Author's Note: Back again! I know it's been a bit long for me, but I've been re-writing this chapter about a thousand times; somehow, no matter what I do, it keeps coming out slash-y to me, and even though I love my boys gay, this just isn't that kind of story. Truth be told, I'm still far from satisfied — but this is the best I've come up with without having them wear shirts that say "I LIKE WOMEN" in this particular story. Tiddle-tee-hee.
In the meantime? Shanks for the reviews and favs and follows! No matter what I spend my time on in here, I think it's safe to say that this particular universe is my favorite. And a special thanks to Anneber03, who pointed out that I never actually told the story about this "Simone" Peter is talking about. Here's the skinny.
Simone is an (extremely beautiful) art-auctioneer that's known Peter since she babysat him briefly as a child. As adults, they remain friends, if not overly close ones. After Peter obtains his degree, Simeone hires him to be an aide to her dying father; working for them, Peter begins to fall in love with Simone, despite that she's involved in a serious relationship with renown painter Isaac Mendez. At one point, Isaac OD's on heroin, and Simone calls Peter to help. He does, and Simone breaks up with Isaac over the drugs, eventually turning to Peter for comfort. They begin to see one another. Later on, after Isaac gets clean, he comes back to win Simone over — and as the two share a kiss, Peter sees, and it rather destroys his faith in humanity, for a little bit. Full of questions and anger, Peter tries to confront Isaac later at his apartment and ask him why, but things escalate to shutting rather fast, and as Peter rages, Isaac fears for his life and pulls a gun on him. Peter turns invisible just as Isaac fires a shot, and the bullet misses, going straight through the apartment and hitting Simone, who had just walked in. She dies in Peter's arms.
Okay, that made it sound kind of awful, but I'm adapting the synopsis from the Heroes Wiki Page; it's so, SO much more complicated that all of that would have you believe, but the only way to really 'get' it is to watch the show. So much more tragic that way. And I'm sorry for the spoilers, but it really helps to know this before reading this chapter, since Peter'll mention bits about there past (as Simone is obviously still alive in this).
Okay, ridiculously long AN is DONE.
Warnings: There will eventually be a reference to Criminal Minds episode "L.D.S.K.," but it'll be brief, and near the end of the fic. Otherwise, this whole shebang takes place before either of the shows' real relevance, and is a total AU from the twisted depths of my mind. *Grins evilly*
Disclaimers: Potentially, I could write a fanfic where I own Peter and Spencer . . . Hmmm. Oh, but in real life? Nada, zip, zilch . . . NOPE.
I solemnly refuse to ask for reviews. That's your job. Psssht.
Do enjoy.
"I've been hang in' onto something . . .
You keep laughing,
awe-inspiring . . ."
– Starsailor, "Some Of Us"
"This is the evening of what is generally regarded to be one of the most significant events in a person's life – an evening on which, I might add, that I have offered to pay for – and you choose to have your celebration dinner here?" Reid huffed out in a laugh as he held the door open for Peter, and the two men entered their favorite New York diner – a semi run-down Italian place called Piadina. The décor was cheap and cheesy, and the spaghetti even more so; but the bread was delicious, the coffee had free and unlimited refills, it was within block's of Peter's apartment, and, more than anything else, it was always nearly-empty and totally quiet.
Peter just rolled his eyes at his old friend. "Like you weren't thinking of the same exact thing, Spencer." He turned to hang his coat on the old brass racks behind the umbrella stand, and then flashed a brilliant smile as their longtime favorite hostess, Cally, greeted them with a playful "Hello, boys," and guided them to their preferred table in the back of the restaurant, by the Artisan-style windows.
"You're having the usual to drink, my lovelies?" Cally asked as she leaned down to hand them their menus, her curly red hair brushing softly against Spencer's arm. The young man also caught a whiff if her perfume – gardenias – and turned his face away, nodding as a blush flooded his cheeks. Peter, observing this, grinned coyly and met Cally's eye.
"Actually, we're celebrating tonight, sweetheart. Would you bring along a bottle of wine, as well – one of your finest?" Peter winked, and their waitress giggled as she straightened up.
Ruefully shaking her head, Cally said, "Hon, it's all Arbor Mist, all the time. Ain't nothing fine about it."
"Ah, well!" Peter feigned disappointment, his eyes merry. "I guess you'll just have to bring your high-quality self along, instead. Three glasses, then? And whatever flavor is the darkest color."
Cally nodded, the smile on her face warm and full and bright, and turned to fetch their beverages. She cocked her head back around, suddenly.
"By the way, boys; what are we celebrating?"
Peter reached out to grip Spencer's hand, and, holding a straight face, replied, "Our engagement."
Reid, his eyes wide with shock, ripped his arm out of Peter's grasp and glared at his friend while Cally sashayed away laughing and Peter himself fought not to collapse in hysterics.
"You just earned your Bachelor's Degree in medical science, and you've officially been designated as an ANP who will care for our elderly while collecting health insurance and benefits – to say nothing of the reputation – and yet, somehow, you still persist on conducting childish antics."
Peter took a moment to reign his grin under control before answering. "Just trying to lighten the mood, Spencer."
Reid's look was still hard. "It doesn't lighten my mood to have my sexual orientation scrutinized by my best friend and a waitress I like."
"You know, you once told me that people are only truly bothered by the truth, Spencer . . . and, well . . . methinks the gentleman doth protest too much." Peter let his voice drift off meaningfully, waggling his eyebrows as he kept teasing his oldest buddy.
"I'm – " catching himself, Reid lowered his voice and leaned in closer to Peter, whispering furiously, "I'm not gay!"
"I never said you were." Peter's smile faltered after a minute, when Spencer still looked pained. "Look, seriously, I'm sorry. I was just playing, Spence – you know that."
Reid hesitated for a second, then sighed and smiled in forgiveness. They both knew why Peter was on-edge – and neither wanted to upset the evening by bringing up Nathan's little disappearing act.
A comfortable silence settled over the table as the two men turned to their menus – a brief pause that Peter felt the need to immediately break.
" . . . Of course . . . any straight man who had to work with someone who acts like that Elle Greenaway and someone who looks like Derek Morgan, well . . ."
Reid, having decided what he wanted, met Peter's gaze with a suspicious eye as he folded up his menu.
" . . . well, I would understand if that drove you to . . . drive on the other side of the road, if you catch my drift, Spencer."
Peter made mocking googly-eyes at Reid, and this time, the young genius burst out into laughter too.
Both men were still chuckling as their waitress made her way back over, balancing a tray carrying one very black pot of coffee, a bottle of purple-tinted wine, and three slim champagne flutes.
"Everything good, darlings?" She asked, beginning to pour out the wine.
Spencer held up a hand to stop her, saying, "None for me, please." At Cally's curious glance, he continued, "I – I have to work in the morning, and I don't want to be late or otherwise impaired when I g-get there." He bumbled to the end of the sentence, and dropped his gaze again.
"Oh, come off it!" Peter commanded, gesturing for Cally to continue doling out the alcohol as he collected the menu his friend was still clutching. "One glass won't hurt you anything tragic, Spence." He grinned. "Besides – you're about two-thirds pure coffee, anyway – and there's a fresh pot right there. A sip or two, and then you'll be sobered up like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis, and, when Reid still looked conflicted, pressed on.
"I don't want to be the only one celebrating tonight, Spencer – it's a special occasion."
Reid's eyes searched Peter's, and, seeing that he was sincere, gave a small nod and accepted the glass Cally held out to him.
"No one actually gave me an answer — like, a real one," Cally mused, as the three of them raised their flutes. "What are we celebrating?"
Spencer and Peter met eyes before the former of the two finally answered simply, "Graduation."
Peter added, smiling, "Adulthood. Promise. The future."
Cally nodded, understanding. "I'll drink to that," she said, clinking her glass with both of theirs. For a second, then, silence held over the three young people as they each took a small sip of the grocery-store-quality wine.
Reid, wincing slightly from the unfamiliar taste, set his glass down first, and waited expectantly as the other two finished their sips.
Cally smiled as she shifted her own cup to her left hand, using her right one to pick up the two forgotten menus on the table.
"So . . ." she drawled out, glancing at both of the youth before her. " . . . I'm thinking that you," her eyes glanced to Peter, "want the vegetarian lasagna with eggplant parm . . ." She turned from the nodding darker-haired young man to Spencer, and continued, " . . . and you . . . Hmm. I'm gonna get you the tetrazzini." Nodding decisively, she made to leave.
"Actually, I was – " the young man didn't even get to finish his sentence, as their waitress shushed him, sauntering away and calling smoothly over her shoulder, "No tiffs about the price, cutie-pie. It's on me."
Reid blushed at this, and, not knowing what to do with himself, upturned the small cup on his side of the table, and filled it first with coffee, and then, Peter watching in amusement, began ripping open packet after packet of sweetener, tossing the empty ones in a pile at the edge of the table as the white powder grew into a substantial pile on top of his drink.
Peter knew that Reid was just fiddling to avoid his embarrassment, so he let it go – for the moment. Instead, he focused on the growing pile of discarded sugar packets near Spencer's elbow.
"Still addicted, I see."
Spencer didn't bother to look up as he added yet another serving of Equal to his sludgy-looking drink. "I like coffee."
Peter shook his head and took another sip of wine. Some things never change, he though to himself.
Thank god for that.
"Didn't you say you had work in the morning?" the darker-haired man asked teasingly.
Reid, understanding what his friend was getting at, quickly defended, "Coffee doesn't keep me up, Pete."
Eyeing the shadows beneath his (as good as) brother's eyes, Peter bit back a sigh; it was probably far worse things that kept his friend from sleeping.
But he didn't want to get into an argument. Not tonight.
So he lightened his tone, saying instead, "Right. Must be thoughts of that little-miss-Lila-Archer that invade Dr. Spencer's dreams, then . . ."
Reid's eyes shot up, and his deer-in-the-headlights expression was priceless.
"How – ?"
"I do occasionally have the curious need to eat, Spence. And I do occasionally go out to the grocery store – where I will occasionally have to wait in line. And, occasionally, I might happen to glance at one of those god-awful tabloids and, just occasionally, I might happen to see my best friend getting tight and cozy with some cute little bikini model."
"She's an actress – " Reid murmured before he could stop himself. At Peter's knowing grin, he tried to cover, coughing and hurriedly speaking on, "She was involved in a case recently, and my team assigned a protective detail for her."
"You?" Peter asked, unable to help his incredulous tone.
"Yes, me." Reid sounded indignant, and he was meeting Peter's always-intense gaze with a powerful look of his own.
"I am a perfectly capable field agent – I made sure Lila went nowhere by herself, and helped talk down the unsub when we confronted her."
"Bet Miss Archer musta loved you for that." Peter grinned. When Spencer averted his eyes and blushed again, Peter pushed even further.
"She give you a kiss, Spencey?"
Reid's silence was all the answer that Peter needed.
"Man, . . . it only takes you 24 years to get a juicy one, and then your first is with Lila Archer . . ." he mused, thinking that his friend would never stop surprising him.
Spencer was saved from having to answer by their waitress returning, setting down their loaded plates with a soft, "Enjoy, boys" before ruffling both of their heads and strolling away again.
Reid, unaware of it, watched her leave with a curious expression on his face. Digging into his pasta with gusto, Peter finally tried to be a little serious.
"Got anyone special in your life, Spence?"
Both men appeared intensely focused on their food as Reid answered.
"No. I mean, . . . I don't have a significant other, not like that."
Peter raised an eyebrow, and waited – he knew that Spencer was one to go about at his own pace, and would tell more as soon as he was comfortable.
It didn't take long.
"I just . . . my job takes up a tremendous amount of time. We're always consulting, and we do more field work than expected . . . And then, there's always reporting, and case files, and paperwork . . . and I'm trying to write my mom every day . . ."
Peter felt a rush of sympathy for his friend – he knew how hard it had been on Reid taking care of his mother. And right after he turned 18, when he'd gotten accepted into the FBI Academy, his friend had bought his mom a room in the best sanitarium in Las Vegas. Peter never judged him for what he'd done – he was just a kid, he's given up so much for Diana's well-being . . . and he still did a lot more for her than most sons did for their perfectly healthy parents.
Peter was about to reach over a hand and tell Reid some of this, when his friend suddenly spoke again.
"But I'm fine. I mean, I've been getting to know my team really well – I've even hung out with JJ and Morgan a few times outside of work . . . And I've got you – and I'm always busy, anyway." Reid smiled a smile that didn't quite hide the sadness etched in his features, and met his friend's eyes once more.
"What about you?"
Peter, deciding to let Spencer's masking-up go, couldn't help the dreamy expression when he thought of his own matter of the heart.
"It's still Simone, Spencer."
Reid bit back a joking groan as his friend brought up, yet again, the one girl he claimed that he had fallen in love with in his short life. Ignoring him, Peter continued on.
"She's so beautiful, Spence – have I shown you her picture, yet?" When Reid shook his head, Peter pulled out his wallet and tossed over a small, frayed Polaroid that showed an extremely pretty African American woman with large blue eyes, curly brown hair, and Chicklet-white teeth gleaming brightly in her open, laughing smile. As Spencer noted this, he nodded to affirm that, yes, Simone was beautiful, and handed the picture back to his friend.
Peter stared briefly into the face on the film, still talking as he tucked it away safely into his wallet.
"She's been nothing but supportive since I started college – and she's even taking me out to dinner tomorrow to celebrate graduation."
Reid smiled, and tried to deflect the conversation. "But you chose to spend tonight with me, Pete. I'm flattered."
Peter frowned at Spencer's teasing tone. "I wasn't going to ditch you, Spence. But I want to spend as much time as possible with Simone while I can. Isaac's out of town on some business, and I want to be there for her."
Reid said nothing, taking another sip of his coffee and struggling not to profile his oldest and dearest friend. Isaac was Simone's longtime boyfriend – and, she claimed, the love of her life. Peter was just very taken with his old babysitter, and, clearly, was getting his hopes up, and –
Reid shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts. No profiling.
Oblivious, Peter was still talking.
"And she offered me the position to take care of her dad, too – his old hospice aide quit a couple of weeks ago, and she says she wants someone she knows she can trust with her father. And, Spence – I was the first one she asked."
Reid nodded, not wanting to say something he might later regret. But Peter, being someone who'd known him for almost twenty years, picked up on the other man's hesitation, anyway.
"What?" He asked, cocking an eye at Reid.
Spencer shook his head. "It's not important. I just . . . I hope that everything works out the best for you, Pete."
Peter's face twisted. "You don't think I can get Simone?"
"I didn't say that at all." Reid protested. "I was merely trying to assuage any doubts you might have about the probability of, ah, . . . being with Simone."
"And?"
"And, . . . I think that Simone has been a huge part of your life for a long time, Peter. And, I think that she loves you just as much as you love her . . ."
"But?"
"But," Reid continued, wishing there was an easier way to say it. ". . . she's been seeing the same man for six years, Peter. Six years. I mean, she was with him through rehab and relapse, from his being a broke painter to becoming the famous comic-book artist . . . I think that she loves you, but I think that she loves him. Isaac."
Peter held back the ache that shot through his heart when Spencer had said the words that he so didn't want to hear.
Reid watched anxiously as Peter prepared to respond, taking in a quick breath.
"I – I know that she and . . . he . . . have a history, Spence. I'm not stupid."
"No," Reid confirmed, nodding. "You're just very kind, and very hopeful, and very . . . in love."
"Right." Peter pursed his lips as he thought on how to voice his next thought.
"That's just it, though. I love her – more than I can say. And maybe she doesn't love me back, or as much, or in the same way. But I do, Spencer. And I'm going to be part of her life because of that – as a friend only, or a little brother, or some ex-babysitting-charge, if that's what it takes." He looked up at Reid, and found the other man's eyes full of sympathy. "I need her in my life. No matter what."
Reid's head jerked in agreement, and he tried to understand Peter's reasoning. But, deep down, he was sure that his oldest friend was going to get his heart broken by his blindness. And Spencer didn't want that to happen.
But he would be there if it did.
Peter watched the flickering emotions cascade over his friend's face and said quietly, "Don't profile me, Spencer."
Reid gulped at having been caught, and looked up to meet his friend's always-deep gaze. "Sorry. Kind of becomes habit on the job." He smiled.
The tension was broken as Peter returned the look. "And . . . ?"
"And you're not a histrionic sexual sadist . . ."
Peter laughed. "I'm sure that'll entice women to me, if nothing else."
Reid watched his friend, knowing that the only "women" he was thinking of was one woman.
Oh, Peter.
Catching the slight expression, Peter shook the thought aside and tried to return the evening to the light banter it had had before.
"You know, Spence, if you get to judge me based on your job, then I think it's only fair that I get to diagnose you based on mine."
"Oh, yeah?" Reid teased, his voice challenging.
"Yup." Peter grinned, for real this time. "Let's see . . . well, you're far too pale – now, that could be the result of anemia or a form of Lyme's Disease . . . or it could mean that you're spending wa-ay to much time buried in those stupid Russian books, and not enough time hanging out with other, living members of the human race . . ."
Reid was now smiling too. "They're not stupid!" he defended of his beloved Dostoyevsky.
"Getting defensive . . . I'd say that you're also in denial about possible symptoms . . . That could be from Broken-Heart Syndrome . . . Or maybe you're a hypochondriac trying to score free meds . . ." Peter joked on.
"I changed my mind – you are a deviant." Reid's fake frown was quickly disassembled by the grin breaking through on his face, and he continued, "And I would never use drugs!"
Peter winked, and said with disappointment, "Shoot. There go my plans for the evening – " he was cut off as a large garlic knot hit him in the face, and he turned to see Spencer grinning mischievously. He delicately picked up the roll off his lap, dusted it off, and took a huge bite.
"Now who's persisting on 'conducting childish antics,' Spence?"
Reid, watching his friend, laughed along with him, and handed over the plate of butter. "For your bread, my closet psychopath?"
Accepting it, Peter nodded. "Anytime . . . loverboy."
More people walking into the restaurant looked over as the two men burst out into loud laughter, and their stares were only met by the friends breaking down yet again.
Both boys were self-conscious, to a degree. But Spencer was finally having fun, and so, too, was Peter. All the looks be damned – for the first time today, Peter didn't feel nervous or anxious or tired or unaware . . . he was just happy.
Content to be sitting there, enjoying a nice dinner, with his best friend.
Author's Endnote: B'awww, so sweet, those two. Shipping moment going on here . . . Echem. I'll just quietly excuse myself to go work on the last chapter for this . . .
