89 Coping
Gabriel handed the keys to Peter as they left the Petrelli house. "Can you drive?" His voice sounded distant and strained. Peter nodded silently, studying the other man's face. Gabriel looked away from him, turning his head so Peter couldn't see him. Peter exhaled softly and went to the car, getting in the driver's side.
Once in the vehicle, Gabriel put his right hand over his face, index finger and thumb resting on opposite sides of his heavy brows, his hand concealing his eyes and much of his expression. He faced away, but Peter saw that hand trembling. He drove to his apartment in silence.
Gabriel looked up at the building, thinking he would have rather gone to his own house, but he hadn't said. This was good enough. He didn't want to explain to Heidi anyway and there would have to be an explanation for why he was having a breakdown. He would have to make one for why he was late, later. Maybe she'd just think he and Peter had been having sex and she wouldn't ask. He knew he should have found such a ridiculous thought amusing - that explaining extramarital sex was more palatable than his emotions. He was too bottled up at the moment to do so.
They walked up the stairs, for him a rapid trudge. He led, because he'd left the car first and waited at the door to the stairs the minimum amount of time to be polite, for Peter to join him. He heard Peter getting out his keys as they reached the floor of his apartment. There was no need. Gabriel waved his hand forward and bent his mind to the task. They heard the mechanisms of the locks working. Peter put his keys back in his pocket. With a second gesture, the bolts slid back and the door swung inward.
Gabriel walked to the middle of the living room and looked around. When he thought he was suitably private, he could end Maury's command and let himself go. It had been a strange kindness, one that Maury's gruff insistence that he did it out of selfishness could not quite hide. He was starting to understand there was more to the elder Parkman than he'd thought for so long.
Gabriel still couldn't understand it. It didn't fit with the rest of Maury's character - the sadist, ultimately selfish, a bastard who went out of his way to hurt others, who had a man shot to pieces for taking up a minute of his time, who hadn't even been moved much by Gabriel's murder of his own son. Gabriel was sure Maury knew it was a murder, yet he'd said nothing to use that against him, to destroy his life with it. It was a mystery for another time.
Peter put his hand on Gabriel's shoulder, reminding him he wasn't alone. He shrugged him off, stepping away. Peter let him. He glanced at his lover, but his eyes didn't rise above the other man's knees. "Leave me alone, please," he whispered hoarsely and walked into Peter's bedroom. He cast his eyes about, looking for something, he knew not what. The door to the bathroom beckoned. That will do. Peter had not followed him. It was a relief. He needed to be alone, especially after Peter listening to his thoughts last time. He resented that intrusion.
He stripped, putting his clothes in careful order like Nathan did. It had been Nathan who had done it to her. Nathan's thoughts and mannerisms were still heavy in his mind as the memories threatened to replay behind his lids. He blinked it away. It wasn't yet time. He turned on the shower, recalling Bennet's observation about the cold. He set it somewhere in the middle, thinking he just wanted to be normal, if that was possible, even for a little while. He shut the door.
He climbed in and stood under the water, then sank to the floor and began to shake. He guarded his thoughts. He would not project this. Peter had already seen it, but he hadn't seen Gabriel's reaction to it. This was private. He would keep it that way. He cried in anguish and horror at what his hands had done. He'd been wearing the face of her father, pretending to be him. He was surprised the episode hadn't cracked Nathan right then and there, but instead what had ended Nathan had been Gabriel's love for Heidi. Of course he'd known with Claire he wouldn't kill her. She might hate him for it, but she'd be alive to do it.
He hadn't quite betrayed her. He'd asked for her permission, even if he enlisted a heavy dose of duplicity to get it. She hadn't known what she was getting into. He'd forced her friend to watch - not intentionally, it wasn't his idea, but he couldn't get rid of her once she was there. Gretchen's sounds had been the more miserable of the two. Claire was a very strong woman and she had acted even stronger for Gretchen's benefit.
The water washed away his tears, but not the stain he felt on his soul. He got out when the skin on his fingers and toes had started to pucker. He dried off carefully and mechanically. He opened the door to find the bedroom empty. He was thankful for that. He turned and hung up the towel neatly and went to the bed. He glanced at the open door to the living room. It was silent. He wondered if Peter had left. He hoped not. He didn't want him at hand, but he didn't want him too far away either.
He climbed into Peter's bed, the first time he'd ever slipped between the sheets. Their entertainment had always been taken on top of the spread, not under. It felt like he was trespassing on something that wasn't his, but he breathed in Peter's scent lingering faintly on the bedclothes and he couldn't resist. It was more of a comfort for Nathan than the man himself would have been at the moment. Gabriel buried his face in the pillow and inhaled, wrapping the sheets around himself and remembering a family he never had, the love of a brother he'd lost when he died and a daughter he'd cruelly tortured.
He pulled memories from the cloth. Although Peter had washed the sheets recently and the trace chemical reactions had obliterated anything from further back, he had still logged nearly 24 hours of sleep since then. Gabriel covered himself in the impressions of his lover sleeping, resting, and content. He shook in dry sobs for a moment, then it passed and he relaxed. He felt drowsy - so much emotional energy spent. He rubbed his face on Peter's pillow again and fell asleep.
He woke an hour later to the sheet being carefully lifted. Peter slid in next to him with slow, stealthy movements, unaware Gabriel had woken. He touched the other man lightly, then eased his body next to Gabriel's, spooning him from behind. After a minute, he murmured softly, "You're not asleep, are you?"
Gabriel shook his head and turned in Peter's arms to embrace him. He nuzzled the man's neck intimately, but without passion or interest. It was comforting just to have someone to touch. He smelled like pizza. Gabriel smiled a little. Life did go on - people ate, drank and slept no matter how he was feeling. Peter held him as he sighed. His thoughts, now stirred, would not let him rest again.
He scooted back and sat up, putting a little space between them. He pushed down the sheet and took Peter's right hand, as the other man was lying on his left side. He lifted it and touched the thin skin on the inside of the wrist. Gabriel turned his eyes to Peter's and asked, "May I?"
Peter's brow furrowed slightly, not sure what the other man was asking. "Touch me? Sure."
Gabriel nodded. He held Peter's wrist in his hand in a sure grip, pulled out to the side and upwards. He ran his finger from the base of his palm down the inside of his arm, across the crook of his elbow and to his shoulder. His eyes were distant, seeing, remembering something else.
Peter slowly sucked in air as he realized what Gabriel was reliving, coming to terms with. He twitched, recalling how close he'd come to being a victim, then relaxed himself. Gabriel wasn't hurting him and he didn't seem enthralled, or in danger of becoming so, to the Hunger. If anything it reminded Peter of how, so many months ago now, Gabriel had paced restlessly around Peter's empty dining room, seeming to recount for himself how things had played out in that room nearly a year before that at Thanksgiving.
Gabriel traced out on Peter's body what he'd done to Claire, what he'd done to her twice and almost a third time. He'd cut the skin along the seams - such a strange choice of seams, but it was where the Hunger compelled him to cut. He followed the line to Peter's chest and then upward to a little below his chin. He hesitated and looked at Peter's face. It was calm and accepting. He looked back at where his fingers were. Here it parted, going up each side of the neck and behind the ear, where it stopped.
He let his hand slip behind Peter's head, cradling it. Peter tilted his head slightly as if expecting a kiss. It was far from Gabriel's mind at the moment. He lowered Peter's right arm and put his forehead to the other man's. He rocked it back and forth for a moment, eyes shut. Peter reached out and touched his side in an uncertain caress, trying to be there for him and not being quite sure what he should do.
Gabriel turned to face away. The rest of the process was a peeling down of the skin. It came away from the body with surprising ease, needing to be cut away only at the umbilical stump and the groin. The hands and feet required special attention. Then there was the flaying, or maybe it was more properly called flensing. He didn't know. There was probably a word for it, where one cleaned the skin and removed the moist tissue from the interior of it, leaving only the thin, supple and resilient outer layer. He didn't want to know the word. It was sickening enough that he knew the process.
He put his hands over his face, remembering taking her in, absorbing her power through that layer of dermis. He'd explored every inch of it, even parts he should never touch on Claire, though he felt relief that he hadn't obsessed over those portions in front of her - no more than any other part, at least. In the beginning she'd screamed when he'd cut her. Then as he'd begun to remove the skin from her torso she'd pleaded. When he took off her face, she'd begged. By the time he was peeling it from the rest of her body, she only whimpered.
When he came back a second time, she tried to bargain with him, to negotiate. Maybe she'd seen some flicker of reason in his face. More likely, he thought, she was just desperate. When he did not respond, she'd fallen silent. The cries of her friend filled the void. While he was treating that product, Claire screamed at him in impotent rage until she was exhausted, until she could force no sound from her throat.
The third time he approached her, Claire had asked him hoarsely and simply, to stop, to please stop. She'd urged him to control himself, to leave her and her friend alone, because Nathan wouldn't do this to her, Nathan wouldn't keep hurting her. She was crying. It had wracked him. He'd fallen to his knees. And indeed, Nathan had found a way to stop.
He breathed out, bowed over on his knees, entirely in that moment a year ago. He had staggered to his feet afterwards… He jerked suddenly at a touch on his back, spinning in shock and bringing up his hand. Peter was knocked back into the headboard with telekinesis, his head hitting the wall above, the headboard giving a loud crack.
It was Gabriel though who cried out, "Oh my God! Peter!" He fairly leapt at him. Peter brought both hands up in surprise to ward him off and Gabriel stopped immediately, a stricken, terrified expression on his face. He sank down, his eyes not leaving Peter's. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Peter… I didn't mean to do that to you. I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have. I was scared. I'm so… so…"
He trailed off to silence as Peter reached out for him slowly and stroked the side of his face. He hooked his fingers under Gabriel's jaw and tugged with a light pressure, motioning with his other hand too that it was okay for Gabriel to finish coming to him, which he did. Gabriel began repeating, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry" until Peter hushed him.
"Sshhh. Calm down. Calm down. Easy. I startled you. You didn't do it on purpose. It's okay. I love you. I'm fine. It's fine. Easy." He stroked Gabriel's back as the other man calmed and swallowed nervously, clinging to him. After several minutes, Gabriel rocked back, sitting up straight. He stared at the wall behind the bed, getting himself under control.
Peter looked up at his face and saw it clear of emotion, becoming blank and neutral. He frowned sadly, running the fingers of his right hand over Gabriel's left shoulder. The other man didn't react. Peter leaned forward and over, bringing his face to kiss Gabriel on the chest a couple inches above his left nipple. This time he responded, bringing his right hand over and running it through Peter's hair. He smoothed it back and tucked the errant strands behind Peter's ear.
Gabriel asked, "Is there any pizza left?"
Peter chuckled. "Yeah. About half. It's in the fridge. Might still be warm even."
Gabriel rolled off the bed and walked over to the dresser, where his clothes were arranged in a neat stack. He began dressing. Peter leaned back and watched him, realizing Gabriel was handling his clothes like Nathan - all folded and orderly. He was even shaking them out carefully to avoid wrinkles. He smiled. Little whispers of my brother there. He felt an ache in his heart.
It occurred to him that Gabriel had not been with him as Nathan since Heidi was abducted - not in public and not in private. Even at Heidi's, where he apparently used both faces so interchangeably as to require pulling a whammy on the staff, he'd been Gabriel every time except when he'd been going out with Heidi the day before Valentine's. It had happened too much now to be a coincidence. Peter said to him, "Hey, come here, will you?"
Gabriel walked over, buttoning his shirt. Peter said, "Is there a reason why you're never Nathan with me anymore?"
Gabriel's eyes searched Peter's face, but his own was carefully blank. "Will you accept me as I am?"
Peter inhaled slightly, blinking. "Yes."
Gabriel finished buttoning his shirt. He nodded and leaned down to kiss him on the mouth, softly. "That's why. I'm not Nathan." He looked back and forth between Peter's eyes for a moment, very sober. He kissed him again, his lips soft and warm and gentle. He walked out of the bedroom.
It wasn't a coincidence, Peter thought. He was doing it precisely because Peter kept trying to see him as someone he wasn't. He let his head fall back against the wall. There was an impression in the sheetrock where he'd been thrown against it. He'd have to get that fixed. He remembered something Maury had said to him only a few days after returning from France. 'Denial. For some it's just a river in Egypt, for others it's a way of life.' He'd been looking right at Peter when he said it. He sure has my number.
Other moments of remembered dialogue came to him: 'I'm as much Nathan as I can be for you. You tried to make me Nathan… you neutralized me for months because I wasn't enough like your brother to suit you. Losing Heidi broke me. It broke the last of the programming to be Nathan, pieces I'd thought I wanted - I'd kept because it made it easier to be him. I grew up acting like this. I'm not going to forget it after a year of pretending to be Nathan Petrelli… It's what you wanted, isn't it?'
That last line reverberated in Peter's mind. It's what I wanted. But it wasn't, not really. He wanted Nathan alive. It's what he'd done this whole thing for and no matter how many times Gabriel told him it hadn't worked, a part of him still clung to the idea that it might have… at least a little. And it had, a little. Peter felt a tear slide down his face. It just hadn't worked as much as he wanted.
Gabriel wasn't as crude or vulgar as Sylar had been. He had better manners. Sometimes he folded his clothes neatly or obsessed about how Peter looked. He knew things about Nathan's past, spoke French, liked to fly. He loved him, loved Peter… a genuine and complete love. Yet it wasn't even entirely Nathan's love. Gabriel wanted to take it further. He was not a man for middle ground, for compromise - not unless forced to it. He didn't have Nathan's kinks or all of his preferences. He had different ones - his own. Peter had accepted him in his life at first because he was so good at being Nathan and seemed to genuinely want to be him. Now Gabriel was trying to get him to accept him as who he really was. Peter had thought he'd known. He thought he'd accepted it. He'd been wrong. It wasn't that he didn't love Gabriel, but just…
Peter got up from the bed morosely and went in the bathroom. He cleaned his face. This wasn't the time for it. He had to leave for work in an hour. That gave him enough time to get dressed and have leisurely good-byes with Gabriel, but not enough to work out all his issues. Denial. It lingered in his mind. He tried to shake it out. He just needed to get through his shift at work. That was all. He dropped the towel on the side of the sink and got dressed.