Fic title: Lifeline
Author name:
triciasama @
tricias_flauntArtist credit(s):
notsostrangeArt link:
Cover art by notsostrangeGenre: Slash
Pairing: Nathan/Peter, Nathan/OMC
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Word Count: ~21,000
Warnings/Spoilers: “How to Stop an Exploding Man”
Summary: Peter and Nathan had a bond, maybe even stronger, more complicated than the blood that connects them as brothers. A story of moments that defined, moments that put them together, drew them apart... of love, betrayal, comfort, scars and lucky rocketship socks.
Author’s notes: Written for
heroes_bigboom. Betaed by the amazing
raihon, any other mistakes are mine. Feedback much appreciated as it’s the first time I’ve ever written anything more than 7000 words.
Link to fic:
Part I: Relations |
Part II: Comfort |
Part III: Precognition |
Part IV: Scars |
Part V:Frozen |
Part VI: Connections Lifeline, Part IV - Scars
Peter was fifteen when Nathan left to serve in the military.
Nathan left in his uniform and duffel bag. He would be in the Navy. He wanted to travel the world. He loved the sea.
He was wrong. Fuck the sea.
Every morning he would wake up to the endless span of blue and the salt spray that seemed everywhere - in his shirt, in his shoes, on his lips when he licked it. He would walk on the deck that seemed perpetually tipping back and forth with the salt spray stinging his eyes and eating into his skin. Even when he flew the plane all he saw was blue. Blue skies, blue seas. Nights that he wasn’t on duty were hard bunks in a cramped roomful of fellow officers and roaring engines and clattering pipes. They told him it was worse if you were seamen recruits. He didn’t want to know.
The first time he tasted the grit of war was when he was stationed on an aircraft carrier deployed for Bosnia.
It was also the first time he fell in love with a man.
Richard Avery was a year older than Nathan. He was also from New York, which became an in-joke between them because when they first met, Nathan told Avery he was from Texas. Then when Avery asked for his address, Nathan gave him the location of his house in New York.
“Texas! You fucking idiot! Texas!” Avery laughed at him. Ever since then, he called him Texas.
Nathan called Avery ‘A’. He couldn’t remember why. Maybe it was because the other petty officers called him Dick and those who didn’t like him called him Dickery. He just wanted to be different. And different they were.
Avery was very different from Nathan. He was a pilot from Queens. He didn’t have a university degree, and certainly not in law. Avery didn’t have any siblings. He was an only child. Nathan told him about Peter sometimes. Avery told him about the weird kid next door who had braces and sad parents. The boy was nice - boring sometimes, but nice. He would play chess with him when he was free because the boy didn’t have a sibling either and Avery knew how it felt to play chess against yourself. The boy’s father ran a watch company - Gray and Sons or something like that, he remembered being told.
“You ever go toad-licking back in Texas?” Avery asked him one night as they stood at the railings. Nathan hardly ever came up to the deck. This was one of those rare opportunities. They liked to talk there.
“Toad… what?” He didn’t know whether to sound incredulous or amused.
An orange ember went out. Avery tossed his cigarette into the sea, watching as the trail of smoke disappeared into the inky blackness. “Toad-licking. Like lickin’ the freakin’ toads. They come out after the rain in the desert or somethin’ and you can get high off them.”
“I’ve heard of that, but I’ve never actually… gotten around to doing it.”
“You’re boring. As usual.” Avery scoffed. Nathan knew him well enough not to be offended. He rubbed the day-old stubble on his chin, feeling Avery looking at him and wondering whether he could see him there in the darkness. He breathed, breathed in the salt spray in the air to calm his suddenly racing pulse, until he could no longer feel those eyes on him. And he turned.
Avery was already looking up into the sky. “Wouldja look at that… I never saw stars like these back home. Too much pollution they said. Too many lights. Blocks out the light from the stars.”
Nathan nodded. Then there was silence - silence by the standards of being on a Navy carrier. The engines roared and the water sloshed, spraying sea salt onto them. Avery thought about fishing out another cigarette, but decided that he did not have enough to waste.
“Ya ever think about home, Texas?” Avery finally said.
“Who doesn’t?”
Avery just nodded in agreement.
“First time I was sent on a mission there was this bastard…” Avery began, and Nathan didn’t stop him. Avery liked rambling like this, telling his life stories and wording his thoughts. “This engineering recruit who couldn’t stand the sea after his first week here. He puked his insides over the railing everyday. Every mornin’ I’d see him standing at the helipad, waiting for it to end and the chopper to come get him.”
Nathan looked toward the general direction of the few helipads on their carrier, as if he would see the person standing there waving. A ghost. A mere ghost of the past. Avery didn’t turn. He just continued.
“That got me thinkin’… Is that what life is? Is that all the shit everyone goes through and looks around and thinks to themselves that it’ll be better, that it’ll be all right soon?”
Nathan replied without realising. “I suppose we just go on. Go on and fight the monsters in us. Because the world isn’t a monster. It just wakes up the monsters inside us. Jealousy, hate, despair… it’s all our own making. We all need strength, hope. Without hope there’s nothing else for us anymore.”
“You may be boring, Texas, but you’re damn deep. And you make a fucking lot of sense. I like that.” Avery dropped his voice a notch, his smooth baritone rippling in a whisper as his eyes were on Nathan. “I like that very much.”
Avery probably didn’t see him in the darkness, but he smiled.
Their first time was in the tight confines of a supply closet. Avery planned it. When Nathan walked in and closed the door behind him, he felt hands pulling him close, pushing him towards the wall, where he could feel the thrum and clank of the engines.
It was dark. There was a small square of light - a mere sliver - shining from beneath the door, but he couldn’t see the hands, the hands that were roaming across his body hungrily, the hands that dipped into his waistband as they pressed their lips together.
Avery tasted of cigarettes and his stubble scraped his chin. It was different. Different from all the girls he had kissed, different from all the perfume and lipstick and smooth skin. Avery dipped his tongue into his mouth, skilful and teasing at the same time and Nathan closed his eyes, losing himself in the kiss that deepened.
It was passionate and strange at the same time. They were hurried. Hurried like they would be found and that there was not enough time. The kisses were hungry and exploring at the same time. Hands were up on Nathan’s chest, underneath the fatigues that they wore beneath the starched uniform they didn’t have on now. The light fingers skated over the younger man’s taut nipple, while Avery occupied his other hand by jerking himself off. Nathan thrust his hips against Avery, feeling the heat and the explosions of his senses overwhelming him.
Suddenly Nathan was facing the door with Avery’s hands on his hips. The hands skimmed over his thighs, wrapping themselves around him and stroked. Nathan bit back a moan. Avery thrust into him, slowly, even as his grip on Nathan did not slow. Nathan could feel his muscles clenching as Avery moved and finally spilled into him and all he could think was don’t stop don’t stop this was good too good.
And then it was over. They collapsed against each other, damp and sticky. They lay against the boxes in the room, lulling in a calm afterglow. Avery was heavy, lying against his chest. He moved up. Avery moved over and sat up.
“Way to go,” Avery breathed into his ear and Nathan laughed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmured back.
They lay there for a while before deciding to clean up and go back to their bunks. Nathan remembered looking up at the stars before he went below deck. Avery would go back later.
The stars shone differently back then. He wondered whether this would be the first of many more times to come.
He didn’t know it, but their first time would also be their last.
Two days later, they were ordered to take their planes out on a mission. There were six of them. Petrelli, Avery, Cook, Allen, Hardy and Skinner. It was a routine mission. They expected to be back in time for dinner.
They were almost back at camp when Nathan radioed.
“I’ve got a problem.”
“I’m behind you, Nate. What’s the matter?” Cook’s voice came over the radio. Cook was young, nineteen, a bundle of energy. He even sounded young.
“Engine’s heating up.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, were Nathan’s thoughts even as he flicked his eyes over the gauges. Eight hundred feet. The parachute might not even open by the time he reached the ground. He pulled the stick. The engines roared but didn’t respond.
“Shit, it’s burnin’ up. Can you make it?” This time it was Avery. “I’ll stay with you.”
The engine sputtered. He could see flames. He could feel the heat burning as he grabbed the quick-release pin. Damnit, he couldn’t find it. The straps held him down, smoke billowing into the cabin and he couldn’t see a thing. He was roasting. Then he found it, the pin. He yanked it and he was out.
Twist and release. The parachute opened. It fluttered.
Something wasn’t right. Parachutes don’t flutter.
The edge of his parachute was burning. He was dropping.
It all happened just then. He saw the ground coming towards him. Too fast, too fast, he thought. The torn parachute above him was flapping wildly in the wind, the wind screaming in his ears. He closed his eyes. This was how he was going to die.
When he opened them, he was on the ground. Alive.
His plane was burning half a mile away, nothing but a shell of ash on fire. Then he saw him, Avery, running towards him.
“Texas, you fucking flew!” Avery was yelling like a madman as he ran towards Nathan.
“I jumped, A. There’s a difference.” His face hurt like shit but he managed a shred of humour in his shaking voice. He spat out the sand in his mouth.
“I don’t know how you did it but it was like you fucking flew! Goddamn it, you’re alive. You’re alive, you bastard.”
Avery went back to his plane to get some morphine. They stayed there for a while, just the two of them. Eight hours later a helicopter came to lift them out.
Nathan was treated in the navy hospital for his burns. Avery was already back on the carrier when Nathan was released from the hospital. They put him on a desk job because of his injuries. He would be back to combat soon, he knew. Just a while. Just a couple of months for him to heal completely and he would be back on the field. Back with Avery. Avery and all the boys on the field.
He was sitting behind his desk that day when he heard about the news. A fleet was sent out for a peacekeeping operation at the frontline. Two planes were shot down. There were survivors airlifted out a few days later.
Avery wasn’t one of them. He took a bullet in the head.
They never recovered his body.
Nathan remembered he took a sip of water, shuffled the papers on his desk. He stood up, walked to the bathroom, walked into a stall and locked himself in. He threw up on his knees into the toilet bowl.
He then flushed the toilet, walked back out to the sink, washed his hands, gargled and went right back into the office where he continued his work.
This was just the beginning of the many deaths he would be facing. This would be the way he handled them all - calmly, resolutely, because he was supposed to be strong.
When he read in the newspapers that Meredith was dead, along with his daughter, he bit his lip even as the sick feeling rose in his stomach. When his father died, he let the tears mirror in his eyes as he stood at the funeral service. When Peter died, he cried. He held him and cried.
He never thought about them - those deaths.
There would be just too many to remember.
--
Peter was sitting at the table, twirling his glass of whiskey around in both his hands, feeling the unfamiliar sting of alcohol settling in his throat and stomach. Drunken teenagers were yelling and bouncing behind him to the beat of the music. It was loud, and he wasn’t having any fun.
He didn’t know why he was here. He was fifteen, underage and illegal. He wondered why he had taken so much trouble to persuade his older friend to smuggle him into the party.
Rebelling, that was what they would call it. But for him it was just because he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand staying at home and pretending to be a good little nerd while his father sneered at him for not being able to make it on any sports team. Couldn’t stand being invisible and unwanted and trying to do what he wanted to do.
Even though there was a slight rift between them, a crack in the previously unwavering trust he had placed in his brother, he still found it easier to be in the house when Nathan was around. When he was in college he still saw him when he dropped by because it was just a drive away. Now he was miles away, over the sea in some godforsaken place. He might as well be on another planet.
Peter had posted a letter to him that morning, asking him not to get killed and if he does he’ll take over his room and his whole CD collection. His letters were always casual, happy and undermined a current hinting that he hoped that he would come back soon. He always told Nathan he’s all right even when he wasn’t. The replies often took too long to return, so long that he didn’t even remember what he wrote for his last letter when he ripped open the envelope and finally decided the reply itself was good enough for him.
At least now he was away from home, even for a moment. Maybe he could think, could get away from the silent suffocation and lose himself in conversations and people.
The music throbbed in his head and he downed some more whiskey because he didn’t want to look as young as he actually was. His head spun and he looked over, spotting a young blonde lady standing around the doorway, a glass in her hand. She looked sad, even through her dazzling smile. Peter recognized it. She was from Vegas, they had told him earlier. Nicole or something. Father was some top shot mogul who was in New York for the weekend. She must have sensed him looking over, because she turned in his direction, red hot lips pursed.
Peter twitched a smile before quickly turning away, blushing deeply as he looked down into the translucent drink in his hand. He had barely contained the heat rushing to his cheeks and the bewildered thoughts before a girl came to sit beside him, brushing away an auburn lock before leaning over.
Peter turned.
She was eighteen, vibrant and pretty.
“Hey, I’m Charlene.”
“Peter. Nice to meet you,” he held out his hand, like he was taught all along, even though it was shaking.
“You’re so cute.” She laughed, brushing his hand away and looking him in the eye. “You don’t have to be all formal with me.”
Peter laughed, like it was a funny joke. She looked blurred under the amber lighting and he reached for the perspiring glass and downed the whole shot, feeling the alcohol burning through his veins even as he blinked and swallowed. God, she was pretty.
“How old are you, sixteen?” She smiled, twirling her glass around in her hands. She sounded quiet, embarrassed even, and Peter relaxed.
“Fifteen actually.” He almost whispered.
She tilted her glass, downing a sip and turned to him, mascara-framed eyes staring at him seriously. “Then you shouldn’t be drinking.”
Peter almost panicked, the blurred thoughts swimming through his mind and he had the disconcerting feeling that he knew that he should be panicked but he didn’t know why. Then it occurred to him that he really shouldn’t be drinking but the warm laugh interrupted his train of thoughts.
“I’m just kidding! Who cares about age anyway? It’s what you’ve experienced and done that determines your thinking and behaviour, isn’t it?”
Cute and smart. He wondered why she was interested in him at all. Then again, he didn’t give a flying fuck. After all he was here to forget, to have a good conversation for a change.
“Yeah.” He smiled back, a lopsided grin twisting on his lips. She was still smiling as she turned back to her drink, throwing him a subtle glance over her shoulder and reached for a sip again. He found himself gaping at her before quickly turning away to stare down at the table again.
There was a pause. He glanced around the room, watching as unfamiliar people mingled in the room, smelling of alcohol and smoke. Someone was passed out on the couch and he was looking at the throng of people surrounding him with a smirk when she turned to him. “So what brings you here? The booze? Thought crashing the party would be fun?”
“I… just wanted a change.” Lame, lame, lame. But it was the truth. He was sure that she would stand up now, throw him a disgusted look and saunter over to meet some other chiseled, huge guy. But she didn’t. She just leant in, so close that he could smell her perfume and feel her top brushing against his skin and she whispered over the loud music, her lips on his ear.
“I know what you mean.” A connection. She smiled, sat back on her seat.
“So you don’t know anyone here?” Charlene was yelling again, trying to get her voice over the loud bass.
“Not really…” He blurted, the words slipping out of his mouth without much thought.
“Not much fun, huh?” She sighed impatiently. He was about to say something when she shoved out her chair away from the table.
“You know what? I think I’ve had enough myself.” Charlene stood up purposefully, sequined top shimmering under the dimmed lighting. She moved over, took his hand. “Walk me home, would you?”
He nodded even though he was the one that needed walking home, stumbling out of the chair and pushing through the crowd, feeling her warm hand in his as he somehow found his way to the exit. The summer night was muggy but cool compared to his heated body and he sobered up a little when the breeze caught the beads of cold sweat on his face. Someone on the lawn shoved them both a blue concoction in paper cups and he took it when she did, downing it in one shot and feeling the fire hit his brain. He almost retched but regained his balance and tossed the paper cup on the grass, moving out onto the sidewalk.
He had a hard time concentrating so he could put one foot in front of the other without tripping. She caught him, giggling and he laughed, trying to tell the lights not to spin too much. They were barely a block away, hearing the cars on the street when he felt her tugging against him.
“Pete…” She was holding his hand, pulling; pulling him into someplace dark away from the streetlights that smelled damp and like cigarettes. Her hands were soft but firm on his wrist and he stumbled along, falling onto her when she stopped.
Her hands were all over him, on his chest and his hips, pulling him close roughly. She leaned in and he found himself kissing back, sloppily, tongue clumsy and sluggish. Hands were all over him, under his shirt, behind his neck pushing him closer and he froze, his hands hanging limply by his side. A breeze skated over the damp skin on his exposed torso and he was jolted into a moment of clear thought.
Shit, this wasn’t how he imagined it. He was scared. Shit, shit, shit.
Then it was all heat again when she grabbed his hands by the wrist, placing them around her waist, feeling her body moving beneath the coarse sequins.
“You’re good, so good.” She moaned into his ear. His hands were still around her waist, unsure of whether to move.
She moved away, pried his hands from her, and looked at him with the sultry eyes. Her eyes changed, hardening even as she smiled.
“I bet you’re good money too, hon.”
That was the last he heard before he felt the hard punch landing on his face, a kick in the groin as he collapsed onto the ground.
Peter woke up with the sting of alcohol in his mouth and the sickly tang of garbage mingling with cigarette smoke lingering in the air. The walls were spinning, he retched as he sat up, trying to open his heavy eyelids. His shirt was torn. His pants were still on, zipped. Thank God for the small things.
He reached for his wallet.
It was not there. A few coins jingled in his pocket as he frantically rummaged through them.
He had been robbed.
Fuck, he didn’t even know whether Charlene was her real name.
He walked down, stumbling towards the nearest public phone and instinctively dialling the number for his brother’s office. He was halfway through punching the numbers when he realised Nathan was away. Nathan couldn’t help him. No, he didn’t need help. He was fine. He was perfectly fine by himself. He didn’t need Nathan.
Peter raked a hand roughly through his tangled locks. He breathed, feeling hurt all over. His back ached and his hips were sore. Gods, what did he do? What did he do?
If Nathan… Nathan could just come and pick him up, drive him back home. He would yell at him, ask him what the hell he was thinking and say you should be thankful you’re alive. Peter didn’t care. He didn’t care if he was yelled at because he knew Nathan would always forgive him. He always did.
He gathered his torn shirt in his fingers, staring at the phone for a long time before lifting the receiver up. He had to call his mother.
He looked at the numbers hovering in front of him for a moment even as he dialled.
Even if Nathan were here he would probably yell at him again, yell at him for his stupidity and all the things that he knew he was. But somehow, he really didn’t mind if Nathan were yelling at him that very moment.
The silence was much, much worse.
--
Peter never told Nathan about that, even though his mother knew too much about it.
Nathan didn’t tell him about Avery either. He had already decided not to say anything even as he packed his duffel bag and slapped the other officers on their shoulders because they were going home. They were going home after the war and that was something to celebrate.
He would be home that evening and that was all that mattered.
--
Peter didn’t know why, but he wandered into the playroom the very evening that Nathan was scheduled to arrive back from his deployment. It was over, the peacekeeping operation was over. They would call Nathan again when they needed him for another war.
The playroom was dusty. No one had used it in a while. The wan sunlight filtered into the room, showering the speckles of dust in the air into golden sparkles, bathing the room in a warm aura.
Peter walked over, looked at the shelves. He picked up the helicopter with double rotors that could actually fly, and then put it back again. The red barnyard housed all the farm animals he used to play with, complete with the fencing for the cows and horses. Then he came to the line of tin soldiers Nathan used to play with when he was a kid. Peter didn’t play with them much, he realised.
There was a soldier lying on its side on the shelf, very out of formation compared to the other stoic soldiers standing straight up in various poses. Peter reached over, taking the fallen soldier between his fingertips and making it stand again. He tried again. It fell. The soldier next to it fell along with it. That one stood back again when he tried. He tried again with the fallen soldier. It fell again and he stopped trying.
He shook his head, laughing at himself for looking at their old toys and decided that he needed to change into something better because they always had a good dinner when Nathan came back home.
--
Peter remembered bouncing on the balls of his feet at the airport, all the while stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to remain nonchalant. People pushed by as they jostled around, hurrying to their destinations even as the announcements echoed in the stark hallway.
He had wondered whether to follow his parents to the airport in the first place or just stay at home and pretend it was nothing huge that Nathan was coming back after months away in the Navy. He hadn’t seen Nathan much in the first place before he left anyway, and the bitter tang of the memory when his unwavering trust had been shaken still lingered with him.
Unfortunately, his aunt hadn’t given him much choice, telling him it was nonsense that he should be staying at home when all the relatives gathered at the airport for Nathan’s arrival and shooing him into the car, though not before criticising his casual attire.
So here he was, shuffling on his feet as he stared ahead at the arrival gate, waiting with a whole crowd of people waiting as he was.
“I’m glad Nathan’s coming back. He’s been such a great boy. I can’t wait to see him again.” He overheard his aunt tell his uncle and suddenly it was the disappointment in his father’s eyes all over again. He swallowed, looking ahead but not seeing. He needed water. Water would be good.
“I-I’ll go get some water.” Peter told his mother, who was beside him and pushed away before she could answer.
He walked to the nearest store, picked out a plastic bottle of water and tossed two crumpled dollar bills on the counter. The generic female voice boomed out Nathan’s flight arrival in four different languages above him as he popped open the lid and downed the water in gulps.
Peter finished the whole bottle and tossed it into a nearby recycling bin before walking back to the arrival gate, almost telling himself not to run.
Nathan was just out when Peter made it to the gate. He didn’t look like the Nathan he remembered, not with the crew cut and the tan and the big rucksack on his shoulders. He saw his father walk up to his big brother, clap him on his shoulder and giving him a hug.
Peter waited until after Nathan had been smothered by cheek-to-cheek greetings by his aunts and hearty claps by his uncles before he wandered forward.
“Hey, Pete.” Nathan flashed his brilliant smile as he put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. Peter couldn’t help but grin back.
“Hey.”
“So how’s school? Life treating you well?” Nathan asked as they manoeuvred through the crowd, hoisting his backpack higher up on his shoulders.
“It’s… cool.” Peter shrugged and they walked together.
They were out in the parking lot, the hot air hitting him like a brick wall after the hour wait in the air-conditioning in the airport. The driver was already outside waiting for them, smartly dressed in the gleaming car.
Nathan and Peter sat in the backseat. When Nathan collapsed in, he smelled the pungent scent of air freshener mingling with the musky smell of leather and wondered what he smelled like, even though he had tried to scrub himself clean from all the dirt and grime before he came home. Showers were a rare commodity during war. They just got used to the smell after a while.
War.
No, he couldn’t think like that. He was back here with his family. Some things just happened. It was war, people get killed. He should move on.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked suddenly.
Nathan didn’t answer at first. He just looked at Peter. He had sworn that he had fooled everyone. Fooled them with the carefree look in his eyes and the smiling façade he used to hide the turmoil of emotions beneath him because he cared too much.
He cleared his throat, forced a smile as he nodded.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
Peter saw it. The hollowness he had tried so hard to hide.
The car accelerated and suddenly Nathan’s bag collapsed onto him. The trunk was full of their father’s golf equipment and he hadn’t bothered to dump his bag in there. A pair of socks rolled out as Nathan pushed the bag away, suddenly breathless as he heaved the bag between them and stuffed it in between the seats.
Something hit Nathan on the head, rolled along his shoulders. Peter snorted even as Nathan looked down to see the pair of blue socks dotted with rocket ships on his lap. The socks Peter had stuffed into his bag before he left as a gag. Peter used to wear them when he was a kid, his lucky socks, he said. Nathan remembered stuffing it under the bunk bed when he arrived, fervently praying that no one would ask about the brightly coloured children socks. He could never bear to throw it away.
“Did you wear them?” Peter grinned.
Nathan tried to look back at him with the most threatening look he could summon, even as he felt a wave of laughter churning in his chest.
“It’ll look good with those shined boots, you know. It’ll bring out the colour in your eyes.” Peter snorted despite trying to keep a mock stern face.
And Nathan let go.
He laughed, hurling the pair of socks back at Peter as hard as he could.
They both laughed. Laughed together like they haven’t done in a long time.
“Stop it, you two.” Angela Petrelli turned around from her seat in front, stern but a twinkle in her eyes. “Honestly, you’d think I'd have raised two mature boys by now.”
He saw the life, the fire in Peter’s eyes and he laughed harder.
He saw something else Peter too, the empty shell behind his eyes. He wanted to ask, wanted to protect his little brother and beat up whatever came his way. Sometimes he just wanted to whack some sense into his brother and instead of letting himself find out how unfair the world was the hard way. But it wasn’t possible. He has his life; Peter should have his own too.
Peter was hurt and it hurt to think that he wasn’t around for him.
Just like he wasn’t around for Avery.
Nathan fought in two more wars after that and he sometimes still thought of Avery.
He always thought of Peter. He had to come home to Peter.
--
He was his lifeline.
He recognised the hollow ghost in his eyes because he had it in his own.
Part V:Frozen