fic: love on college ruled paper - pg - nathan/peter
Title: love on college ruled paper
Pairing: Nathan, Peter
Rating: PG
Prompt: Day 47 for theyreitalian
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC, Tim Kring, etc. Just for fun, no profit or harm intended.
Nathan pulls the folded sheet of notebook paper out of his flight suit pocket (college ruled, doodles of horns and forked tails in the margins) as he waits for the take off command. The paper has all the signs of being read every night before bed, every time he gets in his jet, every time he has a moment alone. The wrinkles branch out across the paper like veins, crossing the intersections of each crease and fold, the paper sectioned off in perfect squares from having been folded so many times to fit into his pocket.
"Dear Nathan," He hears Peter's voice in his head as he reads, oddly soft and soothing for a sixteen year old boy. "I hate writing to you. I just want to talk to you. I think I forgot what your voice sounds like."
The windows in Nathan's jet rattle as the loud rumbling of bombs echoes off the mountains, still miles away. He looks up out of the cockpit, listens for the command; he hears nothing, so he continues reading.
"I'm always at school when you get to call. It's not fair. I want to talk to you more than Mom does. I want to tell you a lot, and I want you to talk to me. I don't care what its about."
Over the radio, Nathan's squadron announce their status. They're all ready; they're just waiting for the word.
"I hope the war is over soon. I had a dream last night - a nightmare, I mean. You were in it. Your plane crashed, Nathan. I want you to come home."
"All right, gents!" The commander's voice screams through Nathan's headset. "Lock AND load!"
"Be careful. I love you. Your brother."
Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, August 21st, 1995
3:47 pm
The phone is still ringing when Peter walks through the door and slings his backpack on the dining table. He runs to catch it before whoever it is hangs up; he has no idea how long its been ringing, or where the hell Marisol is, and why she didn't answer it.
"Hello?" He takes the cordless with him into the kitchen to grab a soda out of the fridge.
"Hey, Pete."
"Nathan?" Peter's voice cracks for the first time in months, but he doesn't notice. He's too busy concentrating solely on this moment; memorizing every detail of Nathan's voice. He shuts the refrigerator door, slumps down on the floor with his back against it.
"Yeah, its me Pete," Nathan smiles, Peter can hear it in the softness of his voice. "I've got some news."
Peter's heartbeat races; he puts his hand against his chest to feel it pounding in his palm. "Are you-" He stops himself before he asks; that would be too much to hope for.
"I'm coming home, Pete."
Peter's fingers curl around the phone until his knuckles go white. He feels dizzy, but in the absolute best way possible. Nathan's coming home. He's okay and he's coming home.
"I love you, Nathan," the loudest voice he can manage is a whisper and Nathan returns his sentiments the same way, holding back the sobs caught in his throat.
He doesn't tell Pete the reason he's coming home is because he'd gotten injured when his jet malfunctioned and crashed; it's not important. The only thing that matters is that he is coming home to his family, and to Peter.
Pairing: Nathan, Peter
Rating: PG
Prompt: Day 47 for theyreitalian
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC, Tim Kring, etc. Just for fun, no profit or harm intended.
Nathan pulls the folded sheet of notebook paper out of his flight suit pocket (college ruled, doodles of horns and forked tails in the margins) as he waits for the take off command. The paper has all the signs of being read every night before bed, every time he gets in his jet, every time he has a moment alone. The wrinkles branch out across the paper like veins, crossing the intersections of each crease and fold, the paper sectioned off in perfect squares from having been folded so many times to fit into his pocket.
"Dear Nathan," He hears Peter's voice in his head as he reads, oddly soft and soothing for a sixteen year old boy. "I hate writing to you. I just want to talk to you. I think I forgot what your voice sounds like."
The windows in Nathan's jet rattle as the loud rumbling of bombs echoes off the mountains, still miles away. He looks up out of the cockpit, listens for the command; he hears nothing, so he continues reading.
"I'm always at school when you get to call. It's not fair. I want to talk to you more than Mom does. I want to tell you a lot, and I want you to talk to me. I don't care what its about."
Over the radio, Nathan's squadron announce their status. They're all ready; they're just waiting for the word.
"I hope the war is over soon. I had a dream last night - a nightmare, I mean. You were in it. Your plane crashed, Nathan. I want you to come home."
"All right, gents!" The commander's voice screams through Nathan's headset. "Lock AND load!"
"Be careful. I love you. Your brother."
Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, August 21st, 1995
3:47 pm
The phone is still ringing when Peter walks through the door and slings his backpack on the dining table. He runs to catch it before whoever it is hangs up; he has no idea how long its been ringing, or where the hell Marisol is, and why she didn't answer it.
"Hello?" He takes the cordless with him into the kitchen to grab a soda out of the fridge.
"Hey, Pete."
"Nathan?" Peter's voice cracks for the first time in months, but he doesn't notice. He's too busy concentrating solely on this moment; memorizing every detail of Nathan's voice. He shuts the refrigerator door, slumps down on the floor with his back against it.
"Yeah, its me Pete," Nathan smiles, Peter can hear it in the softness of his voice. "I've got some news."
Peter's heartbeat races; he puts his hand against his chest to feel it pounding in his palm. "Are you-" He stops himself before he asks; that would be too much to hope for.
"I'm coming home, Pete."
Peter's fingers curl around the phone until his knuckles go white. He feels dizzy, but in the absolute best way possible. Nathan's coming home. He's okay and he's coming home.
"I love you, Nathan," the loudest voice he can manage is a whisper and Nathan returns his sentiments the same way, holding back the sobs caught in his throat.
He doesn't tell Pete the reason he's coming home is because he'd gotten injured when his jet malfunctioned and crashed; it's not important. The only thing that matters is that he is coming home to his family, and to Peter.