Hi, yeah, I'm actually back. So sorry for the long wait…I'm a notoriously bad updater. Very sorry.

Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to review, it means a lot, especially as I am so uncertain in the Gilmore Girls world. I hope this new chapter also meets with your satisfaction.

And, uh, to those of you who will be asking me about my Heroes story (especially 7by7th7sea :) I AM working on it…this chapter just came about with much more ease. Soon, my friends, soon!

And, once again, thanks to you anonymous reviewers I don't get to respond to individually. I truly appreciate it.

Please enjoy!


Most people, over a matter of years, become so entrenched in routine and so accustomed to belonging to a certain set of situations and realities that they find the prospect of living in any other manner to be not only laughable but utterly daunting. Change is frightening, and yet, adaptation inevitably occurs. A modern, spoiled man upon finding himself stranded away from society will revert to his primal survival skills because he must. A family bowed low by job loss will adjust its lifestyle because it must. Peter was not an exception. Six months into his tour of duty in Stars Hollow the teenager was astonished to realize that he was no longer a stranger in his environment. The once alien land was familiar if not comfortable. Though he continued to most eagerly away any sign of his brother returning for him, he had to admit that there were worse place to be in forced hiding. He had, dare he say it, friends.

Even though, he mused as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror managing his coif, he had far fewer demands placed upon him when he was strictly aloof and noncommittal in his relations with the natives. Instead, he found himself preparing to spend his Friday night in the company of not only his girlfriend, but, unpleasantly enough, with her grandmother as well. Not his idea of a hot date.

"You're gonna be late," Luke called from the base of the staircase, "and believe me, these aren't people who're impressed with the concept of 'fashionably late'."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the teen muttered, giving himself a last onceover before grabbing his jacket and swaggering down the stairs. "Geeze, it's a ghost town in here," he remarked as he pushed aside the fabric partition separating the living quarters from Luke's, empty, diner.

"Yeah," Luke muttered, too involved with his pile of receipts to look up from his spot behind the cash register, "which is, for once, a good thing since you're taking off early. I think if it stays like this I might just close up a couple hours before normal."

"Sounds fair," Peter helped himself to a doughnut from the glass pastry stand, ignoring his 'uncle's' glare. "Just in case the food's inedible," he jokingly explained.

"Well you'll never find out if you don't get there," Luke scolded with an exaggerated glance at his wrist watch. "I'm serious, man, its like I told you, these women come as a package. If you don't make a good first impression…"

"Spare me, Luke," Peter drawled between bites of his pre-dinner snack. "You already gave me the He-Man Rory-Protector speech. I know if I do anything to hurt her you'll come after me with your baseball bat."

"I never said that exactly," Luke declared snippily, "but if the image keeps you from doing anything stupid…"

"Right," Peter snickered. Far from being offended by the gruff man's display of testosterone, he was glad that Rory had someone like Luke in her life to watch out for her; everyone needs someone like him at one time or another. Someone like Nathan. 'Stop it,' he mentally scolded himself, willing his thoughts far away from the brother he hadn't heard from in half a year. He swallowed hard, turning to push against the door while offering Luke a half hearted good-bye.

"Hey, wait just a minute," Luke's voice stopped him. "How are you getting there?"

Peter cocked a brow at his oblivious friend. "Whoosh," he said, zooming his hand through the air before him.

"No way," Luke cried, waving his hands wildly as if to dispel the very idea from the room. "Un uh, no flying. Nathan made it perfectly clear that you can't use your…stuff."

"Luke, come on," Peter rolled his eyes, "no ones gonna see me. It's not a big deal."

Luke moved in front of his young guest, towering over him with his hands placed firmly at his hips, elbows jutting out sharply from his sides. "Oh yeah, how can you be so sure of that, huh?"

"Maybe because I can become invisible," Peter stated mockingly.

At a loss for words, Luke pursed his lips, resisting the urge to smack the smug look off of the kid's face. "That's beside the point," he finally exploded. "Just take my truck."

"Luke," Peter reached out to rest a hand on the larger man's tense shoulder, "no."

"You're impossible, ya know that?" Luke shouted at the retreating form, receiving a shrug in response. "And you forgot to put the lid back on the stand!"

Already in the doorway, Peter turned on his heel and stretched a hand toward the counter across the room. Concentrating on the glass dome, the face of a similarly gifted school mate flitting briefly through his empathic mind, he lifted it with telekinetic ease. Luke watched with noiseless horror as the object rose into the air. He ran across the room, snatching the cover out of mid-air. "You…can't…do that," he spluttered, casting nervous looks out of the suddenly too abundant windows while he clutched the glass dome to his chest.

Peter laughed as the man ranted. Luke was the kind of guy who grew on you when you least expected, he'd miss him once he went back home. "See you later, Luke. Don't wait up."

Luke looked on as the kid walked out to the sidewalk, cast a surreptitious glance around him…and disappeared completely. He wearily sank into the closest chair, abandoning his crushing hold on the formerly aloft glassware and doffing his ever present cap. "Nathan's gonna owe me big time for this," he swore, running a tired hand through his flattened hair. A street light sputtered to life, casting its sickly glow on the pastry cover. "Big time."


'And Luke wanted me to drive,' Peter smiled as he speedily moved undetected through the sky above the highway. Traffic was backed up for miles and the knowledge that he had escaped the soul crushing experience of grid-lock traffic made his flight all the more pleasant. 'Maybe tonight won't be so bad,' he thought optimistically as he gracefully landed in the Gilmore's driveway. Rory would be there, which was always a pleasure and, concurrently, Lorelai wouldn't be there, he grinned wryly as he reached for the doorbell. 'Besides, I'm used to these society types,' he reasoned, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. 'I'm familiar with the eccentricities of these wealthy old biddies, after all mom's one.'

The door silently opened on well oiled hinges, revealing a glowing Rory Gilmore. "Just in time," she smiled, accepting a brief peck on the lips. "I'm so glad you're here Jess."

Jess. Every time she called him Jess he inwardly cringed, hating the reminder that their relationship was built upon an enormous lie. For the second time that evening he found himself pushing away unwelcome thoughts. Rather than dwell on his uncharacteristic untruthfulness, he fell back into what had become a comfortable banter, joke, grope, banter. "What, did you think I would flake?" he asked, feigning hurt. "I'm glad you think so highly of me."

Rory tucked an arm around his slim waist, guiding him toward her waiting grandmother. "I can't deny that the prospect was entirely beyond the realm of possibility."

"You wound me."

"Unlikely."

He dropped the arm that had been slung around her shoulders. "Maybe I should just go back…"

"No way, mister," she tightened her hold on the fleeing boy. "You're here and you're staying."

"Dictator," he murmured into her hair.

As the entwined pair crossed the threshold of the Gilmore's sitting room a smartly dressed older woman rose to greet them. "Ah, Rory this must be your young man."

Peter's heart either leapt into his throat or dropped into his stomach, he wasn't sure where it had wandered but it certainly wasn't at it's proper post when he so desperately needed it. This couldn't be happening. When he had ruminated over his familiarity with wealthy old biddies he had never expected to be met with a woman whose face and voice were too dangerously familiar to Peter for her to be allowed to meet Jess. He cursed his lack of foresight, ironic in a boy with precognitive abilities, as Rory continued with introductions. Of course Rory's grandmother, Mrs. Gilmore, would turn out to be Emily Gilmore, Angela Petrelli's long time friend. His mother and the Gilmore woman weren't exceptionally close, but the two were on good enough terms that Peter had crossed paths with the snarky older woman on several occasions. He had no doubt that she would recognize 'Jess' for who he truly was, given the opportunity. 'Guess I can't give her the opportunity,' he thought resignedly, grunting shortly in response to Emily's generous welcome, his eyes cast down to the floor. 'Damn it, Rory's gonna hate me.'

"Jess," Rory nudged his side. "My grandmother asked you a question."

"Oh, right, yeah?" He asked awkwardly, hazarding a quick glance at the stern woman.

"I asked if you would like anything to drink."

"No," he bluntly replied, watching Rory's eyes grow round at his mounting anti-social responses.

"Well then," she answered airily, choking on a scalding reprimand in deference to her granddaughter's feelings, "let's adjourn to the dining table, shall we? We wouldn't want the food to needlessly sit."

A bewildered Rory pulled Jess back a few steps. "What is going on?" she hissed lowly. "30 seconds in and you're already being a jerk."

"Maybe I'm trying for the record," an already irritated Jess volleyed back.

"Don't worry, you're a shoe in."

Peter sighed as the fuming girl stomped after her grandmother, debating the merits of simply dashing out the door while the coast was clear. Emily effectively vetoed that fleeting desire by poking her head around the corner and asking if he would be joining them.

The thick cloud of tension making camp around the party of three was in no way lessened by the nervous movements of the newly acquired maid. The trio was eerily silent following Emily's failed attempts at engaging the young man in small talk.

"So Jess, Rory tells me you enjoy literature?"

"Yep."

"And how are you enjoying your new classes? I hope they're not too difficult?"

"Nope."

"Tell me, do you have a car?"

"Nope."

"Are you licensed?"

"Yep."

"Do you plan on purchasing one soon?"

Shrug.

Eventually she abandoned her fruitless pursuits, feeling comfortable that she had done all that was possible to engage the young ruffian. For goodnessakes, the boy absolutely refused to so much as look up from his salad.

All in all, it wasn't shaping up to be a pleasant evening.

Pleasant or no, the wounded evening may have staggered to a much sought after finish line if Emily hadn't asked Jess to pass her a dish. Something in the boy's movement as he rotated in his seat was strangely familiar to her perceptive eyes. He momentarily turned to face her as the uncomfortable sensation of being sharply scrutinized itched at his side. 'I know that face,' she squinted thoughtfully, though her glimpse of his face had been admittedly brief.

"Have we met?" she pointedly asked the scowling boy.

Peter's heart beat wildly against his chest. "Yeah, a few minutes ago."

"Don't be smart," she snapped over Rory's horrified "Jess!" "That's clearly not what I meant."

"Don't know what to tell you," he muttered to the fork he was manipulating to write HELP on the table linen.

She raised an imperial eyebrow at the uncouth young man on her left. "I never forget a face."

"First time for everything."

Rory stood abruptly, tossing her napkin on to the table. "Can I talk to you? Alone?"

"We're in the middle of dinner, Rory. Don't you think you're being rude to your grandmother?"

Rory's eyes flashed as she whirled away from the table, trusting her boyfriend to follow her. Peter would have followed her to hell and back when the alternative meant being alone with Emily Gilmore.

"Why, Jess?" She was clasping her arms to her torso when she turned to face Peter as he entered her grandfather's study. "Why? I don't understand. You get here and you're happy and really nice and joking and the very second you come in contact with another human being you turn into this major ass!"

Peter wanted to explain everything to his visibly upset girlfriend; but, for the safety of his family, he couldn't. She was in tears and he could do nothing to assuage her anger or frustration. He hated feeling helpless. Weak. "Rory, I just-I can't do this now."

"Of course you can't," she laughed humorlessly. "Shutting down and walking away; its what you do, right?"

"This was just a bad day, okay?"

Rory threw her hands in the air. "It's always a bad day Jess! Is this what a relationship with you is like? Just you and me, hidden away from the world, snarling at any signs of human contact? I love my family, you know that, yet every chance you have to develop any type of relationship with them you act like," she paused, staring at the defensive, slouched figure of the scowling boy through glassy eyes, "like someone I don't even know."

The two stared into opposite corners of the room.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Rory all but begged.

Peter didn't know where to begin. "There are so many things I wish I could say," he said softly, allowing his blackguardly pretensions to fall momentarily. He wished his brother was there. He chuckled a hopeless, hollow laugh at the thought. She didn't even know he had a brother. She didn't even know his name. "And I can't say any of it. Not now."

"Maybe you should just go," she whispered, refusing to meet his eye.

He nodded slowly. "Okay," he moved to the door, "Are we okay, Ror, or…"

"I don't know, Jess. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"For what it's worth," he said quietly from the other side of the doorway. "I'm sorry for being a jerk."


Peter's flight back to the diner was worlds away from the light hearted jaunt of the early evening. His stomach felt leaden, every movement was sluggish and forced. Of all the grandmothers in the world, hers had to be Emily Gilmore. Yet even as he laid the blame for his and Rory's falling out at the expensively shod feet of the Gilmore matriarch, he knew that he was only deluding himself. He had been foolish to hope that he could manage a healthy relationship when doing so meant repeatedly lying and pretending to be someone he wasn't. He harbored few doubts that Rory would care for him as Peter as she had for Jess, but the guilt of such underhandedness was eating away at him.

For the first time in months, he wanted desperately to go home. His entire being cried out for his family and his house, to crawl into his own bed and awaken to the realization that the past night had been nothing but a horribly elaborate dream. Even as this filial desire stewed within him, he trudged into the locked diner, up the dark staircase, fully aware that the bed waiting for him wasn't the one he craved.

Upon entering the apartment he was surprised to find that his bed wasn't the only thing waiting for him. Luke sat at the kitchen table, holding onto consciousness much later than was normal for the obscenely early riser.

"Hey," Peter said in greeting.

"How'd it go?" Luke asked, doing a terrible job of masking his palpable anxiety as he fiddled with the empty beer bottle in his hands.

"Horribly," Peter commented succinctly, deciding he was too tired and emotionally worn to inquire after the reason for the waves of unease radiating off his host. "Turns out Rory's grandmother runs in the same circles as my mom. She almost recognized me."

"That's good, kid," Luke murmured distractedly.

Peter finished pulling a well-worn t-shirt over his head before padding over to join Luke at the table. "What's going on Luke?"

"Huh?" the older man jumped at suddenly seeing the boy in such close proximity. "Uh, nothing. It's nothing, it can wait. Let's just go to bed."

"Luke," Peter insisted, "what is it? I can tell you're lying."

"Of course you can," Luke sighed, resting his face in his hands. "You didn't read today's paper did you?"

Peter blinked in surprise. Generally speaking, he hounded after the paper as soon as he rose from bed, led by his hunger for news on the ongoing battles. Today, for the first time in months, he had completely forgotten.

Taking the kid's silence as his answer, Luke plopped the New York Times on the table in front of him. A smile quickly spread across Peter's face at the headline proclaiming Peace in New York. "They say most of the fighting is over," Luke summarized. "There was a big brawl, the ring leaders of the bad guys were all captured or killed. Its just a matter of rounding up the stragglers who managed to get away."

"This is great news, Luke," Peter laughed. "It's over, we won, my family's safe! I can go home!"

Luke's pervading silence didn't deter Peter's ebullience.

"Not that I won't miss you," he joked as he unfolded the front page, "but don't worry, I can always…come…v…," the sight of a picture bellow the fold stole his breath. He could barely focus his eyes to read the small news print under the beloved face. 'Missing in action…presumed dead…' He might as well have been in a vacuum for all his awareness to everything beyond that newspaper.

He wanted to scream but his voice was paralyzed with numbing disbelief.

He wanted to cry but he hadn't the prepossession to muster tears.

He wanted to throw the odious newspaper, that harbinger of death, as far away as he could but it seemed melded to his sweating palms.

"Nathan?"


I wouldn't dare, you say? Oh, I would, friends, I would. Read my fic Sibling Rivalry if you think I steer clear of character death he he he. Anyway, I had fun writing it, I hope you had fun reading it. As always, review!