some nights i call it a draw

[askedtobe]

CHARACTERS: Peter & Nathan Petrelli
LOCATION: Kitchens (fifth floor) ; early evenings
WARNINGS: n/a
SUMMARY: Nathan and Peter make dinner because Peter can't cook for shit, SO VERY EXCITING
NOTES: nada


[ Peter had been keeping dismally quiet -- all to himself for reasons even he'd stopped counting. He wanted to go home, the undercurrent of turmoil with Sylar that had dissolved into the other man's disappearance, and Elle's and Isaac's before that hadn't helped. And then Claire's as well. It was all so strange, always unexpected, and never anything good. Combined with his near death experience and feeling as if he was unable to actually accomplish anything of worth, Peter had successfully secluded himself, kept to the outskirts of the ship, and had become his own self-fulfilling prophecy.

That didn't mean that sometimes he didn't get hungry.

On a quest to find something that wasn't half moldy in the fridge or couldn't go bad for a few hundred years, Peter was digging his way through the freezer. Freeze dried food had lost its novelty a couple months ago, and Peter had grown tired of freezer burnt vegetables and food that looked like it had gotten lost on its way to a college dorm room. Sometimes he wasn't quite sure why he simply hadn't stopped caring, but he'd wound himself up enough that finding something to eat had become an unsolveable problem. Something else he couldn't fix and when he couldn't just make a peanut butter sandwich, it all came tumbling down on his head that maybe he just wasn't cut out for this.

Dislodging more bags of frozen food in his search, a whole stack shifted and one bag landed hard onto the shared kitchen's floor, Peter's frustration flaring. ]

Shit.

[ It should be easier than this, more tolerable. But Peter was losing it bit by bit, and Sylar's disappearnce had put him even further on edge than he wanted to admit. Like a stupid stack of frozen vegetables, it was all falling apart, and Peter didn't know what he was supposed to do to make it start working again.

Especially when his fingers were all going numb in the process. ]

Comments

[cargojet]

[ Although Nathan had some small experience cooking for himself, the fact was that he had come from a privileged upbringing, and in forty years 'experience' accounted for three weeks while on vacation (and even then he'd given himself food poisoning four times). When he didn't go out to eat, the family cook would cater for him, then his wife cooked in the most recent years, and if he really had no other option, there was always takeout. You could get almost anything delivered.

So landing up having to cook his own food would have been a trial enough without the added complication of being in space, and not knowing what in hell's name half the vegetables and frozen lumps of undisclosed 'meat' were that he'd been eating all this time.

He made up for this flaw by eating with others as often as possible, even though he had little more to offer anyone than the assurance that he'd help them get something down off a high shelf some time. Certainly part of the reason he'd championed the idea of communal meals was his own decided failure in the kitchen department. If someone cooked for everyone, his own leeching would be far less suspicious.

Still, when you were hungry, you did your best. Nathan scuffed his feet as he came into the communal kitchen, trying to look as sorry for himself as he possibly could in the hopes of scrounging up someone else to do the hard part for him. No such luck, since one glance at the only other person in the kitchen made it clear that if he wanted to eat, then for once he had to do it himself. Peter, he knew for a fact, wasn't much better at foraging space-food than he was.

He stepped up behind his brother to fish the frozen bag up off the floor, reaching up to steady the stack of food he'd so far heaved out of the chest freezer. ]

Find anything edible yet?

[askedtobe]

[ Peter made no qualms about the fact that he couldn't cook if his life depended on it. That had hardly changed since adolescence when instant macaroni and cheese and ramen had been what had kept him functioning when he tried to ignore the hired help's planned meals. But he also knew that Nathan could barely cook better than himself, something learned from far too many years of scrambling to try and see over the edge of the kitchen counter while Nathan "made him breakfast" when the nanny's weren't looking.

Blinking from surprise as Nathan seemingly appeared out of nowhere, picking up the bag of frozen... who knows what, off the floor, Peter stared his brother for a few more seconds before absently shuffling containers in the fridge, poking at freezer burnt plastic and sighing. ]

Depends on whether or not you actually think anything in here's edible in the first place.

[ Eyeing the stack of what he'd already pulled out of the freezer, Peter shook his head and started grabbing for packages, shoving them back in roughly where they came from. Peter wasn't desperate enough for this, not really, and it wasn't worth the frustrating heartburn of trying. Not to mention, he wasn't sure he could do it while Nathan watched. ]

You're welcome to look yourself.

[cargojet]

[ With a huff, Nathan stepped in close enough to brush shoulders with Peter, helping him turf the frozen lumps back into the freezer. Of course frozen food didn't fit so well when it was replaced, and it became a jigsaw puzzle to work it all back in. In the end, the last item that wouldn't fit got taken out in a fit of frustration, and Nathan reached for Peter's sleeve to stop him from slipping away. ]

I don't plan on running this gauntlet alone. Besides, you've gotta eat something, Pete, might as well be this.

[ He shook the little bag at him. There was a swollen lump inside, something that had been frozen in odd directions so that the plastic stuck to it, but it seemed to be meat coloured under the covering. It was a start, anyway. ]

Finding a pan, he peeled off the plastic and dumped it in. Frozen hard, it could have been literally anything. ]

We'll cook the water off first. That sound about right to you?

[ He had no idea what he was doing, but they weren't going to get anywhere with it still frozen. ]

You know how to light this thing or not?

[askedtobe]

[ Rolling his eyes and glancing towards the rest of the kitchen in a petulant sort of fashion, Peter had half a mind to let Nathan do what he wanted and to come back later, to dig into something he could eat without even thinking twice about what exactly it was. But then Nathan tugged on his sleeve and he forced his attention back, watching as his brother dangled something rotten, but frozen, looking in his face.

Peter could definitely say he was losing his appetite. ]

I don't know, does it sound right to you?

[ Taking a few steps to the side as the frozen lump skittered into the pan, Peter turned his attention to the stove, shaking his head as he looked at the dials that lined up to the burners. Flicking one of them on to ignite the flame, he looked back up to his brother, eyebrows raised, pleased that he could at least do something right. ]

Something tells me that won't be edible even after we thaw it out. [ Which is exactly why, a second later, Peter started opening and rustling through cupboards. ]

[cargojet]

[ It could be a complete disaster. In any case, Nathan leaned back and let it begin to defrost, turning it a little down when it stopped melting the bottom and started to hiss, and turning the lump over fruitlessly. His eyes span back around to Peter, since what he was doing was a whole lot more interesting than watching ice melting.

Dry food out of the cupboard was probably safer anyway. Not that he wasn't determined to give this a go. Still, it would be interesting to see which one of them came up with a more palatable dish. Brotherly competition, that was all it was.

And it had been a long time since competing with his brother hadn't been life or death. This was almost nice. He found himself being a little nostalgic as he watched. Peter's look of concentration - and the bright delighted look he'd given as he lit the stove - threw him back twenty years in the space of a heartbeat. ]

You're welcome to try and do better.

[ A gentle challenge, with the slightest reassuring smile. ]

[askedtobe]

[ Snorting under his breath as he rummaged through shelves, Peter had already confirmed in his mind that he had no intention of turning this into some kind of dinner competition, no matter how far it brought him back into his childhood. He just didn't know how they were supposed to cook when there was nothing to cook with, and considering his limited skills to begin with, it seemed unlikely that coming up with something better was possible. ]

Don't know if I can do better, but I might be able to do a little less awful.

[ Pulling out a lone bag of potato chips hidden behind other boxes of dried food and wiggling in front of Nathan's face, Peter set it down before pulling other things out. Boxes of dehydrated starches meant to accompany anything and everything else, setting whatever he could find on the counter that was being touted as food. ]

And you already know that if I made us dinner, i'd burn it before it even got to the stove. [ Eyeing the pan, that Nathan was already watching, Peter leaned against the counter before looking up at his brother, telling himself to stop making this so difficult for once. If Nathan was trying, Peter could at least attempt the same. ] But if you make it tonight, i'll cook tomorrow.

[cargojet]

[ For a second Nathan felt like he should be disappointed that his brother was generally giving up in regard to a battle of the food like some kind of daytime TV kitchen duel thing, if only because it was the easy route to pretending things were normal. Still, Peter wasn't vanishing into the woodwork. He was still here, touting potato chips like some kind of victorious snack food champion, and Nathan was if anything a little proud of him for that.

Maybe they really were making progress.

He turned back to the stove for a second and turned the food a couple more times. The ice on the outside was almost gone, and what had looked like meat to start with now resembled soggy plums, and gave off the sickly sweet smell of burned candy floss.

And finally he had an idea. ]

A friend of mine used to prepare apples like this at all his events. It was his party trick. Can't be that hard.

[ And so leaving the fruit to cook, Nathan hopped aside to begin rummaging through the cupboards himself. There was always something tucked away in the cupboards with a cork in it, and sure enough, he came back with a bottle of something alcoholic soon enough. ]

I don't know if your offer of cooking is a promise or a threat, Pete.

[askedtobe]

[ Peter was alternating staring at whatever was thawing in the pan and shooting glances at his big brother while trying to decide if any of this came even remotely close to being a good idea. He wasn't sick anymore, he didn't feel the tug to be close to family purely because of imminent death, and yet he still did simply because he was here. Because everyone else was gone, and because coping was becoming harder by the day.

That still didn't change the fact that whatever it was that Nathan had put into the frying pan was looking rather odd and definitely not meat-like, and Peter couldn't help but cringe slightly, the sweet notes of burnt sugar hitting his nose just as he closed another cupboard.

Staying silent as he watched his brother rummage for a short while, Peter refrained from poking at what was in the pan, lifting an eyebrow instead when Nathan pulled out something alcoholic from who knows where. With Nathan, alcohol was always involved. ]

I'll cook tomorrow and then you can decide for yourself.

[ Maybe it was a promise and a threat -- proof that he still somehow cared, and yet proof of the fact that he wasn't inclined to change his ways or opinions or his ability to cook anytime soon. He was still Peter, even if the government wanted to put him under the header of a monster. He was still Nathan's brother. ]

That is if we're still alive after your cooking. [ Shaking his head, Peter couldn't help but reminisce. ] Never thought i'd actually miss hospital food. Looked better than most of the stuff I find around here.

[cargojet]

[ Nathan couldn't help but laugh when Peter continued to speak, relieved at least somewhat by his brother's sense of humour. It meant he hadn't given up on him yes, and maybe some of what they'd built up in the medbay together wasn't just held together by shoestring as a result of being in a near-death situation. Maybe, just maybe, some of it was real.

Or maybe Nathan was deluding himself. He'd betrayed Peter - he didn't even remember most of it, but that was what he'd done - chosen the world and his own place in it over his brother and his kneejerk feelings for what was right. He'd dismissed him as being childish and idealistic, and like it or not, that had blown a huge chunk out of Peter's faith in him.

Rebuilding it was like trying to bridge a gap over a river with tincans and tape, and Nathan wasn't sure sometimes that he could do it. It was only when Peter joked with him, or played along, or patted him on the shoulder, that he could see his brother on the other bank, urging him along with his makeshift bridge, encouraging him.

Nathan batted at the pile of frozen food with a wooden spoon until it resembled lumps in the bottom of the pan, and seemed to be beginning to thaw through. Soon it'd be edible--if it could ever actually be edible. At least pouring in a little of the booze made it smell a little less sickly sweet.

He poured a glass each for himself and Peter with a part of what was left. ]

You got pretty spoiled by the hospitals Ma put you in, to be fair. She only ever let you have the best possible care. Went for food, too.

[askedtobe]

[ Still watching his brother cook, stuck somewhere between mild fascination and disbelief that his brother knew how to make something other than instant oatmeal, Peter sighed, giving a quick glance around the rest of the kitchen, seemingly checking to see if there was anyone else here to witness this. Even if there was, it wouldn't have the same impact. It couldn't. Just like when he'd attempted to explain to people, Peter always felt as if it fell short. As if nobody could truly comprehend without coming from where they came from, without being there. Without being subjected to everything that had happened.

Or maybe that was expecting too much, he didn't know.

But it was why he'd closed himself off. Now that everyone else was gone, all he truly had was Nathan, and the last thing he'd wanted back home was his big brother.

Taking the glass offered to him and setting it down on the counter in the same movement, uninterested in taking a sip and falling down drunk almost immediately, Peter shook his head, watching what was in the pan sizzle away. ]

Not what I meant, Nathan. I was talking about the hospital I worked at, not the hospitals I got stuck in. [ He shrugged, leaning back against the counter to stare in the opposite direction of his brother, thinking before he let himself speak. ] I know she did, but that doesn't make up for the fact that she was never there. One thing doesn't.. erase the other.

[ And that went for more than their mother. ]

[cargojet]

She was there when you were in your coma. [ It was sharp, admonishing. ] She took turns when I wasn't there, staying by your bed, or chasing doctors around with her claws out. You don't give Ma enough credit.

[ And that went for more than their mother. ]

Plus she always liked you better than me.

[ No, Nathan hadn't been there all the time, but he thought he'd been there when it counted, at least some of the time. Selfishly, maybe, but he'd tried to listen to his brother even when he was busy. The last year wasn't their fault, no matter how Peter tried to make it out to be. Life, abilities, the election, everything had just come together to drive them apart. Their father hadn't helped, practically setting them against each other.

Although that was really Nathan's fault.

He found his gaze lagging a little too long on the frying pan, and ignoring it to look across at Peter again forlornly. ]

You had a life too, Peter. You can't only blame us. You wanted so much to do your own thing, drove a wedge between yourself and us as much as anything else. You always thought you could have it both ways. You wanted to be independent, but you still wanted your big brother there to tell you what to do.

[ He held his nerve and his gaze after that, afraid to back down and look away. ]