They only lasted for two days in Australia before Nathan's nerves got the better of him.
His bruises faded, at least to the point where he didn't wince with every step, and he had to admit to himself that it was almost enjoyable to have Peter trying to take care of him – if not enjoyable then it was at least adorable, though Peter would perhaps object to being called that.
They'd left the old car back in Europe, though Peter had taken the dice with them. Now they sat in a diner in a small town somewhere outside of Sydney, with a different beat-up car waiting outside.
"So," Peter said, glancing up from where he'd been reading the newspaper. He seemed delighted to be in an English-speaking country again. "What're we doing today? Travelling again?" The enthusiasm that was always present in his voice was almost completely gone by now.
"I was thinking that we might start to look for somewhere to settle down," Nathan suggested quietly. Peter had rejected the idea last time, but that was then. Since, Nathan had been beaten up and he couldn't continue to force Peter to run for much longer. "It makes more sense to do it here, where we speak the language."
Peter frowned and looked down to his newspaper again, before he gave a light shrug with one shoulder. "Whatever you say," he murmured. Nathan could have cheered from how easy that victory had been.
Holding back any cheers, as that would've attracted attention and pissed off Peter, he took a small sip from his coffee and looked around the diner they were in. It smelled of bacon and pancakes, the breakfast rush still filtering in and out. With red panels and hassled waitresses, the place seemed like every other diner anywhere in the world. It made him miss the US.
He played idly with one of the white paper napkins and hated the fact that Peter's nervous habits seemed to be rubbing off on him. He'd lived in a state of high tension for over a month now, though, so perhaps he had a reason to fiddle anxiously.
He glanced up, head moving sharply, when the door to the diner's bathroom opened with a whining swing. It was dumb to be this on edge, and he'd been scolding himself for it ever since they arrived at the Greek airport to catch their plane here, but the man exiting the bathroom proved that he'd been right to be paranoid.
The greying hair, the hidden weight under his too large t-shirt, the lumbering gait, the knowing snarl: it was one of the men who had attacked him before. Nathan's hand reached out to cover Peter's, where he was still reading that damn paper.
"Pete," he said slowly, looking back to his brother's face as the man slipped into one of the booths at the other side of the restaurant, in plain sight of them. He wasn't even trying to be stealthy about it, and Nathan knew what that meant: this was a warning, probably the final one. "Pete, we need to leave."
"What? We just-"
"Just listen to me. It's important that we stand up right now, and walk out to our car like nothing's wrong. I'll explain later." He wasn't sure if he would or not, but he doubted if he'd get away with little more than a 'trust me, Peter' this time.
Peter looked around the diner, before he folded his paper up and placed their money on the table. "You'd better," he murmured, before he stood up and did exactly as he was told.
With his heart racing, Nathan stood up and followed him: that had been way too close.
That night, he watched the ceiling above them instead of sleeping. The room was dusky and dark, with only the faint glow from the digital clock, and the light forcing its way through thin curtains providing any illumination at all.
Peter's breathing wasn't slow or heavy enough yet to imply that he'd fallen asleep, and Nathan ran his hand gently through his hair. It was soothing, almost like petting a dog, though he'd keep that comparison to himself.
"We could make a life here, Peter," he murmured to the dark room. Beside him, Peter stirred but stayed silent. "Settle down for real, change our names. No one would know who we are, what we are. Anything."
Peter shifted and slipped an arm around his naked waist, before tugging the off-white sheets further over their bodies. When he settled down again, he nodded. "Yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah. I figure we could get a farm – I always liked that idea, you getting your hands dirty for once."
"Me?" Peter sounded outraged, and Nathan was rewarded – or perhaps punished, he wasn't sure – by a nip of Peter's teeth against his right nipple. "I'm a nurse. You have no idea how dirty that gets."
Nathan frowned and rolled over on top of Peter, nestled between the warmth of his thighs. "I don't want to think about that right now, Pete." The idea of Peter's job cleaning up after dying old men wasn't one that he felt like entertaining.
He felt Peter smiling underneath him, and heard the rushing air of him chuckling, but it was difficult to see anything in the dim light they shared. Peter stroked a hand over his shoulder, his touch light and cautious. "What do you want to think about?"
Nathan propped himself up with one arm on the bed by the side of Peter's body, leaving his other hand to skim down, low over Peter's hips. He was growing hard slowly, with just the feel of Peter's body underneath him enough to turn him on: he needed to make the most of this time while he could.
His fingers spread over Peter's flat stomach, and he held back a smile as he felt Peter's breath hitch. "I want to think about you and me, on that farm together."
Peter chuckled again, and nodded. "Alright. Tell me more about it."
Nathan stayed quiet as he gently held Peter's hips and pressed inside him, still prepped and ready from the last time that night. His residual guilt sparked as he heard the near-silent wince of pain from his brother, but it was soothed away by a soft kiss to the side of his mouth.
"C'mon, tell me," Peter insisted, legs bent at an angle that had to be awkward from their positioning.
Nathan moved softly, touching Peter as if he was made from something much more fragile than just glass, and tried to focus on this made-up life they could've had. "You're going to be the farm wife, Pete," he said, just because he knew Peter wouldn't take kindly to that. As expected, Peter hit his arm lightly; luckily for Nathan, he didn't seem out to do serious harm. "You'd stay at home all day, cook my meals, clean the house. I'd make you wear a cute little apron and everything."
"'Cute'?" Peter asked, moving with him now. Their hips rose and fell, tangled in the simple dance they'd done so many times before. Nathan wished he'd switched the lamp on so that he could watch the sweat gather on Peter's body, and observe the faint red flush that always came to his face. "I'm not wearing it if you think it's cute."
"What if I think it's hot?"
"Then I'll wear it."
"Freak."
"You're the one who suggested it in the first place!" Peter protested, shoving at his shoulder and nearly toppling them over. They paused moving to get their balance again, snickering to themselves, before Nathan managed to fall back into their steady rhythm of thrusting together. "Tell me more about what we're gonna do," Peter asked, though he was beginning to sound breathless.
Nathan was starting to lose it himself, grunting and groaning as he lost focus. "We'll get married," Nathan whispered, and now he was really drifting off into a fantasyland. "Change our names, change our identities, get married. I'll-"
He broke off and lost himself, mind floating away as he came deep inside Peter with a reluctant grunt. He stayed vaguely aware of Peter's hand moving between them and jerking himself off in several efficient strokes, but rolled onto his back again without giving Peter the attention he actually deserved.
They lay in silence for a crushing few moments, until Peter cleared his throat. "We're going home tomorrow, aren't we?" he asked, in a voice that seemed too small and weak.
Still catching his breath, Nathan gave a slow nod. "Yeah," he answered, slowly facing up to it. "Yeah we are."
On the flight back home, Peter tried to take his hand.
Nathan pulled away from the touch as quickly as he could; they were going back home, back to their old life, away from the stupid fantasies they'd entertained the night before.
He had to make Peter realise that.
At the airport, everyone was waiting for them. Nathan wasn't sure how they'd known to be there, and that alone should have set him on edge.
Instead he broke into a broad smile when he and Peter walked into the airport, with Nathan carrying the one black bag they'd brought with them. Standing in a small clump, dressed up and as regal as ever, the remaining Petrellis were waiting: Monty with a missing tooth and gap-filled smile, Simon sulking with his arms crossed – and, damn, had he really managed to grow that much in just a month? – Angela dressed in black and as stern-faced as ever, and Heidi…
God, Heidi.
She was smiling, but it seemed tired and almost afraid of him, like she wasn't sure just who she was meeting at the airport. A husband, a politician, a stranger, a madman. Right now, Nathan thought it was a mix of all four and a thousand different things as well.
He wanted to reach out for Peter's hand, to clutch it tightly to reassure himself – and Peter, of course – that things were going to be alright. They were home now, though, and he had to remember that. They were home; they were brothers. From now on, they were back to stolen moments and rushed quickies.
With one flight, the connection they'd made on their trip had faded, and Peter rushed forwards to the kids, collecting both Simon and Monty into a crushing bear-hug. They laughed and complained but didn't pull away, while Nathan hung back, staying where he was a few long, so long, paces away.
The rest of the airport bustled around him, loud and oppressive. Families were reunited with laughs and hugs; couples rushed into each other, kisses and declarations of love haunting the air; handshakes were exchanged as new business contacts were encountered. He stayed separate from it all, the world spinning as reality crashed into him – Peter charmed a reluctant Heidi and the kids were delighted to have them back.
And their mother…
Angela stood, dressed in stern black, and a lipstick smile curled onto her lips as she watched him instead of Peter. Short heels clipped aggressively over the airport's floor, though she was still smiling.
"Keep smiling, Nathan," she ordered as she pressed a dry kiss to his cheek, hands firmly on his shoulders. "The press are no doubt here; they'll want to record your arrival."
He supposed that he ought to ask about the campaign, about how she'd coped with his absence, about how she'd dealt with the media, and yet…
He didn't care.
He didn't want to bother with this any more: he just wanted to grab Peter, turn around, and get back on that plane. His mother's hand tighten on his shoulder. "I've dealt with Linderman; he won't go near any of us as long as you learn to control yourself. And Nathan? If you ever do anything like this to your brother again, I will make sure that you receive more than a couple of punches for it," she whispered by his ear; the words were hissed out.
His stomach plummeted, bruises throbbing all over again, and he slowly returned the awkward hug they shared. "How do you know about that, mom?" he asked – and he didn't want to know, didn't want to think about it, didn't want to accept the fact that those hadn't been Linderman's men but her own.
She pulled back from him with her smile still in place, and smoothed down his shirt at the shoulders. Murmuring under her breath about the state he was in, she didn't look up at him. "Don't you think about that, son. I'm sure you wouldn't enjoy the answer." Her eyes snapped up to meet with his then, calm and controlling. "Just rest assured that everything I have done was in the best interests of our family."
You sent them after me; your own son, and you made them threaten me, threaten Peter-
"Same here," he stated confidently.
His mother snorted, scorn visible on her face. "Your idea of 'what's best' appears to be taking your younger brother out of the country and- and-" She cut herself off and shook her head in a flustered movement: she didn't have to say anything, but Nathan realised with a sick feeling in the back of his throat that she knew. She knew exactly what he and Peter had got up to in all of those hotel rooms.
"Don't take it out on him," he said immediately. He could handle Angela's hatred and scorn. Peter couldn't.
She sighed and rolled her eyes as if he'd said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "There's nothing for me to take out on him. Do you understand? Nothing happened on that trip. Peter had another breakdown, and left the country. You, as the devoted older brother, chased after him. It was very noble of you, and everyone's glad that you've returned safely. That's what happened."
Real life slipped away, and Nathan found himself nodding. "That's what happened," he repeated, as he glanced to where Peter was talking excitedly to Heidi.
"Good," Angela stated, with a nod. "Now come on, you've got a wife to grovel to."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Peter snapped, standing in the centre of his apartment. There was anger radiating off of him in the same way that it used to from their father – thick and heavy and hateful. "I follow you around for a month and I've gotta find out why from our mother?"
Nathan glanced away and silently vowed to make their mom pay for this: she'd been punishing him in different ways in the week since their return. This was just the latest in a long line of tortures.
"Pete, I had my reasons," he said quietly, moving forwards to Peter even though that possibly wasn't the best thing that he could do for his health. "Believe me."
"I do." He might've been agreeing, but Peter's words were still snapped out and he was still so angry. "And I wanted to know what those reasons are. I lost my job over this, Nate. My job, my girlfriend, everything. You should've told me. You owed me that."
"I know…"
"No. No, you don't." Peter gestured furiously, arms spread out. "You think you did what's best for me. You always do. 'Big brother knows best'. Well, this time, Nate? This time you were wrong."
And that hurt; that hurt because Nathan wasn't supposed to be wrong, not ever – and when he was, Peter wasn't supposed to call him on it.
"I did what I had to do."
"You did what you wanted to do. We could've stayed here. You could've just warned me. I can look after myself, y'know."
Nathan crossed the space between them, in a late attempt to bridge the gap that had appeared without him noticing. "You shouldn't have to."
Peter looked away from him, eyes dropping to the carpet. "Yeah I should, Nate. And you have to let me." He took a step away, heading through to the kitchen, and that was it: apparently the conversation was over, much easier than Nathan would've imagined. He almost felt relieved.
When he looked back on it later, after Suresh and their powers and Sylar, he'd realise that this was the exact moment that things started to go wrong between them.
-fin-