Fic: Ritual (17): I Don't Know Who I Am Without You
Title: Ritual (17): I Don't Know Who I Am Without You
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 2x01, "Four Months Later"
Word Count: 4600
Warnings: Incest, m/m sex, alcohol, language
Summary: The emotionally shattered Nathan has a drink (or five) and hides in memories of loving Peter, and Peter loving him. Meanwhile, an ocean away, Peter dreams. (Almost everything in this story takes place pre-series.)
Previous rituals:
(1) :: (2) :: (3) :: (4) :: (5) :: (6) :: (7) :: (8) :: (9) :: (10) :: (11) :: (12) :: (13) :: (14) :: (15) :: (16)
Heroes and its characters: not mine. It sure is inspirational, though.
FEBRUARY 2007.
my love, where are you, my love? you are my life...
****
He had spent almost his entire life believing that Peter would never go away. He'd always been the one to leave, to make promises, assuming that Peter would always be there when he returned. He never imagined Peter would be the one to go, and Nathan to wait.
Now, he'd have given anything to have Peter back again. He'd have given anything to see him again, touch him again, hear his voice, have an chance to apologize, and say, "You were right. Now I understand. I understand everything." And for once in his life, there was absolutely nothing that Nathan could do but wait, bottle chasing bottle in a vain attempt to dull the pain.
He wished he could dream Peter into being, just go to sleep and let his mind spin a web of creation. But Nathan wasn't the dreamer; that was Peter's domain. If Nathan was able to be with Peter in his dreams, he would gladly go to sleep and never wake up.
Instead, the longing consumed his waking life.
Now, he understood.
Sometimes, in the worst depths, he thought he heard Peter's voice, over his shoulder, a husky whisper in his ear.
all I want in this whole world is you
It wasn't real. It was a memory. Peter was gone.
No, not gone, as long as Nathan believed. As long as Nathan ignored all the facts and all the logic, Peter wasn't gone, he was coming back someday. Any minute.
Any minute now.
Nathan became superstitious and talismanic. He spent days in Peter's apartment, constantly fondling and rearranging Peter's things. He counted the number of steps that connected the plaza and the apartment, a circuit which he made every day with a leaden step, looking into the sky at the end of every block, and seeing nothing but the occasional faraway airplane. He lost hours holding Peter's red-and-blue hooded sweatshirt to his face, breathing in the rapidly fading traces of Peter's scent, and fell asleep every night holding a pillow from Peter's bed, squeezing it gently in his arms, kissing the soft flannel pillowcase, rubbing himself raw against it, pretending. But no matter how fucked up Nathan got, never for a moment, did he feel he was doing anymore than humping a pillow and being pathetic.
The pillowcase was nothing like Peter's skin.
He dimly remembered that there was once a wife and children and an SUV and an office and a headquarters and a campaign and an ambition, and that he had kidded himself that they belonged to him.
He tried to eat what Peter liked to eat, but nothing had any flavor except alcohol. Alcohol at least tasted bad. So he tried to drink what Peter liked to drink, but Peter was never specific; he'd drink absolutely anything. So Nathan tried that. It worked; Nathan got drunk. Nathan stayed drunk. It didn't make him feel better, but he wouldn't let himself stop. He felt like shit. He deserved to feel like shit. Peter was gone. Everyone else was gone, too - thrown away, driven away - but he could have dealt with that, if he'd had Peter.
If he knew where Nakamura was, Nathan would have put a gun to his head until he took him back to where things could be fixed, or at least, back when things were simpler, back when he knew who he was. For now, though, touching the spine of each book on the shelves, neatening the pencils on the desk and the piles of mail on the kitchen counter, sitting in the red chair next to the door, pouring shots of whiskey, waiting, listening, remembering, believing without believing.
where are you? i was just in your arms a moment ago... i am lost without you
****
JULY 1992.
"It's your birthday tomorrow," Nathan said. He'd gotten the fire started, and the cookpot of water was on to warm up the MREs they would have for dinner, along with some Oreo cookies and two slightly bruised apples. Nathan had brought the MREs for Peter, who was curious about what they tasted like; Nathan had told Peter that they were "surprisingly tasty", which didn't exactly mean "good", but it was too late now.
"Yeah," replied Peter, his face too miserably immobile to be pouting. "And I'm stuck out here."
"But I thought..." Nathan grinned and ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I thought you wanted to come camping with me."
"Not really," Peter said.
"Dammit, Peter..."
"I said I wanted to hang out with you," Peter clarified, squinting at Nathan, the evening sun slanting through the trees and casting leaf-shaped shadows on his freckled, slightly sunburned cheeks. "It's the last chance I'll have. And you wanted to go camping. So..." He shrugged, and resumed chewing on his thumbnail, already bitten down so far that his cuticles were bleeding. He sucked the thumb, wiped it on the stained hem of his T-shirt, then started chewing on his pinky fingernail. "I don't really care."
"Quit doing that." Nathan handed Peter one of the apples. "Here, ya hungry?"
"No."
Nathan turned away, frowning. "Peter..." He sighed and shrugged, adding fresh, unnecessary tinder to the fire. He had tried to make Peter make the fire, but Peter's pyramid of twigs and grasses was too damp and too big, and it did nothing but smolder, and Nathan had to use his lighter anyway. When Nathan was Peter's age, he could not only build a fire and light it using a stick and a stone with a hole in it, but he could shoot, clean and cook a rabbit, change a tire by himself, build a rope bridge, and speak enough conversational Spanish to get by. Peter could barely tie a lark's-head knot, hemp rope hurt his hands, and the only Spanish he knew, he'd learned from Sesame Street. "Where would you rather be?"
"Nowhere," Peter said.
"C'mon. Sure you can think of somewhere."
"No, I mean nowhere," Peter insisted. "I don't want to be anywhere."
Nathan turned back toward Peter and stared, furrowing his brow. Peter just stood there, chewing and sucking his fingernails, the laces of his hiking boots unraveling and drooping onto the underbrush. "Pete, you're too young to be talking like that. Actually, it's never right to talk like that. You can't be 'nowhere'. Even when you're dead, you're somewhere. Your body is somewhere. You don't get to stop existing just because... I don't know. What's the matter? Tie your shoes."
Peter bent and tied. "Nothing," he mumbled, bent over.
"Come over here. Sit down. You're tired, aren't you? It was a long hike for a little guy." They had gone on a four-mile loop, almost no grade, the upstate countryside around them overflowing with summer beauty and the sun blazing down on them. Peter had walked along, at first smiling and noticing things, but gradually trudging along silently, with his head down and eyes on the ground.
Peter obediently came and sat on one of the big rocks bounding the fire pit of their campsite. They were a good two miles away from anybody else - not as remote as Nathan would have liked, and not as punishing of a hike as he craved, but this would do for an overnight with his little brother. "This isn't going to be the last chance you'll have to hang out with me," he said, draping his arm across Peter's thin shoulders and drawing him in for a short, brisk hug.
"You're going away next week," Peter said, not responding to the hug, "and you're going to go off and get killed."
"Uh, no, I won't." Nathan grinned. "I'm not."
"People are getting killed. Soldiers. I saw it in the news and I read it in the paper. And in a magazine. People get killed in basic training."
"Not me, though. I've been through most of that stuff already, and I'm getting even more training now. I know what I'm doing. I'm not reckless. And I'm not going to get killed."
Peter didn't move, and he blinked, as if processing what Nathan had said, but he didn't smile and his face didn't get any happier. "Well, even so. You're going to be in the military for a long time. You're gone now. You're going away for good. You're never coming back this time."
"Pete, c'mon. You're getting all worked up for nothing." Nathan sighed, and thought about hugging Peter again, but Peter was all knotted up, and for some reason, Nathan didn't dare try it again right then. Peter sat staring at the campfire, and the cookpot beginning to steam. "Look," Nathan continued, "I'm not going away for good. But I am going away for a while. It's just my life, you know? This is something I want to do. I can't... I can't just stay here because you want me to. Nobody would ever get anything done that way. We have to... sometimes make sacrifices for each other. I wouldn't whine and tell you that you were going to die if you wanted to go off to ... I dunno, fencing camp or something."
"I don't like fencing," Peter said.
"It was just an example."
"The water's boiling," Peter said dully.
"Okay..." Nathan got up, and put the appropriate food packets into the cookpot, and stole an Oreo for himself. He chewed it thoroughly before he swallowed, giving himself a moment before he spoke. "I can see you're just determined to be miserable, so I'm going to let you. But I want you to know that I'm not going away to hurt you. I'm going away to do my civic duty and help protect innocent people from bad guys, and challenge myself, see what I can do. What I'm capable of. I believe in myself. I believe I can excel at this. I'm going to be a pilot. I'm gonna fly jets, Peter. Isn't that exciting? Or maybe 'copters; I haven't decided yet. It's up to me, though; I passed the aptitude tests for both. And when you grow up, you can decide what you want to do, and then go do it. You can be anything you want to be, and do anything you want to do. Except be nowhere. You can never be nowhere, because I will always love you - so you'll always be with me." He smiled tentatively at Peter, and Peter gazed back at him, his green-brown eyes wide and trusting and catching the sunlight, still frightened, but braver, stronger now.
Peter even smiled a little bit. "You've got Oreo all over your teeth," he said.
Nathan sighed slowly and patiently, then leaned down and kissed Peter damply on the forehead. "Now you've got Oreo on your face," he replied.
"What? Gross!" Peter scrubbed his face with his sleeve, and seeing nothing, scrubbed harder.
Nathan walked toward the fire and laughed. "Okay?" he said, looking back over his shoulder.
"Okay," Peter replied. Smiling wider. "Okay."
Around the campfire, as night settled around them, Peter read aloud a few chapters of The Outsiders, currently his favorite book, holding up his flashlight to illuminate the pages. After a while Nathan could tell that Peter just knew the book almost by heart; the flashlight was focused more on the ground than on the book. "Okay, that's enough, Ponyboy," Nathan said after a while. "You're going to wreck your eyes like that. It's time to go to sleep."
Peter closed the book, playing the flashlight into the woods surrounding them. "Hey, if I'm Pony, you have to be Soda," he said. "Because Sodapop's the really handsome one."
"Oh, c'mon, Pete. That guy's a wuss."
"No, he's awesome. And all the girls love him. And his brother -" A sudden sharp crackle and snap emerged from the darkness, coming from where the beam of the flashlight had gone. Peter dropped the flashlight and jumped up. "Oh shit, what was that?" he whispered in a panic.
"You're too young to cuss," Nathan replied mildly, but he stood up too, and picked up the flashlight. "It's nothing. Probably a stray dog."
Peter gave a low moan of fear, the pitch slowly rising until he was keening softly under his breath like a frightened animal. He gulped and said, "A d-dog? Really? Can you see anything?"
Nathan laughed, the sound too loud in their quiet circle, far away from the sound of cars or people or electricity. Almost in response to Nathan's laugh, the faint whirring of crickets got louder, too, and a night bird gave a low, eerie hoo-woo. "Nah, I don't see anything," he replied. "Maybe it's a possum. Or a raccoon. Or maybe a rabid squirrel." Nathan couldn't help laughing.
Peter wasn't. "Or a bear."
"There's no bears around here, Pete."
"I'm going in the tent," Peter said.
"Good, since that's where you were going anyway, you big wuss. Imagine being scared of a possum."
"Screw you," said Peter, glaring at him, and opening the tent flap.
"Don't be such an old woman, Peter, jeez."
"I hope it's a skunk!" Peter yelled. "A rabid skunk!"
Nathan chuckled some more, then thought about the skunk option, and followed.
It was a warm night, so Nathan took off his jeans and T-shirt before getting into his sleeping bag. Peter looked small and pale and worried, only his face peeking out of his bag. "G'night," Nathan said, closing his eyes and beginning to drop off.
A louder crackle came from just a few feet away from the tent, followed by a shaky squeak of distress. "...Nathan..."
Nathan sighed heavily. "What is it, Pete?"
"Can I zip my sleeping bag with yours? I... I'm really sorry, but I'm really scared it's a bear. I know you hate me, but I'm really scared and I just know I'll never get to sleep."
Once again, Nathan couldn't help laughing, but quietly and gently. "It's not a bear. God, Pete. And I don't hate you. Just... okay, c'mon." Nathan unzipped his bag completely, and then lay back, closing his eyes again, praying for sleep, as Peter maneuvered the zippers of the two bags together. He then snuggled up against Nathan, resting his head in the hollow between chest and shoulder, arms around Nathan's midsection. "You're twelve years old tomorrow. When are you gonna grow up?" Nathan murmured, his voice soft. Without even thinking about it, he reached over with his left arm, and stroked Peter's silky straight hair, kissing his forehead.
"I dunno," Peter whispered. "I just feel safer right here." And was instantly asleep.
Nathan lay awake, drawing his fingers slowly, slowly over Peter's hair, shifting himself a little to make the process more comfortable, opening his eyes to watch his brother sleep. He was small for his age, fragile-armed, delicate skin as soft as milk, but quickly freckling and browning in the sun. His body emitted enormous amounts of heat, and Nathan was glad he'd taken off his shirt. His slow breathing calmed Nathan, slowing his breathing to the same sleepy pace.
"So beautiful," he whispered out loud, and kissed Peter again. "I love you." Almost as if he'd heard him, Peter squirmed a little, made a nose-wrinkling frown, took a deep breath that must have smelled strongly of Nathan's sweat, and relaxed in a way that Nathan wished that he himself could relax. That comfort, trust, being in someone's arms, held, protected and safe. It felt better than anything in the world to be able to provide that to Peter. "I love you," he whispered again. "You'll always be right here. You'll always be with me."
****
please let me stay... you're so beautiful, so amazing, the best
touch me... oh please touch me and breathe into me and keep me from drowning
help
I need you
I can't sleep...
...this isn't sleep because I can't wake up
I'm so tired and lost and I can't feel anything
you, though - there you are and I know this love and this makes sense
it's all I have, all I know, this wanting you, it is all I've ever had
keep me here, keep me, let me stay, don't let go
****
DECEMBER 1999.
"Want to come over to my place and have fun?"
What Nathan said to Peter.
"Let Pete stay the night. We'll be here for presents in the morning, I promise."
What Nathan said to his mother and father.
"I'm not trying to make demands on you. I haven't said anything, or asked for anything, or felt entitled to anything. I've been pretending like nothing never happened, like you said. I've been trying to forget about it, like you said. I've been good, okay?"
What Peter said to Nathan.
"Yes, you've been good. This is my gift to you, for staying on Santa's good list. You get to get out of the house on Christmas Eve." Nathan's glib reply. "What more could you want?"
In the foyer of Nathan's apartment, Nathan let his hand trail slowly over Peter's back as he closed the door. Peter took off his coat, and kept taking off clothes until they formed a damp pile next to the coat rack, and he stood there utterly naked, his pale smooth skin a challenge. "You keep it warm in here," Peter said.
Nathan took him by the shoulders and kissed him, still wearing his coat, his shoes, everything. Peter broke away after a moment, going inside. Nathan steadied his breathing and hung up his coat, then hung Peter's trousers and shirt on hangers and put them in the coat closet, gently kicking Peter's shoes in. Delaying. Keeping himself together. He didn't want it to be too obvious, though it didn't get more obvious than Peter pale and naked on the sofa, curiously watching everything Nathan did.
"Go to the bathroom," Nathan told him.
Peter smiled. "You like bathrooms."
"I like you to use them first."
"And take a shower?"
"If you need to."
"I'm confused," Peter said softly. "So I have to pretend that nothing happened - and not even come close to a flicker of saying anything to you about it, or else risk you freaking out on me, and then... when it's convenient for you... you're fine with it?"
After a moment, Nathan said truthfully, "Yeah."
Peter took a deep breath, as though about to say something, but remained speechless, looking around him at everything but Nathan, and finally closing his eyes in resignation. Before Peter could speak again, Nathan added, "That's the way it has to be, and you know it. We can't make this work. We can't make this... real. We can have fun now and again. But that's all it is - it's just fun. Just a game like any other. We have to understand and follow the rules, or else we can't play."
"You can't... control me," Peter said.
"No," replied Nathan, "you have to do it. Now, do you want to play or not?"
Nathan did not shower; he didn't need one. He sat in the bathroom and watched Peter standing under the water, not stimulating himself, but already aroused and erect, despite his unhappy and overwhelmed expression. As he stepped out of the shower, Nathan wrapped him in a towel that had been on the electric warmer, and rubbed Peter's limbs dry, arms and shoulders, sinking to his knees to dry Peter's legs and feet. He wasn't surprised when Peter brought his cock to Nathan's mouth and made a faint but demanding sound.
Nathan licked, kissed, wet his mouth and sucked, long, deep, and slow. Peter gasped. "You love that," he said. "Oh, Nathan, why do you do without it? You can have me any time you want."
Nathan sat back, rubbing his hand across his forehead. "God, Peter, because it's wrong. Don't you get that?"
Peter forced his cock back into Nathan's mouth, and Nathan moaned, grateful, went back to sucking, licking, firm and efficient. "No, I don't get it. I know why they think it's wrong - I don't get why you think it's wrong. When you know. Oh..." His breath hissed, and Nathan caught the brunt of Peter's ejaculation in his mouth, knowing nothing else as the taste spread across his palate, that sharp, vital, zinc flavor that was as repellent as it was precious. Nathan had thought that perhaps it was not the actual taste that he was after, but what it symbolized - Peter coming in his mouth - but the taste had its own extraordinary dimension, one that he felt he didn't quite understand, and would have to try again.
He stood up and kissed Peter, sharing the taste.
Peter accepted it, let it permeate his own mouth, studied and considered it. Nathan watched every detail of his face avidly, searching for meaning. Peter swallowed, and looked into Nathan's eyes, running his hands over Nathan's shirt front. He took a deep breath.
"I think I'm in love with you," he said.
Nathan just stared for a moment, then blinked as the meaning of Peter's husky-voiced words actually made it through to him. "You can't be," he replied, "that's impossible."
"How's it impossible?"
"Falling in love is... y'know, that sensation... with someone else. Someone who's not me."
"I know what it feels like," Peter whispered. "I've fought it off every day and told myself it couldn't be true. It doesn't... work that way. But if this isn't... being in love, I don't know what that is. I want you constantly. I can't stop thinking about you. Wondering what you're up to, if you're happy. Wanting every minute of the day to make you happy, trying to figure out... how I can become closer to you."
"It's called being my brother," Nathan whispered back. Tiny voices, in the most private room in a most private residence, where no one could hear them but each other. Words too huge to speak at full voice.
"No," Peter cut in, getting a look of savage intelligence and understanding on his face. "It's not. It's not. I know because... I love you as my brother, too. And it's not the same. It's more. It's ... it's really hard." Peter grasped the front of Nathan's shirt. "And I know... I know you feel the same way."
"How can you know that? Nobody knows how anybody feels. They can say one thing, and mean something else entirely."
Peter stared unrelentingly into Nathan's eyes, trapping him in their depths. "I know," he said. "I know how you feel. I just do. I know you're in love with me." He gave a soft laugh, and finally released Nathan from his gaze. "I know because I can feel how much you're hurting. I'm the only other person who could possibly understand that, because it's like that for me. Except worse, because I'm under your control."
"You're not."
"I am," Peter said. He unbuttoned Nathan's shirt, unfastened Nathan's pants, slid the garments from Nathan's body, kissed his skin with warm, dry lips. "I will do whatever you want. Whenever you want. Ever. I want you so much more... but... I will do what you tell me. If that's not to touch you again..." Peter stepped back, and the cold air rushed in. "Then I won't."
"That's not what I want," Nathan murmured.
"No?"
"No..." Nathan shook his head, feeling helpless suddenly. Peter smiled at him, comfortingly stroked Nathan's chest, took him in his arms and hugged him. Nathan gasped for breath, fighting down the pain in his chest, fighting back tears. "Oh, God, Peter, I don't know what I want."
"Maybe just a kiss?" Peter kissed his ear.
"Yeah."
"Maybe just a fuck?" Peter caressed his balls, stroked the shaft of his cock, squeezed him in just the right way to make it jump in his hand.
"Yeah," Nathan breathed.
"Maybe just let me love you? All of you? Even the bad parts? Even the dirty, shameful parts that you hate? Even the parts that make me sad... that make me want to die?" Peter's voice sharpened. Before Nathan could protest, Peter went on. "Because I do... I love all of it. I love every little scrap of you, even the parts that make me feel like... I completely suck and I have no reason to live. Ashamed of myself because I'm not better. I'm not worthy of you."
"Peter, God, no, you're... you're..."
"I can deal with all that, because I know you're in love with me too," Peter said. He kissed Nathan's lips, brushing them quickly with his tongue. "I know that beyond all that bullshit and bluster, you love me. I trust... that you love me." His face fell a little as he said this, and Nathan could see - he could feel! - that Peter was lying, too. He didn't know, and couldn't believe, and he was saying what he thought should be the truth... (just the same way Nathan did...) He only had faith, and sometimes it wasn't there, and Nathan wouldn't let him have it because Nathan was afraid of it.
I understand now, Peter, please... I understand... can you hear me? I understand now
In the bathroom, on Christmas Eve, Nathan said, nodding humbly, "I am. I do. I am."
In the bedroom, with his legs wrapped around Nathan's waist, Peter gazed up, and said, "Say it. Tell me."
And Nathan sighed, "I'm... in love with you..."
"Ah - fuck me! - yes - is that the truth? Or are you just saying that - ah!"
And Nathan was coming then, both of them were, pounding and screaming, lost in sensation, and never said that it was true; fell asleep and forgot.
And in the morning when they woke up, all soft and sweaty and wrapped around each other, Nathan kissed Peter's eyelids, and said, "Merry Christmas. That's your present. I was gonna get you a car, but I decided against it."
And there was the distance again, and Peter turned away, and made a joke, and Nathan was relieved that the intimacy was over, and they put the game away for a while.
He'd give anything.
****
please help me find and know and remember... i was something once... you were there
it's so cold... i feel the cold but it's just absence...
in space, underwater, underground
anywhere that you aren't
I don't even care that you don't love me, just let me stay... hold on to me, please
but... you do... you do love me, don't you? why do I feel that's true? how do i still believe this?
i don't know who i am without you
don't let me disappear
****
end (17)
Inspired, obviously, by "Four Months Later" and "Six Months Ago", Nathan's heretofore-unseen drinking habit (in the Ritual stories, it's Peter who drinks, so it actually works out okay for me!) and Peter's ability to link to Nathan through his dreams. This is a bit impressionistic (and spoiler-free as usual... let's see if Ritual (12) will still be okay in a few month's time!), so I hope it works. Thanks for reading.
Pairing: Peter/Nathan
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 2x01, "Four Months Later"
Word Count: 4600
Warnings: Incest, m/m sex, alcohol, language
Summary: The emotionally shattered Nathan has a drink (or five) and hides in memories of loving Peter, and Peter loving him. Meanwhile, an ocean away, Peter dreams. (Almost everything in this story takes place pre-series.)
Previous rituals:
(1) :: (2) :: (3) :: (4) :: (5) :: (6) :: (7) :: (8) :: (9) :: (10) :: (11) :: (12) :: (13) :: (14) :: (15) :: (16)
Heroes and its characters: not mine. It sure is inspirational, though.
FEBRUARY 2007.
my love, where are you, my love? you are my life...
****
He had spent almost his entire life believing that Peter would never go away. He'd always been the one to leave, to make promises, assuming that Peter would always be there when he returned. He never imagined Peter would be the one to go, and Nathan to wait.
Now, he'd have given anything to have Peter back again. He'd have given anything to see him again, touch him again, hear his voice, have an chance to apologize, and say, "You were right. Now I understand. I understand everything." And for once in his life, there was absolutely nothing that Nathan could do but wait, bottle chasing bottle in a vain attempt to dull the pain.
He wished he could dream Peter into being, just go to sleep and let his mind spin a web of creation. But Nathan wasn't the dreamer; that was Peter's domain. If Nathan was able to be with Peter in his dreams, he would gladly go to sleep and never wake up.
Instead, the longing consumed his waking life.
Now, he understood.
Sometimes, in the worst depths, he thought he heard Peter's voice, over his shoulder, a husky whisper in his ear.
all I want in this whole world is you
It wasn't real. It was a memory. Peter was gone.
No, not gone, as long as Nathan believed. As long as Nathan ignored all the facts and all the logic, Peter wasn't gone, he was coming back someday. Any minute.
Any minute now.
Nathan became superstitious and talismanic. He spent days in Peter's apartment, constantly fondling and rearranging Peter's things. He counted the number of steps that connected the plaza and the apartment, a circuit which he made every day with a leaden step, looking into the sky at the end of every block, and seeing nothing but the occasional faraway airplane. He lost hours holding Peter's red-and-blue hooded sweatshirt to his face, breathing in the rapidly fading traces of Peter's scent, and fell asleep every night holding a pillow from Peter's bed, squeezing it gently in his arms, kissing the soft flannel pillowcase, rubbing himself raw against it, pretending. But no matter how fucked up Nathan got, never for a moment, did he feel he was doing anymore than humping a pillow and being pathetic.
The pillowcase was nothing like Peter's skin.
He dimly remembered that there was once a wife and children and an SUV and an office and a headquarters and a campaign and an ambition, and that he had kidded himself that they belonged to him.
He tried to eat what Peter liked to eat, but nothing had any flavor except alcohol. Alcohol at least tasted bad. So he tried to drink what Peter liked to drink, but Peter was never specific; he'd drink absolutely anything. So Nathan tried that. It worked; Nathan got drunk. Nathan stayed drunk. It didn't make him feel better, but he wouldn't let himself stop. He felt like shit. He deserved to feel like shit. Peter was gone. Everyone else was gone, too - thrown away, driven away - but he could have dealt with that, if he'd had Peter.
If he knew where Nakamura was, Nathan would have put a gun to his head until he took him back to where things could be fixed, or at least, back when things were simpler, back when he knew who he was. For now, though, touching the spine of each book on the shelves, neatening the pencils on the desk and the piles of mail on the kitchen counter, sitting in the red chair next to the door, pouring shots of whiskey, waiting, listening, remembering, believing without believing.
where are you? i was just in your arms a moment ago... i am lost without you
****
JULY 1992.
"It's your birthday tomorrow," Nathan said. He'd gotten the fire started, and the cookpot of water was on to warm up the MREs they would have for dinner, along with some Oreo cookies and two slightly bruised apples. Nathan had brought the MREs for Peter, who was curious about what they tasted like; Nathan had told Peter that they were "surprisingly tasty", which didn't exactly mean "good", but it was too late now.
"Yeah," replied Peter, his face too miserably immobile to be pouting. "And I'm stuck out here."
"But I thought..." Nathan grinned and ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I thought you wanted to come camping with me."
"Not really," Peter said.
"Dammit, Peter..."
"I said I wanted to hang out with you," Peter clarified, squinting at Nathan, the evening sun slanting through the trees and casting leaf-shaped shadows on his freckled, slightly sunburned cheeks. "It's the last chance I'll have. And you wanted to go camping. So..." He shrugged, and resumed chewing on his thumbnail, already bitten down so far that his cuticles were bleeding. He sucked the thumb, wiped it on the stained hem of his T-shirt, then started chewing on his pinky fingernail. "I don't really care."
"Quit doing that." Nathan handed Peter one of the apples. "Here, ya hungry?"
"No."
Nathan turned away, frowning. "Peter..." He sighed and shrugged, adding fresh, unnecessary tinder to the fire. He had tried to make Peter make the fire, but Peter's pyramid of twigs and grasses was too damp and too big, and it did nothing but smolder, and Nathan had to use his lighter anyway. When Nathan was Peter's age, he could not only build a fire and light it using a stick and a stone with a hole in it, but he could shoot, clean and cook a rabbit, change a tire by himself, build a rope bridge, and speak enough conversational Spanish to get by. Peter could barely tie a lark's-head knot, hemp rope hurt his hands, and the only Spanish he knew, he'd learned from Sesame Street. "Where would you rather be?"
"Nowhere," Peter said.
"C'mon. Sure you can think of somewhere."
"No, I mean nowhere," Peter insisted. "I don't want to be anywhere."
Nathan turned back toward Peter and stared, furrowing his brow. Peter just stood there, chewing and sucking his fingernails, the laces of his hiking boots unraveling and drooping onto the underbrush. "Pete, you're too young to be talking like that. Actually, it's never right to talk like that. You can't be 'nowhere'. Even when you're dead, you're somewhere. Your body is somewhere. You don't get to stop existing just because... I don't know. What's the matter? Tie your shoes."
Peter bent and tied. "Nothing," he mumbled, bent over.
"Come over here. Sit down. You're tired, aren't you? It was a long hike for a little guy." They had gone on a four-mile loop, almost no grade, the upstate countryside around them overflowing with summer beauty and the sun blazing down on them. Peter had walked along, at first smiling and noticing things, but gradually trudging along silently, with his head down and eyes on the ground.
Peter obediently came and sat on one of the big rocks bounding the fire pit of their campsite. They were a good two miles away from anybody else - not as remote as Nathan would have liked, and not as punishing of a hike as he craved, but this would do for an overnight with his little brother. "This isn't going to be the last chance you'll have to hang out with me," he said, draping his arm across Peter's thin shoulders and drawing him in for a short, brisk hug.
"You're going away next week," Peter said, not responding to the hug, "and you're going to go off and get killed."
"Uh, no, I won't." Nathan grinned. "I'm not."
"People are getting killed. Soldiers. I saw it in the news and I read it in the paper. And in a magazine. People get killed in basic training."
"Not me, though. I've been through most of that stuff already, and I'm getting even more training now. I know what I'm doing. I'm not reckless. And I'm not going to get killed."
Peter didn't move, and he blinked, as if processing what Nathan had said, but he didn't smile and his face didn't get any happier. "Well, even so. You're going to be in the military for a long time. You're gone now. You're going away for good. You're never coming back this time."
"Pete, c'mon. You're getting all worked up for nothing." Nathan sighed, and thought about hugging Peter again, but Peter was all knotted up, and for some reason, Nathan didn't dare try it again right then. Peter sat staring at the campfire, and the cookpot beginning to steam. "Look," Nathan continued, "I'm not going away for good. But I am going away for a while. It's just my life, you know? This is something I want to do. I can't... I can't just stay here because you want me to. Nobody would ever get anything done that way. We have to... sometimes make sacrifices for each other. I wouldn't whine and tell you that you were going to die if you wanted to go off to ... I dunno, fencing camp or something."
"I don't like fencing," Peter said.
"It was just an example."
"The water's boiling," Peter said dully.
"Okay..." Nathan got up, and put the appropriate food packets into the cookpot, and stole an Oreo for himself. He chewed it thoroughly before he swallowed, giving himself a moment before he spoke. "I can see you're just determined to be miserable, so I'm going to let you. But I want you to know that I'm not going away to hurt you. I'm going away to do my civic duty and help protect innocent people from bad guys, and challenge myself, see what I can do. What I'm capable of. I believe in myself. I believe I can excel at this. I'm going to be a pilot. I'm gonna fly jets, Peter. Isn't that exciting? Or maybe 'copters; I haven't decided yet. It's up to me, though; I passed the aptitude tests for both. And when you grow up, you can decide what you want to do, and then go do it. You can be anything you want to be, and do anything you want to do. Except be nowhere. You can never be nowhere, because I will always love you - so you'll always be with me." He smiled tentatively at Peter, and Peter gazed back at him, his green-brown eyes wide and trusting and catching the sunlight, still frightened, but braver, stronger now.
Peter even smiled a little bit. "You've got Oreo all over your teeth," he said.
Nathan sighed slowly and patiently, then leaned down and kissed Peter damply on the forehead. "Now you've got Oreo on your face," he replied.
"What? Gross!" Peter scrubbed his face with his sleeve, and seeing nothing, scrubbed harder.
Nathan walked toward the fire and laughed. "Okay?" he said, looking back over his shoulder.
"Okay," Peter replied. Smiling wider. "Okay."
Around the campfire, as night settled around them, Peter read aloud a few chapters of The Outsiders, currently his favorite book, holding up his flashlight to illuminate the pages. After a while Nathan could tell that Peter just knew the book almost by heart; the flashlight was focused more on the ground than on the book. "Okay, that's enough, Ponyboy," Nathan said after a while. "You're going to wreck your eyes like that. It's time to go to sleep."
Peter closed the book, playing the flashlight into the woods surrounding them. "Hey, if I'm Pony, you have to be Soda," he said. "Because Sodapop's the really handsome one."
"Oh, c'mon, Pete. That guy's a wuss."
"No, he's awesome. And all the girls love him. And his brother -" A sudden sharp crackle and snap emerged from the darkness, coming from where the beam of the flashlight had gone. Peter dropped the flashlight and jumped up. "Oh shit, what was that?" he whispered in a panic.
"You're too young to cuss," Nathan replied mildly, but he stood up too, and picked up the flashlight. "It's nothing. Probably a stray dog."
Peter gave a low moan of fear, the pitch slowly rising until he was keening softly under his breath like a frightened animal. He gulped and said, "A d-dog? Really? Can you see anything?"
Nathan laughed, the sound too loud in their quiet circle, far away from the sound of cars or people or electricity. Almost in response to Nathan's laugh, the faint whirring of crickets got louder, too, and a night bird gave a low, eerie hoo-woo. "Nah, I don't see anything," he replied. "Maybe it's a possum. Or a raccoon. Or maybe a rabid squirrel." Nathan couldn't help laughing.
Peter wasn't. "Or a bear."
"There's no bears around here, Pete."
"I'm going in the tent," Peter said.
"Good, since that's where you were going anyway, you big wuss. Imagine being scared of a possum."
"Screw you," said Peter, glaring at him, and opening the tent flap.
"Don't be such an old woman, Peter, jeez."
"I hope it's a skunk!" Peter yelled. "A rabid skunk!"
Nathan chuckled some more, then thought about the skunk option, and followed.
It was a warm night, so Nathan took off his jeans and T-shirt before getting into his sleeping bag. Peter looked small and pale and worried, only his face peeking out of his bag. "G'night," Nathan said, closing his eyes and beginning to drop off.
A louder crackle came from just a few feet away from the tent, followed by a shaky squeak of distress. "...Nathan..."
Nathan sighed heavily. "What is it, Pete?"
"Can I zip my sleeping bag with yours? I... I'm really sorry, but I'm really scared it's a bear. I know you hate me, but I'm really scared and I just know I'll never get to sleep."
Once again, Nathan couldn't help laughing, but quietly and gently. "It's not a bear. God, Pete. And I don't hate you. Just... okay, c'mon." Nathan unzipped his bag completely, and then lay back, closing his eyes again, praying for sleep, as Peter maneuvered the zippers of the two bags together. He then snuggled up against Nathan, resting his head in the hollow between chest and shoulder, arms around Nathan's midsection. "You're twelve years old tomorrow. When are you gonna grow up?" Nathan murmured, his voice soft. Without even thinking about it, he reached over with his left arm, and stroked Peter's silky straight hair, kissing his forehead.
"I dunno," Peter whispered. "I just feel safer right here." And was instantly asleep.
Nathan lay awake, drawing his fingers slowly, slowly over Peter's hair, shifting himself a little to make the process more comfortable, opening his eyes to watch his brother sleep. He was small for his age, fragile-armed, delicate skin as soft as milk, but quickly freckling and browning in the sun. His body emitted enormous amounts of heat, and Nathan was glad he'd taken off his shirt. His slow breathing calmed Nathan, slowing his breathing to the same sleepy pace.
"So beautiful," he whispered out loud, and kissed Peter again. "I love you." Almost as if he'd heard him, Peter squirmed a little, made a nose-wrinkling frown, took a deep breath that must have smelled strongly of Nathan's sweat, and relaxed in a way that Nathan wished that he himself could relax. That comfort, trust, being in someone's arms, held, protected and safe. It felt better than anything in the world to be able to provide that to Peter. "I love you," he whispered again. "You'll always be right here. You'll always be with me."
****
please let me stay... you're so beautiful, so amazing, the best
touch me... oh please touch me and breathe into me and keep me from drowning
help
I need you
I can't sleep...
...this isn't sleep because I can't wake up
I'm so tired and lost and I can't feel anything
you, though - there you are and I know this love and this makes sense
it's all I have, all I know, this wanting you, it is all I've ever had
keep me here, keep me, let me stay, don't let go
****
DECEMBER 1999.
"Want to come over to my place and have fun?"
What Nathan said to Peter.
"Let Pete stay the night. We'll be here for presents in the morning, I promise."
What Nathan said to his mother and father.
"I'm not trying to make demands on you. I haven't said anything, or asked for anything, or felt entitled to anything. I've been pretending like nothing never happened, like you said. I've been trying to forget about it, like you said. I've been good, okay?"
What Peter said to Nathan.
"Yes, you've been good. This is my gift to you, for staying on Santa's good list. You get to get out of the house on Christmas Eve." Nathan's glib reply. "What more could you want?"
In the foyer of Nathan's apartment, Nathan let his hand trail slowly over Peter's back as he closed the door. Peter took off his coat, and kept taking off clothes until they formed a damp pile next to the coat rack, and he stood there utterly naked, his pale smooth skin a challenge. "You keep it warm in here," Peter said.
Nathan took him by the shoulders and kissed him, still wearing his coat, his shoes, everything. Peter broke away after a moment, going inside. Nathan steadied his breathing and hung up his coat, then hung Peter's trousers and shirt on hangers and put them in the coat closet, gently kicking Peter's shoes in. Delaying. Keeping himself together. He didn't want it to be too obvious, though it didn't get more obvious than Peter pale and naked on the sofa, curiously watching everything Nathan did.
"Go to the bathroom," Nathan told him.
Peter smiled. "You like bathrooms."
"I like you to use them first."
"And take a shower?"
"If you need to."
"I'm confused," Peter said softly. "So I have to pretend that nothing happened - and not even come close to a flicker of saying anything to you about it, or else risk you freaking out on me, and then... when it's convenient for you... you're fine with it?"
After a moment, Nathan said truthfully, "Yeah."
Peter took a deep breath, as though about to say something, but remained speechless, looking around him at everything but Nathan, and finally closing his eyes in resignation. Before Peter could speak again, Nathan added, "That's the way it has to be, and you know it. We can't make this work. We can't make this... real. We can have fun now and again. But that's all it is - it's just fun. Just a game like any other. We have to understand and follow the rules, or else we can't play."
"You can't... control me," Peter said.
"No," replied Nathan, "you have to do it. Now, do you want to play or not?"
Nathan did not shower; he didn't need one. He sat in the bathroom and watched Peter standing under the water, not stimulating himself, but already aroused and erect, despite his unhappy and overwhelmed expression. As he stepped out of the shower, Nathan wrapped him in a towel that had been on the electric warmer, and rubbed Peter's limbs dry, arms and shoulders, sinking to his knees to dry Peter's legs and feet. He wasn't surprised when Peter brought his cock to Nathan's mouth and made a faint but demanding sound.
Nathan licked, kissed, wet his mouth and sucked, long, deep, and slow. Peter gasped. "You love that," he said. "Oh, Nathan, why do you do without it? You can have me any time you want."
Nathan sat back, rubbing his hand across his forehead. "God, Peter, because it's wrong. Don't you get that?"
Peter forced his cock back into Nathan's mouth, and Nathan moaned, grateful, went back to sucking, licking, firm and efficient. "No, I don't get it. I know why they think it's wrong - I don't get why you think it's wrong. When you know. Oh..." His breath hissed, and Nathan caught the brunt of Peter's ejaculation in his mouth, knowing nothing else as the taste spread across his palate, that sharp, vital, zinc flavor that was as repellent as it was precious. Nathan had thought that perhaps it was not the actual taste that he was after, but what it symbolized - Peter coming in his mouth - but the taste had its own extraordinary dimension, one that he felt he didn't quite understand, and would have to try again.
He stood up and kissed Peter, sharing the taste.
Peter accepted it, let it permeate his own mouth, studied and considered it. Nathan watched every detail of his face avidly, searching for meaning. Peter swallowed, and looked into Nathan's eyes, running his hands over Nathan's shirt front. He took a deep breath.
"I think I'm in love with you," he said.
Nathan just stared for a moment, then blinked as the meaning of Peter's husky-voiced words actually made it through to him. "You can't be," he replied, "that's impossible."
"How's it impossible?"
"Falling in love is... y'know, that sensation... with someone else. Someone who's not me."
"I know what it feels like," Peter whispered. "I've fought it off every day and told myself it couldn't be true. It doesn't... work that way. But if this isn't... being in love, I don't know what that is. I want you constantly. I can't stop thinking about you. Wondering what you're up to, if you're happy. Wanting every minute of the day to make you happy, trying to figure out... how I can become closer to you."
"It's called being my brother," Nathan whispered back. Tiny voices, in the most private room in a most private residence, where no one could hear them but each other. Words too huge to speak at full voice.
"No," Peter cut in, getting a look of savage intelligence and understanding on his face. "It's not. It's not. I know because... I love you as my brother, too. And it's not the same. It's more. It's ... it's really hard." Peter grasped the front of Nathan's shirt. "And I know... I know you feel the same way."
"How can you know that? Nobody knows how anybody feels. They can say one thing, and mean something else entirely."
Peter stared unrelentingly into Nathan's eyes, trapping him in their depths. "I know," he said. "I know how you feel. I just do. I know you're in love with me." He gave a soft laugh, and finally released Nathan from his gaze. "I know because I can feel how much you're hurting. I'm the only other person who could possibly understand that, because it's like that for me. Except worse, because I'm under your control."
"You're not."
"I am," Peter said. He unbuttoned Nathan's shirt, unfastened Nathan's pants, slid the garments from Nathan's body, kissed his skin with warm, dry lips. "I will do whatever you want. Whenever you want. Ever. I want you so much more... but... I will do what you tell me. If that's not to touch you again..." Peter stepped back, and the cold air rushed in. "Then I won't."
"That's not what I want," Nathan murmured.
"No?"
"No..." Nathan shook his head, feeling helpless suddenly. Peter smiled at him, comfortingly stroked Nathan's chest, took him in his arms and hugged him. Nathan gasped for breath, fighting down the pain in his chest, fighting back tears. "Oh, God, Peter, I don't know what I want."
"Maybe just a kiss?" Peter kissed his ear.
"Yeah."
"Maybe just a fuck?" Peter caressed his balls, stroked the shaft of his cock, squeezed him in just the right way to make it jump in his hand.
"Yeah," Nathan breathed.
"Maybe just let me love you? All of you? Even the bad parts? Even the dirty, shameful parts that you hate? Even the parts that make me sad... that make me want to die?" Peter's voice sharpened. Before Nathan could protest, Peter went on. "Because I do... I love all of it. I love every little scrap of you, even the parts that make me feel like... I completely suck and I have no reason to live. Ashamed of myself because I'm not better. I'm not worthy of you."
"Peter, God, no, you're... you're..."
"I can deal with all that, because I know you're in love with me too," Peter said. He kissed Nathan's lips, brushing them quickly with his tongue. "I know that beyond all that bullshit and bluster, you love me. I trust... that you love me." His face fell a little as he said this, and Nathan could see - he could feel! - that Peter was lying, too. He didn't know, and couldn't believe, and he was saying what he thought should be the truth... (just the same way Nathan did...) He only had faith, and sometimes it wasn't there, and Nathan wouldn't let him have it because Nathan was afraid of it.
I understand now, Peter, please... I understand... can you hear me? I understand now
In the bathroom, on Christmas Eve, Nathan said, nodding humbly, "I am. I do. I am."
In the bedroom, with his legs wrapped around Nathan's waist, Peter gazed up, and said, "Say it. Tell me."
And Nathan sighed, "I'm... in love with you..."
"Ah - fuck me! - yes - is that the truth? Or are you just saying that - ah!"
And Nathan was coming then, both of them were, pounding and screaming, lost in sensation, and never said that it was true; fell asleep and forgot.
And in the morning when they woke up, all soft and sweaty and wrapped around each other, Nathan kissed Peter's eyelids, and said, "Merry Christmas. That's your present. I was gonna get you a car, but I decided against it."
And there was the distance again, and Peter turned away, and made a joke, and Nathan was relieved that the intimacy was over, and they put the game away for a while.
He'd give anything.
****
please help me find and know and remember... i was something once... you were there
it's so cold... i feel the cold but it's just absence...
in space, underwater, underground
anywhere that you aren't
I don't even care that you don't love me, just let me stay... hold on to me, please
but... you do... you do love me, don't you? why do I feel that's true? how do i still believe this?
i don't know who i am without you
don't let me disappear
****
end (17)
Inspired, obviously, by "Four Months Later" and "Six Months Ago", Nathan's heretofore-unseen drinking habit (in the Ritual stories, it's Peter who drinks, so it actually works out okay for me!) and Peter's ability to link to Nathan through his dreams. This is a bit impressionistic (and spoiler-free as usual... let's see if Ritual (12) will still be okay in a few month's time!), so I hope it works. Thanks for reading.