Part Eight: Early March, 1997
HARKEN! An update. Finally. Oi, oi, and all that. Started Sophomore year of College (death!), went on vacation to New York to meet ZQ (!!!!!!) and now we are finally back (sort of) and promise that updates will not be half-years apart.
We also want to draw your attention to the fact that I have gone in and put clarification italics under all the notes and such so you can read them bettah. :3
Part Eight
March 1st, 1997
"What the hell is this?" Peter makes a face and his mother scowls down at him.
"Language," she says, before snatching the only slightly worn card out of his hands. "It's a wedding invitation. To the Sprague-Peighnt wedding."
"Well, yes, of course, but it's not anyone we know and it's in Las Vegas, anyway. It's not like we'll go. They're just trying to steal my thunder because a birthday is obviously not as cool as a wedding."
His mother smiles, just barely, so people have to doubt whether she's actually smiling, or, in all actually, very displeased and plotting against the world. "In a wedding you have to share the glory. A birthday is just about you."
"Nowadays it seems like everything is about Nathan."
"Well, I got his pen fixed, so at least I won't have to tell him how manly he is every couple of minutes."
"What?"
"Nothing."
One (1) wedding invitation, found at the bottom of a trash bin, later recovered and somehow ended up in the suitcase.
***
"This is my wedding!" Ted fairly shouts at the door as it opens and a seemingly orange individual steps inside. "THIS IS MY WEDDING AND YOU ARE ORANGE."
His name is Tom Sprague. The younger brother of Ted Sprague, the man - now twenty - who is more than just orange, let alone seemingly so.
"How many carrots did you eat??" Ted flails, accidentally hitting his hand against the wall, hard, and swearing under his breath.
"I didn't eat any carrots!"
"You're orange, you moron!"
"This is SPARTA LA! What did you expect me to do?"
"This is also MY WEDDING!"
That's the thing about the Sprague family. There's always so much yelling.
"And YOU are a BEACH BUM," Ted finishes lamely, folding his arms in front of his chest, anger radiating from of every pore of his body.
"AM NOT. I'm still in College, what do you expect me to be? A CEO? A TELEMARKETER LIKE YOU?"
"I AM NOT A TELEMARKETER. I COMMISSION OFF PIECES FOR THE COMPANY-I AM A SALESMAN."
"YOU ARE TOO ANGRY TO BE A SALESMAN."
"SOMEONE NEEDS TO CLOSE THAT GODDAMN OPEN WINDOW. IT'S DRAFTY."
If there was ever two individuals who could merely open their mouths and speak in caps lock, it was the Sprague brothers. They do not even require exclamation marks. They merely do well to shout their sentences at each other.
It's a miracle one of them - or their parents - hasn't gone deaf yet.
It's also a miracle that Karen is even marrying one of them.
Everyone is scared to say anything. They sort of look at each other, a bit shiftily, right, left, right again, as if the repetitive movement of their heads to look at each other will make any difference and make the problem of TED and TOM go away.
John is a brave, brave man. "Er. There aren't any windows open, Ted."
"OF COURSE THERE ARE WINDOWS OPEN. OTHERWISE, WHY WOULD I BE FEELING A DRAFT?"
"Nevermind, I'll just go and get dressed in all my orange glory," Tom mutters, shutting the door behind him and leaving most of the guys in the room stunned that it wasn't said quite so loud.
"Er," Bill says, leaving everyone to stare at him. "Er," he repeats. Then, "what draft?"
Some men measure manliness in how much game they can shoot in a certain amount of time. Or how accurately they can do so. Or how much money they have, or how much they can drink, and how quickly. Or how many 'babes' they can 'score' in any given night.
Around Ted, manliness is always proven by who is Willing To Speak Up around Ted when he's having one of his episodes of ANGER and RAGE.
John's suggested before that perhaps all this ANGER and RAGE is Ted's way of expressing manliness..
Again with all the wondering why Karen is marrying the man.
"WHAT DRAFT??" Ted practically bellows, looking around, then licking a finger and holding it up in the air. "Oh SURE, now that you say that it's GONE. THANK YOU BILL."
Silence.
The problem is that Ted is, in general, a Really Nice Guy most of the time. He just has the tendency to go overboard at other times.
"What, am I the ONLY ONE that FELT A DRAFT BEFORE? Are you telling me IT WASN'T THERE?"
There is a general chorus of "no, no, I totally felt it, yeah," and Ted seems at least resigned to settle for that.
It's like the whole room breathes a sigh of relief now that they can get back to dressing up for the wedding.
***
The thing about birthdays, Peter thinks, is that they only make you feel Good and Happy and Pleased for so long, until they turn on you, like some sort of backstabbing friend that you can't ever really truly trust, but that is just so damn nice for the first couple of years that you know them that you can't really hold it against them when things like time and internal clocks ticking becomes involved.
"Happy birthday, Pete," Nathan says, still in his blue pajama pants, still shirtless, still with that ruffled, sleepy, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-look. Peter doesn't look, instead making a face at the present he's holding in his hand.
"What's this? You can't wait for your present to be opened with everyone elses?"
"I'm special," Nathan says, and Peter almost believes it, his lips pressed together in a tight line, taking the oblong, somewhat small package out of his brother's hands.
It's a pen.
Of course it's a pen.
"It's a pen," Peter says, because it seems to be the only thing on his mind right now.
"Of course it's a pen."
Something about this conversation - this life - seems repetitive. "Um," Peter says for a moment, the pad of his thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth as he looks at the cream resin with the swirls of darker and lighter color here and there, making it look a bit like Jupiter might if you stretched it into a pen-shape.
Where it should say Visconti it says Petrelli. It's a fountain pen, the tip - and the little accents here and there - in silver.
There's also no way that this pen is longer than six inches.
"It's sort of short."
"Yes, well, you are my little brother," Nathan says, as if that should explain everything.
It doesn't.
"I figured," he continues, unfazed, "that you, turning seventeen, are closer and closer to reaching that certain step of… oh, manhood, I suppose, where a man needs a good pen. They'll get bigger of the years - maybe - and uh, I didn't want something quite so personal and symbolic to be wasted on a whole crowd. Just between you and me, Pete."
"Thanks," Peter says, because he doesn't know what else to say.
"Yeah," Nathan says, nodding in his way of agreeing when he's ready to be aloof about something now, putting his hands in the pockets that do not exist in those pajama pants - they sort of look lost now, unsure of where to go for comfort - smiling just a hint, nodding, looking somewhere else entirely, only to step back or finish with some smart statement that will make him feel like he is still in control of the situation.
The doorbell rings, and Peter thanks whatever God that orchestrated that, gesturing wildly towards the door before running off.
It's not like they don't already have enough guests at the party - mainly family - and so many of them, too! - and a few friends thereof, but Peter is still expecting the arrival of-
Oh.
"Er. Hi?"
"Hi, is Nathan here? I'm his date for the party."
This is not Emma. That is somewhat unsettling. But just somewhat. Peter has a pen now, it's time to be manly. Not unsettled by some skank-date of Nathan's.
Maybe Nathan missed the memo about the fact that this wasn’t a cocktail party, but was actually a birthday party for his brother.
***
People are taking pictures. People are being ushered to their seats. People are being greeted by the parents. People are unrolling the aisle runner. People are singing. People are playing an organ.
Ted can't breathe.
In fact, Ted is pretty sure that he cannot do anything at all right now, not even if someone asked him to.
Karen is not here! he wants to let someone know before he realizes that he's not supposed to see her before the ceremony.
This is nerve wrecking.
Someone snaps his picture and he sort of wants to blow the place apart from nerves, anxiety, tension, and worry.
His brother is yelling at one of the photographers. Good that someone is doing it for him.
There's that damn draft again.
***
The thing about Gabriel Gray is that he has this ability to make Peter feel at ease because Gabe is bound to make a bigger fool out of himself than Peter is in the long-run anyway. And then Peter gets to be the hero and make Gabe feel better about whatever incident happened to have undergone.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you here."
Gabe smiles, one of those amazingly brilliant smiles that make Peter wonder whether Gabriel has a life outside of Peter. Or at all. Or whether he has a goal in life that doesn't consist of Pleasing Peter.
"Who's that girl?" Gabe asks, and Peter frowns.
"That's Nathan's date to my birthday party."
"She looks like she's painted on her clothes."
Well, Gabe could certainly make a profession out of Pleasing Peter, if anyone could.
***
There's this thing about standing at the head of the aisle, Ted thinks, facing the wall and this old guy with a book, your friends and your orange brother all in suits to match you - almost - to your right, all of these ladies in pretty dresses that couldn't mean less to you if they tried, people crying behind you, some people gasping, the organ playing, and then you turn and-
Ted feels his heart stop, somewhere, far away, from another galaxy, as if he's not in his body, but instead watching Karen walk down that isle, lilies in her hair…
This is exactly what life is all about, Ted realizes, his heart sounding like it's about to go through the roof, along with everyone else and this building.
He's shaking.
***
Gabriel almost wants to ask Peter who invited Leia. From the expression on Peter's face, it does not look like Peter did it, and although there is an undercurrent of Distinctly Uncomfortable on Peter's face, he doesn't look entirely displeased by this new development.
That, and she's actually in the house now.
Gabriel fidgets with the collar of his button-down under his sweater vest even though he knows it's already perfectly straight, stares down at his shoes, and looks up again.
He's the only one here without a date.
This, of course, makes perfect sense, given that Gabe has never had the fortune - misfortune? - to meet someone who feels the need to paint on their clothes in metallic colors - he is vaguely tempted to ask her about the specifics that an ensemble like this entails - which seems to be a certain skill of Nathan Petrelli's, and he's certainly not as good-looking and suave as Peter is.
Maybe it's the sort of music he listens to. Peter listens to things like the Manic Street Preachers, whereas Gabriel has actually just discovered that the lead singer of Genesis' name is Peter Gabriel, which is just such a coincidence that he has to listen to his music on principle, if for nothing else.
The room has a distinctive feeling of Awkward about it, and no one seems to be talking. Peter's parents and the rest of his family save for his brother are all outside, having a barbeque and fun, and Gabriel can't join them because it's March and his seasonal allergies are on again, and medicine doesn't help. It just makes him sleepy or keeps him from sleeping, neither of which seem all too productive.
So inside it is.
"I like your hair."
There are certain things that happen to normal people that either do not have an impact on them, or cause minimal damage. With Gabriel, one might take that reaction and multiply it times ten.
So if a regular person might not be affected by someone suddenly and unexpectedly speaking to them - it's much worse than it sounds, Gabriel insists - Gabriel gives a little yelp, jumps a few feet in his seat, his eyes wide, drawing the attention of the whole room towards him.
"What?" he fairly shrieks, if only because he never thought that Leia could have anything at all to say to him. Ever.
It might be the nicest thing he's ever heard someone say, ever. Peter's never told him that about his hair, so it might actually apply.
"You're in my anatomy class, aren't you? You're really good in there. I… I sort of have trouble in it. I mean, especially with the nero…"
"Neurology?"
"Yeah, what we're doing right now." The pause is stagnant. Peter is so obviously Not Staring that Gabriel wonders if he would perhaps prefer staring.
Notcomfortablenotcomfortablenotcomfortable.
The woman with the painted-on clothes is staring, though, and Gabriel decides that her attention is more than unwanted.
"I don't know, I was wondering if you might help me sometime?"
"Oh, of course he won't. He's too busy learning to become a rich, handsome doctor."
The smile - and the wink that followed it - could only be described as salacious, throwing Gabe for a curveball.
What on earth was happening to the natural order of things?
***
On any other day, a receiving line where Karen is kissing just about every man in the room would have had in him a rage.
Not today.
Because, technically, no matter how many men kiss her even within in the span of an hour, she will be his today. And every single day from then on.
People start to eat from the buffet tables, and then there's the familiar clink - metal on glass - and Tom clears his throat to make a speech.
Ted could almost ignore the fact that his brother is orange.
***
The woman with the metallic clothes is not talking to Peter even though he is obviously much better looking and has better taste in music. Gabriel finds this strange.
And slightly irritating, as Leia is now attempting to make conversation with a Peter that is not making things easy.
Peter's brother has disappeared.
Gabriel feels uncomfortable in the way that an elephant might feel uncomfortable in a corset.
"Er."
"You know, I think you look quite dashing in a sweater vest… I'm almost tempted to take it-"
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, GABRIEL GRAY, something screams inside of his brain.
"ER," he says, making him wonder whether the only thing he is capable of doing is being inarticulate… more loudly.
"Your tag is sticking out… it has your name written on it. Gabriel Gray. That is your name, isn't it?"
It's highly unsettling that she's even touching his tag. Or that it's hanging out.
OH GOD. WHY. WHY DOES HIS BRAIN DO THIS TO HIM.
"THEY CALL ME GABRIEL GAY," he fairly shrieks, his eyes as wide as dinner-plates, her eyes as wide as her breasts which are fakefakefake and Gabriel runs for his life.
***
The dance was, of course, perfect.
Everything is, of course, perfect.
Even the fact that there is cake all over his cavemanly beard is perfect.
It's like he's radiating joy and not even orange moron brother can ruin it.
The only thing that's not perfect is the fact that it's almost over.
Of course, that is when the honeymoon begins, and they'll have a whole week entirely to themselves in Vegas.
Ted grins and a little girl catches the bouquet.
It's time to take off the garter.
***
When little children play catch or tag, or even hide and seek, there is always a Safe Place that the kid who is not as physically fit, or not as manly, or simply much more scared than the others can disappear off to and no one will even criticize him.
Sitting on Peter's bed, where everything is very quiet and things are just a little messy and he is surrounded by CDs everywhere and a gameboy and a walkman and tennis shoes and clothes left and right and school things and a fair amount of male hair care products, Gabriel Gray is certain that he has found his Safe Place.
Leia didn't say anything about his vest. Peter's brother gave it disapproving glares. Peter didn't say anything. But the woman with the painted-on clothes said she liked it and-
Clearly he needed to be more like Peter. Maybe then Leia would be tempted to maybe try and talk to him again. Maybe.
And Peter's clothes are just so incredibly nice. It's sort of like they're going to waste every moment that he's not wearing them.
It's like his moral and ethical duty not only as a friend, but as a person, for him to help Peter out there and wear one of them, even if it's over his sweater vest.
***
"I wonder why your uncle from New York never showed up! I thought for sure he would come - we had such a great time the last time he came down to LA for the barbeque we had at your parent's house."
"Yeah, I don't know either. I was looking forward to seeing him." Ted looks over to where there is an open window here.
Nothing.
And it's so damn drafty here, at his parent's house…
"Shall we take pictures? You look positively radiant."
Ted grins and shakes his head. "Pictures, yes. But I don't look like anything compared to you. Anyway, they have those high arches and columns outside, we should take advantage of that and get a few really nice pictures…" Ted pauses, running a hand through her hair. "That's ridiculous, the flowers look like they've already suffered the brunt of the ceremony. It's like they're wilting so much faster than flowers should."
"I'm sure it's nothing. Come on, let's take pictures. Oh, and - please, try to behave yourself with the photographer. For my sake."
***
The problem with having a friend who is so much shorter than you is that, in the unlikely circumstance that you want to do him a favor and wear his clothes for him, they might not fit.
Or at least, not go all the way down to your waist.
This is a problem, Gabriel realizes, only to choose to ignore it, discarding this as trivial. Especially if it will get the woman with the painted-on clothing to leave him be.
It doesn't matter. There are more important things to be taken care of.
"I need to give you your birthday present," Gabriel says.
"Oh, yes, me too!" Leia jumps up, running to Gabriel's side where where the presents are piled up, smiling at him in that way.
That way.
Taking a deep breath, he nods, picking up his present and feeling much weaker than before.
His shirt - Peter's shirt - has WET! written over it in bold, black letters, and Gabriel thinks it's quite flattering on him in his own way, even if he's now having doubts.
"Uh, here," he says, stepping forward somewhat nervously and handing him the package. Leia is right beside him, holding her hand back so Gabe might go first.
Gabriel looks up, looks around, and realizes that Peter's brother is watching and he does not look Pleased.
***
So far Peter has only received a pen. His mother always waits until the very evening to give him his family-presents, but Nathan always wants to be first, and now it's time for Gabe's present.
He takes the wrapping off slowly, carefully, so nothing might tear, and, opening the box up, he grins. "What is this?" he asks, despite already knowing the answer.
"It's my hair. Over, um seventeen years. Most of them bowl cuts. And then, you know, what happened New Years Eve."
He can't help but grin.
"And what's this?" he asks, picking up the piece of paper sitting below the bag with the hair, opening it up like a card.
"It's, uh-"
Gabe doesn't need to finish. Peter can already see Gabe's neat scrawl - GABRIEL GRAY'S SOUL - in large letters.
"I owe you, you know. Er, please don't hold it against me, I-"
Peter doesn't think about it when he reaches forward and pulls Gabriel into a hug. "Thank you," he says, and finally Gabe relaxes and hugs him back.
Leia's still holding out her present. Right.
Pulling back, he takes the package and unwraps it quite as carefully, opening the lid.
It's black and leather and slightly frayed at the edges, but with a silver clasp and lock and a marker so he won't forget where he was last writing, the key hanging from the leather strap.
It's a journal.
"Th-thank you, I didn't expect… I love it, of cou-"
That's when he notices that Nathan has disappeared. Along with his date.
It doesn't require him to strain too hard to hear it, his eyes clenching shut.
When they open again, he sees it.
"What on earth are you wearing."
It's not even a question.
"I, uh."
"Take it off!"
It's clearly his shirt, and it's clearly to short on Gabe, who steps back, shaking his head, eyes wide.
"No, I mean it, take it off!"
No response. That's fine, Peter thinks, jumping up and onto Gabe, who is taller but weaker and more frail than him any day, wrestling him to the ground and clawing at him.
Victory comes with his shirt back.
And Gabriel's sweater vest.
And his button-down.
One look at his friend, and his suspicions are confirmed.
Oh dear.
Gabriel scrambles to his feet and Leia is staring and even he, Peter, himself, is staring, and Gabriel looks like a deer in headlights who doesn't know what he did wrong.
"What?" he asks, his arms sort of flailing, and Peter looks down at his bare chest, then up at Gabe, then back down.
Gabe seems to finally get it.
Then he's gone.
***
That boy is too nice to him and so is that girl and it'll never work and the only thing that Nathan can think of is Peter and yet he can't seem to stop himself with this girl - what was her name again? - either.
Unsettling, that.
And his present was supposed to be the most special to him, and one glance at his friend and his girlfriend and that's over, and it's not even his fault that Peter isn't ready for a nine-inch pen yet because he's just bound to break it.
It's on his bedside table now.
"What are you looking at?"
"It doesn't matter, you're not here for the eye-contact, are you?"
"It would be nice."
"You'll live," Nathan says, his lips pressing together in a firm, thin line, the material his hand grasps onto almost hard under his touch. He shivers.
This doesn't feel right and that's just damn wrong.
***
"Gabe, please come out of the bathroom."
"NO! Not until you stop staring at me."
It's like he didn't even know there was anything indecent or wrong about being shirtless. Like he simply was displeased by the fact that people were giving him weird looks.
It's absurd.
It's so very, very Gabe that it's almost painful.
Peter sighs, softly banging his forehead against the door. "Just come out. Or just let me in, dammit, you can't stay in there forever. You'll get hungry eventually."
"Then all I'll have to do is think of HAM SANDWICHES and I'll be FINE. I'm not LEAVING."
The sad truth is that Peter is almost certain that Gabriel is serious.
"You can even keep the damn shirt despite it being too short on you for all I care!"
"NO!"
Shaking his head, he jumps up to sit on the counter, sighing again.
"Please come out? I like… I like talking to you, you know," Leia says somewhat quietly, trying her best herself, and Peter notices something in her voice that he definitely missed before.
He wishes Nathan would come back downstairs.
Leia disappears for a moment, and when she returns with his mother, he understands why.
"What's going on?"
"He's not-"
"Gabriel, this is Peter's mother speaking. I suggest you come out of there now or I'll kick down the door."
Again, Peter doesn't even doubt the validity of her statement, and, miraculously enough, the door opens.
***
It's a strange feeling, being told off by your best friend's mother.
Not that it changes anything. He just feels a little bit less manly now, and that is definitely not a new feeling.
Leia sort of gives him a look that makes him wonder whether he has anything strange on his face now, and then she pokes Peter and pulls him aside.
Being all by yourself with Peter's mother is horrifying. It's like the woman eats old people medicine for fue-
Wait.
***
And she was so nice about it, too. The only worrisome thing is that Peter doesn't feel all that affected by it. She sort of turns and smiles and waves and gives a shy sort of look at Gabe that makes Peter scratch his head and shrug, and then she's gone and it's his turn to smile and nod at his mom - everything's fine, mom - and pull Gabe aside.
"What happened?"
"She said that she thought that I didn't treat you quite nice enough. That the shirt looked good on you and that I shouldn't have wrestled you to the ground or been so mean. And that I should tell you that you don't need to wear my clothes to look cute."
Another shrug. "Oh well."
Gabriel nods, scratching his head, obviously confused.
"Hey mom, is it okay if Gabe spends the night?"
"Well, Nathan is keeping that skank upstairs, so I don't see why not."
Peter makes a face, realizing that, under normal circumstances, he would be glad to hear his mother make a comment like that. It's funny. It's about Nathan.
But nothing is ever really normal with him and Nathan, is it?
Smiling and nodding despite it, Peter grabs Gabriel's arm, and drags him upstairs to his room. "Maybe we can try on more of each other's clothes."
Reads: Gabriel Gray's Soul.
Congratulations! You are the proud owner of my Gabriel Gray's soul effective immediately.
You have earned it, Peter Petrelli.
Use it wisely.
Or just use it however you feel like using it. That doesn't really matter.
Signed: Gabriel Gray
Notorized: Gabriel Gray
P.S. Yes this piece of paper really is my soul.
P.P.S. Happy Birthday :)
P.P.P.S. I am tall like a tree! So, really, my soul as paper makes sense!
We also want to draw your attention to the fact that I have gone in and put clarification italics under all the notes and such so you can read them bettah. :3
Part Eight
March 1st, 1997
"What the hell is this?" Peter makes a face and his mother scowls down at him.
"Language," she says, before snatching the only slightly worn card out of his hands. "It's a wedding invitation. To the Sprague-Peighnt wedding."
"Well, yes, of course, but it's not anyone we know and it's in Las Vegas, anyway. It's not like we'll go. They're just trying to steal my thunder because a birthday is obviously not as cool as a wedding."
His mother smiles, just barely, so people have to doubt whether she's actually smiling, or, in all actually, very displeased and plotting against the world. "In a wedding you have to share the glory. A birthday is just about you."
"Nowadays it seems like everything is about Nathan."
"Well, I got his pen fixed, so at least I won't have to tell him how manly he is every couple of minutes."
"What?"
"Nothing."
One (1) wedding invitation, found at the bottom of a trash bin, later recovered and somehow ended up in the suitcase.
***
"This is my wedding!" Ted fairly shouts at the door as it opens and a seemingly orange individual steps inside. "THIS IS MY WEDDING AND YOU ARE ORANGE."
His name is Tom Sprague. The younger brother of Ted Sprague, the man - now twenty - who is more than just orange, let alone seemingly so.
"How many carrots did you eat??" Ted flails, accidentally hitting his hand against the wall, hard, and swearing under his breath.
"I didn't eat any carrots!"
"You're orange, you moron!"
"This is SPARTA LA! What did you expect me to do?"
"This is also MY WEDDING!"
That's the thing about the Sprague family. There's always so much yelling.
"And YOU are a BEACH BUM," Ted finishes lamely, folding his arms in front of his chest, anger radiating from of every pore of his body.
"AM NOT. I'm still in College, what do you expect me to be? A CEO? A TELEMARKETER LIKE YOU?"
"I AM NOT A TELEMARKETER. I COMMISSION OFF PIECES FOR THE COMPANY-I AM A SALESMAN."
"YOU ARE TOO ANGRY TO BE A SALESMAN."
"SOMEONE NEEDS TO CLOSE THAT GODDAMN OPEN WINDOW. IT'S DRAFTY."
If there was ever two individuals who could merely open their mouths and speak in caps lock, it was the Sprague brothers. They do not even require exclamation marks. They merely do well to shout their sentences at each other.
It's a miracle one of them - or their parents - hasn't gone deaf yet.
It's also a miracle that Karen is even marrying one of them.
Everyone is scared to say anything. They sort of look at each other, a bit shiftily, right, left, right again, as if the repetitive movement of their heads to look at each other will make any difference and make the problem of TED and TOM go away.
John is a brave, brave man. "Er. There aren't any windows open, Ted."
"OF COURSE THERE ARE WINDOWS OPEN. OTHERWISE, WHY WOULD I BE FEELING A DRAFT?"
"Nevermind, I'll just go and get dressed in all my orange glory," Tom mutters, shutting the door behind him and leaving most of the guys in the room stunned that it wasn't said quite so loud.
"Er," Bill says, leaving everyone to stare at him. "Er," he repeats. Then, "what draft?"
Some men measure manliness in how much game they can shoot in a certain amount of time. Or how accurately they can do so. Or how much money they have, or how much they can drink, and how quickly. Or how many 'babes' they can 'score' in any given night.
Around Ted, manliness is always proven by who is Willing To Speak Up around Ted when he's having one of his episodes of ANGER and RAGE.
John's suggested before that perhaps all this ANGER and RAGE is Ted's way of expressing manliness..
Again with all the wondering why Karen is marrying the man.
"WHAT DRAFT??" Ted practically bellows, looking around, then licking a finger and holding it up in the air. "Oh SURE, now that you say that it's GONE. THANK YOU BILL."
Silence.
The problem is that Ted is, in general, a Really Nice Guy most of the time. He just has the tendency to go overboard at other times.
"What, am I the ONLY ONE that FELT A DRAFT BEFORE? Are you telling me IT WASN'T THERE?"
There is a general chorus of "no, no, I totally felt it, yeah," and Ted seems at least resigned to settle for that.
It's like the whole room breathes a sigh of relief now that they can get back to dressing up for the wedding.
***
The thing about birthdays, Peter thinks, is that they only make you feel Good and Happy and Pleased for so long, until they turn on you, like some sort of backstabbing friend that you can't ever really truly trust, but that is just so damn nice for the first couple of years that you know them that you can't really hold it against them when things like time and internal clocks ticking becomes involved.
"Happy birthday, Pete," Nathan says, still in his blue pajama pants, still shirtless, still with that ruffled, sleepy, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-look. Peter doesn't look, instead making a face at the present he's holding in his hand.
"What's this? You can't wait for your present to be opened with everyone elses?"
"I'm special," Nathan says, and Peter almost believes it, his lips pressed together in a tight line, taking the oblong, somewhat small package out of his brother's hands.
It's a pen.
Of course it's a pen.
"It's a pen," Peter says, because it seems to be the only thing on his mind right now.
"Of course it's a pen."
Something about this conversation - this life - seems repetitive. "Um," Peter says for a moment, the pad of his thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth as he looks at the cream resin with the swirls of darker and lighter color here and there, making it look a bit like Jupiter might if you stretched it into a pen-shape.
Where it should say Visconti it says Petrelli. It's a fountain pen, the tip - and the little accents here and there - in silver.
There's also no way that this pen is longer than six inches.
"It's sort of short."
"Yes, well, you are my little brother," Nathan says, as if that should explain everything.
It doesn't.
"I figured," he continues, unfazed, "that you, turning seventeen, are closer and closer to reaching that certain step of… oh, manhood, I suppose, where a man needs a good pen. They'll get bigger of the years - maybe - and uh, I didn't want something quite so personal and symbolic to be wasted on a whole crowd. Just between you and me, Pete."
"Thanks," Peter says, because he doesn't know what else to say.
"Yeah," Nathan says, nodding in his way of agreeing when he's ready to be aloof about something now, putting his hands in the pockets that do not exist in those pajama pants - they sort of look lost now, unsure of where to go for comfort - smiling just a hint, nodding, looking somewhere else entirely, only to step back or finish with some smart statement that will make him feel like he is still in control of the situation.
The doorbell rings, and Peter thanks whatever God that orchestrated that, gesturing wildly towards the door before running off.
It's not like they don't already have enough guests at the party - mainly family - and so many of them, too! - and a few friends thereof, but Peter is still expecting the arrival of-
Oh.
"Er. Hi?"
"Hi, is Nathan here? I'm his date for the party."
This is not Emma. That is somewhat unsettling. But just somewhat. Peter has a pen now, it's time to be manly. Not unsettled by some skank-date of Nathan's.
Maybe Nathan missed the memo about the fact that this wasn’t a cocktail party, but was actually a birthday party for his brother.
***
People are taking pictures. People are being ushered to their seats. People are being greeted by the parents. People are unrolling the aisle runner. People are singing. People are playing an organ.
Ted can't breathe.
In fact, Ted is pretty sure that he cannot do anything at all right now, not even if someone asked him to.
Karen is not here! he wants to let someone know before he realizes that he's not supposed to see her before the ceremony.
This is nerve wrecking.
Someone snaps his picture and he sort of wants to blow the place apart from nerves, anxiety, tension, and worry.
His brother is yelling at one of the photographers. Good that someone is doing it for him.
There's that damn draft again.
***
The thing about Gabriel Gray is that he has this ability to make Peter feel at ease because Gabe is bound to make a bigger fool out of himself than Peter is in the long-run anyway. And then Peter gets to be the hero and make Gabe feel better about whatever incident happened to have undergone.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you here."
Gabe smiles, one of those amazingly brilliant smiles that make Peter wonder whether Gabriel has a life outside of Peter. Or at all. Or whether he has a goal in life that doesn't consist of Pleasing Peter.
"Who's that girl?" Gabe asks, and Peter frowns.
"That's Nathan's date to my birthday party."
"She looks like she's painted on her clothes."
Well, Gabe could certainly make a profession out of Pleasing Peter, if anyone could.
***
There's this thing about standing at the head of the aisle, Ted thinks, facing the wall and this old guy with a book, your friends and your orange brother all in suits to match you - almost - to your right, all of these ladies in pretty dresses that couldn't mean less to you if they tried, people crying behind you, some people gasping, the organ playing, and then you turn and-
Ted feels his heart stop, somewhere, far away, from another galaxy, as if he's not in his body, but instead watching Karen walk down that isle, lilies in her hair…
This is exactly what life is all about, Ted realizes, his heart sounding like it's about to go through the roof, along with everyone else and this building.
He's shaking.
***
Gabriel almost wants to ask Peter who invited Leia. From the expression on Peter's face, it does not look like Peter did it, and although there is an undercurrent of Distinctly Uncomfortable on Peter's face, he doesn't look entirely displeased by this new development.
That, and she's actually in the house now.
Gabriel fidgets with the collar of his button-down under his sweater vest even though he knows it's already perfectly straight, stares down at his shoes, and looks up again.
He's the only one here without a date.
This, of course, makes perfect sense, given that Gabe has never had the fortune - misfortune? - to meet someone who feels the need to paint on their clothes in metallic colors - he is vaguely tempted to ask her about the specifics that an ensemble like this entails - which seems to be a certain skill of Nathan Petrelli's, and he's certainly not as good-looking and suave as Peter is.
Maybe it's the sort of music he listens to. Peter listens to things like the Manic Street Preachers, whereas Gabriel has actually just discovered that the lead singer of Genesis' name is Peter Gabriel, which is just such a coincidence that he has to listen to his music on principle, if for nothing else.
The room has a distinctive feeling of Awkward about it, and no one seems to be talking. Peter's parents and the rest of his family save for his brother are all outside, having a barbeque and fun, and Gabriel can't join them because it's March and his seasonal allergies are on again, and medicine doesn't help. It just makes him sleepy or keeps him from sleeping, neither of which seem all too productive.
So inside it is.
"I like your hair."
There are certain things that happen to normal people that either do not have an impact on them, or cause minimal damage. With Gabriel, one might take that reaction and multiply it times ten.
So if a regular person might not be affected by someone suddenly and unexpectedly speaking to them - it's much worse than it sounds, Gabriel insists - Gabriel gives a little yelp, jumps a few feet in his seat, his eyes wide, drawing the attention of the whole room towards him.
"What?" he fairly shrieks, if only because he never thought that Leia could have anything at all to say to him. Ever.
It might be the nicest thing he's ever heard someone say, ever. Peter's never told him that about his hair, so it might actually apply.
"You're in my anatomy class, aren't you? You're really good in there. I… I sort of have trouble in it. I mean, especially with the nero…"
"Neurology?"
"Yeah, what we're doing right now." The pause is stagnant. Peter is so obviously Not Staring that Gabriel wonders if he would perhaps prefer staring.
Notcomfortablenotcomfortablenotcomfortable.
The woman with the painted-on clothes is staring, though, and Gabriel decides that her attention is more than unwanted.
"I don't know, I was wondering if you might help me sometime?"
"Oh, of course he won't. He's too busy learning to become a rich, handsome doctor."
The smile - and the wink that followed it - could only be described as salacious, throwing Gabe for a curveball.
What on earth was happening to the natural order of things?
***
On any other day, a receiving line where Karen is kissing just about every man in the room would have had in him a rage.
Not today.
Because, technically, no matter how many men kiss her even within in the span of an hour, she will be his today. And every single day from then on.
People start to eat from the buffet tables, and then there's the familiar clink - metal on glass - and Tom clears his throat to make a speech.
Ted could almost ignore the fact that his brother is orange.
***
The woman with the metallic clothes is not talking to Peter even though he is obviously much better looking and has better taste in music. Gabriel finds this strange.
And slightly irritating, as Leia is now attempting to make conversation with a Peter that is not making things easy.
Peter's brother has disappeared.
Gabriel feels uncomfortable in the way that an elephant might feel uncomfortable in a corset.
"Er."
"You know, I think you look quite dashing in a sweater vest… I'm almost tempted to take it-"
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, GABRIEL GRAY, something screams inside of his brain.
"ER," he says, making him wonder whether the only thing he is capable of doing is being inarticulate… more loudly.
"Your tag is sticking out… it has your name written on it. Gabriel Gray. That is your name, isn't it?"
It's highly unsettling that she's even touching his tag. Or that it's hanging out.
OH GOD. WHY. WHY DOES HIS BRAIN DO THIS TO HIM.
"THEY CALL ME GABRIEL GAY," he fairly shrieks, his eyes as wide as dinner-plates, her eyes as wide as her breasts which are fakefakefake and Gabriel runs for his life.
***
The dance was, of course, perfect.
Everything is, of course, perfect.
Even the fact that there is cake all over his cavemanly beard is perfect.
It's like he's radiating joy and not even orange moron brother can ruin it.
The only thing that's not perfect is the fact that it's almost over.
Of course, that is when the honeymoon begins, and they'll have a whole week entirely to themselves in Vegas.
Ted grins and a little girl catches the bouquet.
It's time to take off the garter.
***
When little children play catch or tag, or even hide and seek, there is always a Safe Place that the kid who is not as physically fit, or not as manly, or simply much more scared than the others can disappear off to and no one will even criticize him.
Sitting on Peter's bed, where everything is very quiet and things are just a little messy and he is surrounded by CDs everywhere and a gameboy and a walkman and tennis shoes and clothes left and right and school things and a fair amount of male hair care products, Gabriel Gray is certain that he has found his Safe Place.
Leia didn't say anything about his vest. Peter's brother gave it disapproving glares. Peter didn't say anything. But the woman with the painted-on clothes said she liked it and-
Clearly he needed to be more like Peter. Maybe then Leia would be tempted to maybe try and talk to him again. Maybe.
And Peter's clothes are just so incredibly nice. It's sort of like they're going to waste every moment that he's not wearing them.
It's like his moral and ethical duty not only as a friend, but as a person, for him to help Peter out there and wear one of them, even if it's over his sweater vest.
***
"I wonder why your uncle from New York never showed up! I thought for sure he would come - we had such a great time the last time he came down to LA for the barbeque we had at your parent's house."
"Yeah, I don't know either. I was looking forward to seeing him." Ted looks over to where there is an open window here.
Nothing.
And it's so damn drafty here, at his parent's house…
"Shall we take pictures? You look positively radiant."
Ted grins and shakes his head. "Pictures, yes. But I don't look like anything compared to you. Anyway, they have those high arches and columns outside, we should take advantage of that and get a few really nice pictures…" Ted pauses, running a hand through her hair. "That's ridiculous, the flowers look like they've already suffered the brunt of the ceremony. It's like they're wilting so much faster than flowers should."
"I'm sure it's nothing. Come on, let's take pictures. Oh, and - please, try to behave yourself with the photographer. For my sake."
***
The problem with having a friend who is so much shorter than you is that, in the unlikely circumstance that you want to do him a favor and wear his clothes for him, they might not fit.
Or at least, not go all the way down to your waist.
This is a problem, Gabriel realizes, only to choose to ignore it, discarding this as trivial. Especially if it will get the woman with the painted-on clothing to leave him be.
It doesn't matter. There are more important things to be taken care of.
"I need to give you your birthday present," Gabriel says.
"Oh, yes, me too!" Leia jumps up, running to Gabriel's side where where the presents are piled up, smiling at him in that way.
That way.
Taking a deep breath, he nods, picking up his present and feeling much weaker than before.
His shirt - Peter's shirt - has WET! written over it in bold, black letters, and Gabriel thinks it's quite flattering on him in his own way, even if he's now having doubts.
"Uh, here," he says, stepping forward somewhat nervously and handing him the package. Leia is right beside him, holding her hand back so Gabe might go first.
Gabriel looks up, looks around, and realizes that Peter's brother is watching and he does not look Pleased.
***
So far Peter has only received a pen. His mother always waits until the very evening to give him his family-presents, but Nathan always wants to be first, and now it's time for Gabe's present.
He takes the wrapping off slowly, carefully, so nothing might tear, and, opening the box up, he grins. "What is this?" he asks, despite already knowing the answer.
"It's my hair. Over, um seventeen years. Most of them bowl cuts. And then, you know, what happened New Years Eve."
He can't help but grin.
"And what's this?" he asks, picking up the piece of paper sitting below the bag with the hair, opening it up like a card.
"It's, uh-"
Gabe doesn't need to finish. Peter can already see Gabe's neat scrawl - GABRIEL GRAY'S SOUL - in large letters.
"I owe you, you know. Er, please don't hold it against me, I-"
Peter doesn't think about it when he reaches forward and pulls Gabriel into a hug. "Thank you," he says, and finally Gabe relaxes and hugs him back.
Leia's still holding out her present. Right.
Pulling back, he takes the package and unwraps it quite as carefully, opening the lid.
It's black and leather and slightly frayed at the edges, but with a silver clasp and lock and a marker so he won't forget where he was last writing, the key hanging from the leather strap.
It's a journal.
"Th-thank you, I didn't expect… I love it, of cou-"
That's when he notices that Nathan has disappeared. Along with his date.
It doesn't require him to strain too hard to hear it, his eyes clenching shut.
When they open again, he sees it.
"What on earth are you wearing."
It's not even a question.
"I, uh."
"Take it off!"
It's clearly his shirt, and it's clearly to short on Gabe, who steps back, shaking his head, eyes wide.
"No, I mean it, take it off!"
No response. That's fine, Peter thinks, jumping up and onto Gabe, who is taller but weaker and more frail than him any day, wrestling him to the ground and clawing at him.
Victory comes with his shirt back.
And Gabriel's sweater vest.
And his button-down.
One look at his friend, and his suspicions are confirmed.
Oh dear.
Gabriel scrambles to his feet and Leia is staring and even he, Peter, himself, is staring, and Gabriel looks like a deer in headlights who doesn't know what he did wrong.
"What?" he asks, his arms sort of flailing, and Peter looks down at his bare chest, then up at Gabe, then back down.
Gabe seems to finally get it.
Then he's gone.
***
That boy is too nice to him and so is that girl and it'll never work and the only thing that Nathan can think of is Peter and yet he can't seem to stop himself with this girl - what was her name again? - either.
Unsettling, that.
And his present was supposed to be the most special to him, and one glance at his friend and his girlfriend and that's over, and it's not even his fault that Peter isn't ready for a nine-inch pen yet because he's just bound to break it.
It's on his bedside table now.
"What are you looking at?"
"It doesn't matter, you're not here for the eye-contact, are you?"
"It would be nice."
"You'll live," Nathan says, his lips pressing together in a firm, thin line, the material his hand grasps onto almost hard under his touch. He shivers.
This doesn't feel right and that's just damn wrong.
***
"Gabe, please come out of the bathroom."
"NO! Not until you stop staring at me."
It's like he didn't even know there was anything indecent or wrong about being shirtless. Like he simply was displeased by the fact that people were giving him weird looks.
It's absurd.
It's so very, very Gabe that it's almost painful.
Peter sighs, softly banging his forehead against the door. "Just come out. Or just let me in, dammit, you can't stay in there forever. You'll get hungry eventually."
"Then all I'll have to do is think of HAM SANDWICHES and I'll be FINE. I'm not LEAVING."
The sad truth is that Peter is almost certain that Gabriel is serious.
"You can even keep the damn shirt despite it being too short on you for all I care!"
"NO!"
Shaking his head, he jumps up to sit on the counter, sighing again.
"Please come out? I like… I like talking to you, you know," Leia says somewhat quietly, trying her best herself, and Peter notices something in her voice that he definitely missed before.
He wishes Nathan would come back downstairs.
Leia disappears for a moment, and when she returns with his mother, he understands why.
"What's going on?"
"He's not-"
"Gabriel, this is Peter's mother speaking. I suggest you come out of there now or I'll kick down the door."
Again, Peter doesn't even doubt the validity of her statement, and, miraculously enough, the door opens.
***
It's a strange feeling, being told off by your best friend's mother.
Not that it changes anything. He just feels a little bit less manly now, and that is definitely not a new feeling.
Leia sort of gives him a look that makes him wonder whether he has anything strange on his face now, and then she pokes Peter and pulls him aside.
Being all by yourself with Peter's mother is horrifying. It's like the woman eats old people medicine for fue-
Wait.
***
And she was so nice about it, too. The only worrisome thing is that Peter doesn't feel all that affected by it. She sort of turns and smiles and waves and gives a shy sort of look at Gabe that makes Peter scratch his head and shrug, and then she's gone and it's his turn to smile and nod at his mom - everything's fine, mom - and pull Gabe aside.
"What happened?"
"She said that she thought that I didn't treat you quite nice enough. That the shirt looked good on you and that I shouldn't have wrestled you to the ground or been so mean. And that I should tell you that you don't need to wear my clothes to look cute."
Another shrug. "Oh well."
Gabriel nods, scratching his head, obviously confused.
"Hey mom, is it okay if Gabe spends the night?"
"Well, Nathan is keeping that skank upstairs, so I don't see why not."
Peter makes a face, realizing that, under normal circumstances, he would be glad to hear his mother make a comment like that. It's funny. It's about Nathan.
But nothing is ever really normal with him and Nathan, is it?
Smiling and nodding despite it, Peter grabs Gabriel's arm, and drags him upstairs to his room. "Maybe we can try on more of each other's clothes."
Reads: Gabriel Gray's Soul.
Congratulations! You are the proud owner of my Gabriel Gray's soul effective immediately.
You have earned it, Peter Petrelli.
Use it wisely.
Or just use it however you feel like using it. That doesn't really matter.
Signed: Gabriel Gray
Notorized: Gabriel Gray
P.S. Yes this piece of paper really is my soul.
P.P.S. Happy Birthday :)
P.P.P.S. I am tall like a tree! So, really, my soul as paper makes sense!