Title: A Quiet Presence
Summary: Peter has learned of Nathan's death and goes to Emma for comfort. Spoilers for "Ink"
Peter stood outside Emma's apartment, debating whether to knock or not. He had gotten her address from the hospital, then headed to the nearest liquor store. Taking another swig from the bottle of bourbon in his hand, he felt the alcohol start to make him forget why he had come.
But then, he heard the music. It was a cello being played from somewhere down the hall. It reminded him of when he had seen Emma playing the cello in the park. At first, he smiled at the memory, only to have his smile fade when he remembered what had brought him to the park in the first place.
William Hooper.
He remembered walking with the man, and what they had talked about.
"Have you ever lost a brother?" Hooper had asked him.
"No," he had replied. "No, I haven't."
His throat tightened at the memory. How surreal it all seemed now.
Raising his hand, he banged loudly on the door.
-*-*-
Even if her ability had not warned her, Emma would have been made aware of the pounding on her door by the vibrations shaking the wood.
She hurried to open it, finding a half-drunk Peter Petrelli holding himself up with one hand on her doorframe. His other hand held a bottle of bourbon. Two-fifths of the bottle was already empty.
"You're home," she read from his lips. "I wasn't sure…" he trailed off with a sniff.
"What are you doing here?"
Peter's face crumbled into despair at the question. "He's dead," she saw him say. "My brother's dead. He was killed." He closed his eyes, but the tears that had welled up in them spilled over and trickled down his cheeks.
Wordlessly, Emma pulled him inside and shut the door behind him. Taking the liquor bottle from him, she set it on her coffee table as she guided him to her couch and sat beside him, letting him cry into her shoulder. Every so often, she would see the sound of his muffled voice as he plaintively said, "Nathan," over and over again. As the sobs that wracked his body lessened and then subsided, Emma remained quiet and just held him.
Eventually, Peter's breathing evened out, and she knew he had fallen asleep. Shifting slowly out from under him, she pushed him back against the couch, then got the comforter from her bed and covered him with it.
Still leaning over him after having adjusted the comforter around him, Emma tenderly smoothed the hair back from his forehead, memorizing the peaceful expression on his face as he slept.
Briefly, she debated sleeping in her bed, but she didn't want to leave him alone. Sitting down in front of the sofa, she leaned her head against the edge of the seat cushion, draping herself with the end of the comforter that hung down to the floor.
-*-*-*-
The morning sun slanting through the blinds of Emma's apartment hit Peter's face, stirring him awake. Opening his bleary eyes, he groaned, his dry mouth and aching head telling him he had a hangover. He felt a weight against his legs and looked down to see Emma sleeping at his feet.
He looked around, realizing he was in her apartment. At first, he forgot why he was there, but when his eyes landed on the unfinished bottle of bourbon on her coffee table, the painful realization set in, making him more nauseous than his hangover had. The bourbon was Nathan's favorite brand.
Feeling the bile rise in his throat, Peter moved quickly, making it to the kitchen sink in time. As he retched into the sink, Emma, who had awakened when he had gotten up from the couch, padded over to him and soothingly rubbed his back until he was done emptying his stomach of its contents.
Peter turned on the faucet, rinsing his mouth and washing his mess down the drain. He refused to look at Emma until she turned his face to meet hers.
"Stay as long as you like," she said softly. "You don't have to be alone."
Her words made Peter remember another part of his conversation with William Hooper.
Hooper had asked him what Peter would say to those who were grieving. He remembered his reply perfectly.
I would sit with them. Just be with them. I'd let them know that they're not alone.
Emma stepped closer, laying her head against his chest as she embraced him.
He closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I don't want to be alone," he admitted. "Not this time. Not now."
She felt the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, and although she couldn't see his lips or the sound of his voice this time, she somehow understood him and held him tighter.
He pulled back to look her in the face, making sure she knew what he was saying this time. "Thank you. For being with me."
"You would have done the same for me," she replied.
With his words to Hooper still fresh in his mind, Peter knew Emma was right. Had their roles been reversed, he would have been there for her, comforting her with his presence. So, he made no reply, except to bury his nose into her hair, and breathe in her scent.