Whispers
Title: Whispers
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: R
Timeline: Season 1 .07%
Word Count: 291
Prompt: Day 41 “Whispers”
Note: Edited for incorrect tenses.
Whispers
Her sons are whispering to each other again, and for a moment Angela feels that everything is back to normal, but there is nothing about this that is normal, and it never has been normal, not them, not her, not anything about their lives, and especially now.
It’s something they’ve always done, borne of a need to draw themselves into a smaller space, to block out the world so it contains them alone; something they do out of habit, without conscious thought. Angela had hoped it was a habit of youth; they’d break it as they grew older, but it never happened, and here they are still, aged 26 and 38, still whispering, their voices low, intimate, the words incomprehensible, but the tone so clear.
Peter had died, and then Claire had brought him back to life. Angela had been grateful, but not too surprised at that; she’d known worse powers, and better ones, in her lifetime, but Nathan hadn’t. He’d stared at Peter in disbelief, for one interminable moment, then he’d grabbed Peter, laughing and sobbing, crushing him in his arms, and then kissing him, long and hard on the mouth, with his mother and his daughter watching.
Claire opens her lips to say something, but Angela catches her eye, and shakes her head. It is no surprise to her, just one of those things a mother tries not to think about too often.
“Let’s leave them alone for a moment, dear,” she whispers to her granddaughter. “We need to have a talk.”
So she takes Claire away, to explain their family to the poor girl, and leaves Peter and Nathan to their groping and grunting, and wordless, incoherent sounds that she’s heard behind closed doors too many times.
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: R
Timeline: Season 1 .07%
Word Count: 291
Prompt: Day 41 “Whispers”
Note: Edited for incorrect tenses.
Whispers
Her sons are whispering to each other again, and for a moment Angela feels that everything is back to normal, but there is nothing about this that is normal, and it never has been normal, not them, not her, not anything about their lives, and especially now.
It’s something they’ve always done, borne of a need to draw themselves into a smaller space, to block out the world so it contains them alone; something they do out of habit, without conscious thought. Angela had hoped it was a habit of youth; they’d break it as they grew older, but it never happened, and here they are still, aged 26 and 38, still whispering, their voices low, intimate, the words incomprehensible, but the tone so clear.
Peter had died, and then Claire had brought him back to life. Angela had been grateful, but not too surprised at that; she’d known worse powers, and better ones, in her lifetime, but Nathan hadn’t. He’d stared at Peter in disbelief, for one interminable moment, then he’d grabbed Peter, laughing and sobbing, crushing him in his arms, and then kissing him, long and hard on the mouth, with his mother and his daughter watching.
Claire opens her lips to say something, but Angela catches her eye, and shakes her head. It is no surprise to her, just one of those things a mother tries not to think about too often.
“Let’s leave them alone for a moment, dear,” she whispers to her granddaughter. “We need to have a talk.”
So she takes Claire away, to explain their family to the poor girl, and leaves Peter and Nathan to their groping and grunting, and wordless, incoherent sounds that she’s heard behind closed doors too many times.