Fic: Triggered Memory

[interpretthis]

Title: Triggered Memory

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Heroes

Pairing: Nathan/Peter

Genre: Slash.  Either that or very brotherly love.

Rating: PG

Summary: Most pictures are worth a thousand words.

Notes: Last-minute submission to the flyingpetrellis reunion challenge.  (Though it's more of a mental reunion.)  West Coastian, what can I say? :P

               

              Caitlin disappeared for the night and Peter was left alone.  Alone in the bar with a low, sputtering fire, the past few days, and a box.  The disconnection of it all struck him fiercely: here he was, a man born again, the first, unknown volume of his life stashed neatly into a small, carved box while the next sat patiently, waiting to be written. 

 

                But as it turned out, Peter wasn’t so patient.  He longed for contentment, for answers, the peace of knowledge - even if that knowledge confirmed the all-consuming fear that maybe who he was – what he was – was someone he should wish to keep in a cage, a box, a coffin.  He’d achieved the ever-hoped for second chance – the opportunity to top the past with a nice bow and literally shelve it away for a future of solitude and dust.  He weighed the options – unceasing dread or final truth.  The balance tipped in the favor of truth.

 

                His fingers were surprisingly steady on the etched surface of the box’s long, rectangular top.  Its mahogany gleamed in the firelight – light which lent it a soft, enigmatic glow, dancing in broken flashes, poised to dart across the contents within.

 

                The box opened silently, revealing papers and pictures and all manner of ink-bound tributes to moments long gone.  He rifled through the papers – American dollars, an ID with a tiny picture of him – name, place of residence, date of birth.  It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

 

                The first picture sent a piercing sweep from his sternum to the pit of his abdomen.  A young woman smiled back at him – soft blond hair, blue eyes.  Had he known her?  Had he loved her?  He flipped it to see “Claire” scrawled across the smooth, pearly back.

 

                “Claire.”  It felt right.  He knew nothing -saw nothing - beyond name and face, but he could feel her there, tugging on his mind.

 

                He went through a number of other pictures the same way, curious eyes observing, familiarizing what should have been the familiar.

 

                It wasn’t until he reached the very bottom of the box that he found another sort of photo – different in the way that its occupant was not alone, but with Peter.  Peter’s eyes swept hungrily over every inch, skimming along smooth forms, a defined chin, kind, soft eyes full of Peter, locked on Peter, open for Peter.  Peter's heart rate soared as he observed the way his own hand fell across the other man’s waist, his back to the photographer, head turned at an angle to compliment everything his brother – his brother – was.  He stood stock-still as the dam shattered, letting past rush in bit by bit, the wave of identity crashing through every vein, ebbing and swaying and flooding and consuming until it was all he could see, more than he could breathe, all he wanted to feel.

 

                “Nathan.”

 

                Peter dashed for the phone, photo clutched to his chest, grazing his side on the bar’s counter as he swung around it, but he hardly noticed and certainly had no room to care.  He snatched the receiver, clutched it hands-free between cheek and shoulder and dialed.

 

                “Hello?” The voice on the other end was dead.  Lackluster.  But it was him.

 

                “Nathan.” Peter felt his brother’s heart catch.

 

                “Peter.”

 

                There was a long pause, full of breathing and the unspoken.  It was all at once the best, the most frightening, the most comfortable moment in Peter’s new memory.

 

                “Nathan.  I remember everything.  I remember you.”

 

                Nathan sucked in deep.  Felt the first sob threaten and let it come.

 

                “Peter.  Peter.  Peter.”  He felt the name on his lips as he'd felt nothing for four months.

 

                “I’m here.”

 

                Nathan clasped the phone with trembling fingers.  Inhaled and exhaled and listened and loved.  Peter.  Loved Peter.

 

                “I don’t know where here is, but I’m there too.”

-------fin-------