use you first thing Monday morning - eight o'clock, here at headquarters; you remember from your last interview, it's at West 39th and Fifth, suite 322. Congratulations, and I look forward to having you as part of our team here. It'll be good to have someone who's had experience at East Lang; most of the staff there don't usually end up here -"
"Excuse me, Ms. Doran, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"Your interview, Peter. For the Lower East Side regional fund-raising coordinator. It's just a formality to introduce you to the team, really. I'm surprised you didn't apply for it to begin with; the position was open then, too. I think you've got it, no problem; you... have the right skills." Her voice trailed off as she guessed that it hadn't entirely been Peter's idea to apply. "Is there something wrong?"
Peter nodded slowly and didn't say anything for a moment. "I... changed my mind," he said at last. "I'm not actually ready to make such a major change right now, what with school and all. Thanks for... your consideration, though, Ms. Doran, I... think I'm just going to stay on intake at East Lang for the time being. Thanks for your time; I'll speak to you later."
He clicked off his phone, and slid it back into the inner pocket of his sports coat, going back indoors, his pulse roaring in his ears.
Heidi and his mother were seated on the long couch in the parlor, one child in each of their laps, laughing over photo albums, cooing over how cute Nathan and Peter had been when they were Monty and Simon's age. Nathan sat separate, watching them and smiling. Peter stood in the doorway, and said off-handedly, "Nathan, can I talk to you out here for a minute?"
"Sure, Pete," Nathan said, and walked out to join Peter in the hallway. "What's up?"
Peter gathered all the strength in his body and focused it into a single punch to Nathan's jaw. The blow nearly knocked Nathan down, and it hurt the hell out of Peter's hand, but it was worth it, just to see Nathan's expression. Nathan straightened up with murderous rage written on his face. "Come on," Peter taunted, breathing hard. "Hit me. I dare you. Show me what you can do, since you're so much better than me at everything. Fuckin' asshole. C'mon, hit me."
"Look, I did you a favor," Nathan said between pain-gritted teeth. "It's a good job - I just got your foot in the door."
"I told you to stay out of it!" Peter shouted.
Angela and Heidi came running out into the hall, Heidi still holding Monty, who began to cry. Angela shouted "Peter!" and Heidi cried "Nathan!" at once. "Oh, Peter, how could you?" Angela added reproachfully, carefully examining Nathan's face, where the ridges of Peter's knuckles had left bright red welts. "Your brother was just trying to help you."
"Oh, you knew, too?" Peter replied, his body quaking with adrenaline. He shrugged, trying to shake it off. He couldn't, and now he felt sick and had the shakes. It was awful; he wanted to fight, wanted to get hit back, for things to make sense, and it wasn't going to happen. Goddamn you, Nathan, denying me that, too. "Dad, too, probably, huh? How 'bout you, Heid? No surprise there. All of you and your plans for me. I'm going home - my home - and I'm not coming back. I'm going to kick his ass if I stay here." He smiled and shook his head. "I'm all holidayed out. I appreciate what you were trying to do. But please... don't. When I need help, I'll ask for it."
No one said anything for a while, and Peter held his breath so that he wouldn't just start crying. "All right, Peter. We'll find someone to take your theater ticket; it's a shame to let it go to waste," Angela said calmly. Heidi bounced and shushed Monty, taking him back into the parlor, where Simon had begun to cry, too. "But please... our Christmas card photo tomorrow. Please be here for that. Just one picture, Peter. Just for our memories."
"Okay, but I won't stand next to him," Peter said, glaring at Nathan.
Nathan narrowed his eyes right back, and added a slight, smirky smile. "That's all right," Nathan replied smoothly, "I've got Heidi for that."
Peter felt all the anger drain out of him, his skin suddenly cold all over, and lowered his gaze. Without another word, he went back to the bedroom that was no longer his, and gathered his things. When he returned downstairs, only his mother stood there, gazing at him with an expression of heartfelt guilt, sadness, and love. He went to her and hugged her tight, kissing her cheek three times. She returned the three kisses. "I'm sorry, Peter," she said. "I'm just so afraid for you. You're my baby, and it's a scary world." He wanted to reply, to say something that would make everything all right, absolve them both, but he had nothing. He gave her a weak smile, and turned and left the house.
~~~~~
SATURDAY.
The photographer herded them all together in front of a green velvet drape in the parlor. He wanted to put Peter and Nathan beside each other for symmetry, like all the previous Christmas card photos, standing behind their seated parents with Simon on Angela's lap, and Nathan and Heidi standing next to each other, Heidi holding Monty. But Peter had made his decision and stubbornly stuck with it, forcing the increasingly annoyed photographer to come up with an entirely new configuration. Monty had caught Simon's cold, and would not stop crying, even when he was given a candy cane and a toy truck. Simon saw that preferential treatment, and kicked Monty. Monty grabbed Simon's ear and pulled hard. Parental yelling and further crying ensued. Peter just stood off to the side, leaning against a door frame, watching it all, expressionless. "Can we hurry this up?" he said.
"You're a spoiled, ungrateful brat," his father snapped, infuriated. "You're worse than those babies right there."
"Oh, fuck off, Dad," Peter said without enthusiasm.
"Peter, you're not helping!" Nathan said sharply.
"Hey, it's not my fault the kids are crying. They're sick; they don't want to be here."
"Peter," Heidi's tense voice broke in, so sharp and authoritative that both of her young sons instantly quit crying. "Nathan. Both of you. In the kitchen. Right now. Angela, please look after the boys for me for a minute." She sounded so much like a silkier, higher-voiced version of their mother that Peter and Nathan obeyed her without thinking twice about it.
They stood in the kitchen, several feet away from each other, staring in opposite directions, until Heidi joined them, quietly shutting the door behind her.
"You guys are both acting like assholes," she said. Peter blinked; he had never heard her talk like that before. "Yes, both of you. Both of you are wrong. Both of you are right. That's the simple fact of the matter. Arguing over right and wrong isn't going to get either of you anywhere. Nathan, apologize to Peter."
"But -" Nathan began.
Heidi wasn't finished. "Peter," she snapped, her eyes flashing like blue flares at Peter, "apologize to Nathan. Not to me. Not in front of me. Apologize to each other. We're going go back out there, and we're going to take that picture for those damn Christmas cards. And then both of you are going to go away, and I don't want to see either of you until you've worked this out. And I don't care how long it takes, because I can't live with you when you're like this, Nathan. It was stupid and insensitive for you to do what you did, no matter how pure your intentions are - and Peter, you're just being an immature jerk. You're sulking, and pouting, and whining. And I've got two little boys at home, so I really don't need another one here. Grow the hell up and start appreciating your family. This is my vacation too, okay? Stop wrecking it. Now get it together. Your father has a heart problem; he doesn't need this."
When she left, she left the door slightly open. Peter and Nathan looked after her for a moment, then hazarded a glance at each other. Too soon. Both dropped their eyes to the floor and shuffled their feet, then Peter left the kitchen without a word. Nathan followed slowly behind him.
The Petrelli family posed successfully for the photograph - the father on one end, Nathan holding Simon, Heidi holding Monty, Angela, and Peter at the far right, one hand resting on his mother's arm. Nathan had to turn slightly toward Heidi to hide the redness and swelling on his face, and Peter's expression could only grudgingly be called a smile. "Wonderful," said the photographer in a voice that might have been sarcastic. "You're a beautiful family. Thank you."
After they had finished, Dad went upstairs without another word, and slammed his bedroom door. Nathan had a brief, murmured conference with his mother, during which she kept her eyes on Peter. Peter, standing near Heidi, caught her eye. "Sorry," he offered, but she just rolled her eyes and shook her head and turned away from him.
"Go away," Heidi said quietly.
Nathan walked up to them and took Peter's arm, firmly but gently, steering him to the coat closet, and then the front door, without saying a word. The two of them settled into Nathan's car, and Nathan drove into the post-holiday-shopping traffic, headed downtown on Eighth Avenue. Wherever they were going, it wouldn't be quickly, not on the biggest shopping day of the year when about a million people were headed for FAO Schwartz and Macy's.
Neither of them spoke for several agonizing minutes. Peter switched on the radio, and Nathan immediately turned it off again.
Peter sighed with annoyance. "You apologize first, and then I'll apologize," he said.
"I'm not ready to apologize yet," Nathan retorted sharply. They retreated back into resentful silence for a long time before Nathan spoke again. "Where do you want to go?"
"How about the zoo," Peter replied, sighing. "It's been a while since I've been there. It'll be nice to walk around in the cold. I've been cooped up too much lately." Nathan said nothing, but changed direction, headed back toward Central Park.
Peter felt a kinship with the zoo in winter. It was always so odd and poignant to see the animals, especially ones from much warmer native climates, dealing with cold and snow and confinement. They were out of place, and Peter knew that he identified with that sensation; being uncomfortably on display at times, ignored at other times, but never quite right; never quite comfortable, and never free.
The colobus monkeys, though, didn't seem unhappy in the slightest. They romped through the branches of their temperature-controlled monkey house, not being shy of the onlookers, but being rather more involved in their own interpersonal goings-on. They were a large group, maybe fifteen monkeys, all swarming around, momentarily still, then all of them active and chaotic again.
Peter found that as he watched closely, the interactions became clearer to him. Two of the black-and-white monkeys kept harassing each other; as soon as one tried to strike or bite the other, they would hide behind other monkeys in the group, who chattered and coughed at them. Then, when one of the quarreling monkeys hid behind the biggest monkey in the group, the big monkey abruptly grabbed the hiding one, and tossed him at his adversary. The monkey group exploded into screeching and arm-waving, like an excited stadium of spectators. The two monkeys who had been picking on each other from the start had a brief, scrappy fist-fight, then broke apart and ran away from each other, shrieking. When the hubbub of the group died down, the two fighters met up with each other on a lower branch, and began to groom each other as if nothing had ever happened. Peter found himself laughing faintly.
Nathan had been watching that interaction, too. "That's a trip," he said.
Peter turned his gaze to Nathan, and rested his hand against the back of Nathan's neck, underneath his scarf, then ran his fingernails up into the smooth, short, velvety hair at Nathan's nape. Smiling a little, Peter tugged on Nathan's earlobe, peeked into Nathan's ear, and plucked lint off his scarf.
Nathan smiled too, running his fingertip along the edge of Peter's coat collar. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head at how simple it was.
"I'm sorry, too," Peter said. He glanced around quickly, and seeing that they were momentarily alone in the monkey house, he dared to press a brief kis against Nathan's lips. It only lasted a second, and they broke away and didn't touch, but they had passed the barrier of personal space, standing only a few inches away from each other, close enough to feel each other's warmth. "And I believe you, but you know it's not enough. You know what we need to do," Peter continued, his voice quiet and intense. "You know what we need. We can't talk about this. We can't talk this through. We can't. I can't understand you right now when you talk. You say things, and I know that's not what you mean, but I'm always inclined to believe what you say to me, even when I know I shouldn't. But you can't lie to me when we're... together. I can show you what I need. I always... I ask you for what I need; if that doesn't work, I show you what I need. And I give you what you need. 'Cos you need it. And if you think you don't need it, you're crazy."
Nathan lowered his gaze, and shook his head. "You're crazy for insisting that I do." His words sounded hollow, even to himself.
Peter smiled and closed his eyes. "See?" he responded. "You don't mean that. You've trained yourself so well to never say what you mean - only what people want to hear, only what's 'right' to say. It's not what you really feel."
"You want me to tell you what I really feel?" Nathan challenged, raising his eyebrows. "You want to hear something that's true, and see if you understand it?" Peter raised his too, challenging back. Nathan smiled nervously, and took a deep breath. "Linderman."
"Linderman?" Peter echoed, shaking his head. "I don't understand."
"I have... a memory," Nathan said. "I didn't... know if it was real. I think I've been telling myself that it wasn't, but now I'm pretty sure it was real. And he reminded me of it himself on Thursday night." Nathan stared back at the monkeys, the majority now hiding in the thicker branches, and the two grooming pals having climbed up higher, but still separate and still together.
"I was a little kid," Nathan continued, speaking slowly, with difficulty, feeling Peter's eyes burning into him. "It was before you were born, before you were even thought of. He came to our house to talk to Dad, but Dad was doing something upstairs in his office, and he hadn't come down to meet Linderman yet. And Mom was... somewhere else; I don't remember where. Downstairs fixing drinks, or something. Maybe she'd been told not to come in. To leave us alone for a minute."
Peter stared at Nathan with blank horror. "He didn't-"
Nathan frowned, shaking his head slightly. "Kind of," Nathan said. "Well, not really. Not exactly." He sighed, trying to sort his jumbled, blurry thoughts. They clarified slowly, like the mist evaporating from a window, and returned to startlingly sharp focus. These vague, fragmented images from dreams that had been with him for so long, the violent unease he had felt in Linderman's presence at the dinner party, all suddenly coalesced and made sense, standing this close to his brother, still feeling the comforting imprint of his lips. "He was kind of crouched down, so that we were at eye level, and he was standing really close to me. He touched... my face, right here, where the scars are now." Nathan brought the back of his hand to the deep scoring on his chin and jaw, where the perfect lines of his face lost cohesion, where the Navy doctors had stitched his face back together. "Like he knew."
He hesitated for a long time before he continued, "That wasn't the weird part, though. The weird part is what he said. He said...'Yes, Nathan. It will be you. Good; I'm glad it's you. You'll do fine. You'll do extraordinary things one day, you know. You'll look out over the whole world and say "This is mine." You'll walk into a room filled with the most beautiful women, and the sexiest blonde in the shortest skirt will come up to you and say, "I'm yours." And when that happens, you need to take her, Nathan. It's not love, but in a way, it's better.'" Nathan shook his head, then continued, in the same whispery voice he'd been using to quote Linderman, "'Don't ever defy me, Nathan. It would be a mistake.'"
"Jesus," Peter whispered.
Nathan shook his head, returning to the present. "And I forgot about it. I made myself forget. It was too weird. It didn't make any sense. I didn't feel violated, or molested, or anything; I just... wondered what he was talking about."
"You were how old?" Peter asked.
"I dunno... I'd say six or seven, I guess. Old enough so that I knew he wasn't supposed to talk to me like that, even if I didn't understand what he was talking about. I mean, hell, even now, it still doesn't make sense." Nathan swallowed and shrugged, lowering his eyes. "Anyway, the next day or maybe the day after, I told Mom."
Peter stared at him. "What did she do?"
Other zoo visitors had joined them in the semi-warmth of the monkey house, and Nathan sighed at their intrusion. Peter took no notice of them, watching Nathan intently. "She just gave me a quick hug and told me that I hadn't done anything wrong, and not to worry about it. So I didn't. We never mentioned it again. And I remember... things got kind of weird between her and Dad for a while; they weren't fighting, not in the way that I think of fighting, but enough to make me feel kind of anxious. And then it went away, and everything was just normal. But I started boarding school pretty soon after that." Nathan shook his head. "I think maybe they sent me there to protect me."
"But nothing like that ever happened to me," Peter mused. "Maybe that's why I didn't have to go away to school."
Nathan said, "Maybe. Maybe Mom just wanted to keep an eye on you; that's what she told me, anyway. Maybe she wanted to make sure that he didn't get her other kid alone. I mean, Linderman isn't a pedophile. As far as I know. He didn't - you know. I didn't really get that vibe from him at all. Kids can tell. But... even at the time, he seemed like... he didn't want to, but he would, if he needed to." Nathan shook his head. "He's interested in control. He wants to control me - and he knows that a very effective way of controlling me is by putting you in danger. So I... tried to get you away, because he knows where you work, what you do."
"But that doesn't make any sense," Peter said, holding up his hand. "Linderman doesn't care about me."
"I care about you, Peter," Nathan said. "I care. And he knows that. And that gives him power over me."
Peter gazed into Nathan's eyes for a long time, unable to resist the vague smile that spread across his face. Nathan didn't smile back, his eyes wide, dark, and vulnerable. But brave, too; brave of him to maintain eye contact, after having disclosed something so intense. "So stop caring about me," Peter offered. "Problem solved."
"I can't," Nathan said. "I'd love to," he added, with a short laugh, then he lowered his eyes. "But I can't. I love you. And I'm scared, remembering all that, all of a sudden, suddenly knowing that I didn't just imagine it. It's been on my mind, and it made me... I don't know. I want to protect you. And I'm scared of what all this means, and... I need you to comfort me." He spoke in a half whisper, grimacing and trembling, like he was doing emergency surgery on himself - cutting into a snake bite to drain the venom from it, putting in his own stitches, digging a bullet out of his flesh.
Peter smiled for a moment, observing this. "Me, comfort you," he said, his voice combining disbelief, amusement, quietly simmering anger and desire. But relaxed, infinitely relaxed. Because they'd done this before, said this before; sometimes not aloud, sometimes not in words. But they had done this before, over and over again. This was part of the process, too - the stinging splash of astringent in the self-inflicted, therapeutic wound. Nathan admitting that he was weaker than he wanted to be, and Peter agreeing, knocking Nathan down, too, to prove it.
"The great Nathan. Needs comfort. From little Peter. Don't you have a wife for that?" Peter said, visibly struggling to keep the smile off his face, but his eyes sparkling.
Knocking him down, and then picking him up again.
Are we gonna play now? Please please please?
Nathan locked eyes with Peter, and slowly shook his head. "It's not the same. It's nothing to do with this. This is between you and me."
Oh yes, we play.
"You've made me very angry, Nathan," said Peter sternly, but in that coded, intimate tone of voice that they only used with each other.
"You've made me very angry, Peter," was Nathan's comeback, almost smiling, but not quite. "Are you ready to deal with that?"
"Oh, yeah," Peter said.
Nathan briefly angled his head toward the monkey house's exit, and they left side by side, neither of them leading the other, not touching but keeping close, and walking in perfect step.
An elderly couple, standing closer to the railings separating the monkey's tree habitat from the floor, watched them go, then glanced at each other. "I wonder how long those two have been together," whispered the lady to the gentleman, making him giggle.
***********
on to Part Three
back to Part One