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Courtroom Drama	By : crashgirl82 Category: G through L > Heroes Views: 1357 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or its characters; I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Courtroom Drama
- 1
Spoilers: None. Set pre-series.

A/N: Peter is seventeen years old in this story.

Peter walked into the family room, where his mother and father sat together on the sofa, having after-dinner drinks. He swallowed his nervousness and straightened out his clothes a bit. Okay. Here goes nothing.
"Mom? Dad? Could I talk to you for a minute?"
Angela Petrelli rested her glass down on the coffee table, and said, "Certainly, Peter. What's on your mind?"
Arthur Petrelli did not move or even acknowledge the presence of his younger son; he was currently engrossed in some thoroughly boring nature show on the Discovery Channel. You'll be listening in a minute, Dad, Peter thought.
Peter shoved his hands into his pockets nervously, took them out, fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He stood up straight and thought for a minute, felt his mother's eyes boring into him, waiting to hear what he had to say.
"I--uh, we've been doing career counseling at school, and uh--I was thinking I might like to go into law after all." Peter blew out a hard breath, felt himself start shaking. There. He'd said it.
His father turned finally, and a wide grin appeared on his face. "That's great, Peter. Following in the Petrelli tradition. Good decision, son." He stood up and refilled his Scotch glass, then clapped a fatherly hand on Peter's shoulder. "What colleges are you thinking of applying to?"
Peter's mind raced; he hadn't thought that far ahead. He started to think this was a bad idea. God, this had to be one of the biggest lies he'd told in his entire life. Peter opened and closed his mouth a few times, and finally, he spluttered, "Uh--I don't know yet, Dad--maybe you could help me decide?"
Peter knew he was probably sweating visibly now, his face flushed with embarrassment. God, he'd always been such a terrible liar. And when his father found out that he had already applied to the nursing program at C. W. Post, he was sure to blow a gasket.
Peter was only doing this for one reason, and a selfish, disturbing one at that: to go and see his brother Nathan, who was working for the New York district attorney's office, during one of his court performances. He hadn't seen Nathan or spent any time with him in months, and he missed him terribly, especially after what had happened the last time. After Nathan had actually given in to him. It didn't matter that Nathan had been smashed drunk. He had let Peter kiss him, let Peter touch him, and it had gone even further than that, just stopping short of full-blown sex. He had almost gone all the way with his brother. Almost...
Peter blinked and pushed the thoughts from his mind and tried desperately to concentrate on his task at hand. Getting to see his brother again. Nathan was so busy now, with his wife and his new baby, and his new job, and goddamn it, Peter just missed him. He knew this was a childish stunt, but he just wanted to see him, even if it was across a courtroom.
Arthur took a long swallow out of his glass, and he still had that broad smile on his face that made Peter want to curl up and die in the corner. He said, "Absolutely, son. Nice to see you've come to your senses."
Peter smiled uneasily and opened his mouth to ask his next question. "Well, what I also wanted to ask was...could you take me to see Nathan the next time he's in court? So I can get a feel for what being a lawyer is really like?"
His mother must have noticed that there was something off about Peter's sudden turnaround when it came to the family business. Angela gave his father a concerned look, but Arthur ignored her. "Sure, son. Nathan is in court at 9 A.M. tomorrow. Your mother will take you; I have to take a deposition tomorrow."
Angela did not look pleased, but there was no arguing with the Petrelli patriarch when it came to matters like these. She merely smiled, stood up, and said, "Peter, I want you dressed and ready to go by eight, no later. Now get to bed." She poured herself some more wine and was gone in a whirl of navy blue silk and Chanel No. 5.
Peter was simultaneously disgusted with himself and secretly thrilled. He had lied and schemed to get to see his brother for an hour, maybe three tops. And there was no way to be certain if Nathan would even want to spend some time with him afterward. Who knew if he had some other obligations to attend to afterwards? Then his lie would have been for almost nothing, and Peter would still ultimately be in a world of shit with his parents. But it was a risk Peter was going to have to take.
***
Following after his mother, Peter dropped the contents of his pockets into the bin that the police officer held out toward him, and he walked through the metal detector. His hands were shaking and sweating, and he almost dropped his wallet trying to get it back into the pocket of his dress pants. Even though it was only 8:45 A.M., it had so far been a stiflingly hot October, Indian summer, and it seemed that the air-conditioning wasn't working properly.
Peter wiped his hands on his pants, made sure his dark, slightly-too-long hair was still neatly pushed back, and tugged at his tie. He couldn't wait to get in there. He fixed his gaze on the wooden double doors of the courtroom, his heart racing, his nerves jumping like live wires.
Finally the court officers allowed the spectators to begin milling into the courtroom, and Peter's stomach twisted in excitement. He and his mother entered and Angela chose a bench close to the front, so that Peter would have an unobstructed view of the proceedings, and be able to hear everything easily.
His brother was sitting next to a female colleague, mildly flirting with her, and as usual, she was enamored with him, just like women usually were around Nathan Petrelli. Peter thought, He's married, you stupid slut.
Peter shook his head, surprised at his jealousy of her. He stared at the back of Nathan's head and willed him to turn around so he could see his face.
As if Nathan had heard him, he stood up and turned around a second later.
Nathan seemed to see him and look right through him all at the same time, and to Peter's despair, Nathan's face then twisted in a frown. He sat back down at the prosecution's table and said a few words to his colleague.
Peter's heart sank, and he imagined what Nathan was probably saying to that bleached-blonde bitch. My kid brother is here. He's a good kid, but he's just too sensitive for his own good. He wants to become a nurse when he grows up. Isn't that great?
Peter's stomach suddenly felt sick, a combination of the heat and anticipation that had turned to regret. He felt like bolting out of there, running to the bathroom, and vomiting his breakfast. The realization struck him like a slap in the face.
Nathan had been staying away from him on purpose. Avoiding him. How could Peter have been so stupid and blind not to see that? Brothers didn't do what they had done. Nathan had realized it; so why couldn't Peter? What was so wrong inside him that he couldn't just see Nathan as his older brother and nothing else?
Peter shifted in his seat, trying to swallow the nausea. Make him think it was nothing to you, too. Don't let him see you sweat.
But Peter found it quite difficult to take his own advice, while watching Nathan deliver his opening statement. Peter didn't even hear a word Nathan was saying; all he could concentrate on was the way he looked. Nathan's expensive charcoal gray three-piece suit, crisp white shirt, cufflinks, blood-red tie. His perfect hair, his perfect ass. Peter froze in his seat when his mother laid a hand on his arm and whispered, "Peter? Are you paying attention? It's started."
Peter blinked, and said quietly, "Yeah, Mom. It's just hot in here."
"All right. Take off your suit jacket if you're hot, but don't make a production out of it. And pay attention."
Peter took off his jacket and instantly felt better. He raised his eyes to the front of the courtroom again, and still, Nathan's mouth was moving, but everything had gone silent except for the sound of the blood rushing in Peter's ears. He felt blood rushing down to his groin as well, and suddenly, he was painfully aware that he was getting hard, just watching Nathan do his job. He couldn't will it away, and he had to do something. If Angela looked over at him again, she would see. Peter quickly spread his suit jacket across his lap to cover his erection.
He desperately willed himself to calm down, but it just wasn't working. When finally he was able to relax, Peter realized he had missed the entire opening statement and the first witness delivering his testimony. Oh, God, what if his father asked him about what he'd heard, what the case was about when he got home? He couldn't even lie: Nathan spoke to their father every day.
Peter gritted his teeth and forced himself to listen to the defender cross-examine the witness, and was able to discern that the defendant had allegedly broken into his ex-girlfriend's apartment and assaulted her new boyfriend after being told to leave, doing enough damage that the new boyfriend had been in the hospital for two weeks. Peter felt like falling asleep. It was so damn hot, and so damn boring. He could never do this, not if his life depended on it.
Nathan raised himself from the seat at the prosecution's table, and called his next witness. Peter's heart drummed hard in his chest again as Nathan looked right in his direction, and this time gave him a smile, that trademark bright Cheshire-cat grin. Peter almost smiled back, but stopped himself. He's manipulating you. Don't let him win.
But Nathan always won, whether in the courtroom or when it came to dealing with him, and Peter felt himself grow hard once again, and this time there was no way he was calming down. He watched his brother approach the stand. Due to the stifling heat of the courtroom Nathan had taken off his own suit jacket and Peter was close enough to the front of the room that he could see sweat had stained through the underarms of his white dress shirt. Peter imagined the body underneath that shirt: that hard, muscled chest, those arms that had held him down while Peter arched his body beneath him. Peter watched Nathan's hands move while he talked. Those hands, one that had covered his mouth while the other made him come, crying out and shuddering under Nathan's touch.
Oh, God, Peter thought, unable to stop his own hand from reaching under the suit jacket that lay across his lap, inside his pants, and taking hold of himself, stroking ever so slowly. His mother could look over at him at any moment, and she would definitely see him jerking himself off in the middle of his brother's criminal case. But he just couldn't stop. Nathan's lips continued to move as he questioned the witness, but Peter still didn't hear him: all he could think was that mouth had been all over his entire body, everywhere, kissing him, sucking him until he was nearly sobbing from the stimulation, until Nathan had made Peter beg for him to stop.
Peter fought to control his breathing, felt sweat collecting at his hairline and his temples. He continued to stroke himself discreetly, and just prayed that his mother would not see him. He looked over at her, but she was completely immersed in watching her elder son put on his show for the judge. I'm invisible next to Nathan, he thought despairingly. The golden boy. Everyone loves him, including me. No one even sees me.
Peter felt the tension building inside him; he was aching for release now, God, he was so hard--he was about to come--he really had to stop--He looked up, and saw that Nathan was finally finished examining his witness. Nathan went back to the prosecution's table, and before he sat down, he looked right into Peter's eyes across the room, a hard hazel glare, and he smirked, just a slight twitch of his lips. Peter let out an audible gasp. He had to get the hell out of here, right now.
"I--I don't feel well, Mom, I have to use the bathroom--" Peter made as if he were going to throw up, and he bolted down the corridor and slammed through the double doors, running as fast as he could for the men's room. He shut himself in a stall, unzipped his pants, and in three quick strokes came hard into his own hand, gasping and trembling. You fuck. You knew. You knew what was happening and you enjoyed it. You bastard.
"Fuck!" Peter cursed, slumping back against the hard, cool metal of the door.
Fuck Nathan.
Fuck law school.
Fuck his parents getting angry at him that he had lied.
Nathan had made a fool of him, and what was worse, only Nathan himself knew. Nathan was probably laughing internally at his little brother as he presented the evidence that would sentence yet another criminal to an extremely long prison stretch. The goddamned Petrelli golden boy. He'd get a huge paycheck and a friendly pat on the back, a fucking celebratory dinner at the house. Good job, Petrelli, the D.A. would say.
Peter swiped at the tears that had started to run hot down his face, and he slid down the door of the stall, down, until his ass hit the cold tile floor. Now he really felt like throwing up. And that was just what he did. Peter clutched the toilet bowl and heaved, his stomach twisting itself almost inside out, and he could hear himself crying too. How could he have let it get this bad? How could Nathan have done this to him?
He didn't. You did it to yourself. You're pathetic. And disgusting. Nathan will never feel the same way about you. You're just his little brother, and that's all you'll ever be. Little Peter Petrelli, the boy who wants to go to nursing school.
Peter wiped his mouth and laid his head to the cool tile. God, he had been so stupid. He wanted to curl up there and cry until he had nothing left in him. Nathan didn't love him, not like that, not at all.
***
Peter opened his eyes, and he was dizzy, weak and dehydrated from the heat and the vomiting. He looked up, and he was looking right into his brother's face. He was lying in Nathan's arms, in the backseat of Nathan's Mercedes-Benz.
"Hey," Nathan said softly, stroking his cheek. "I found you passed out in the bathroom. You must have gotten sick from the heat. Here, take some water." Peter drank greedily at the bottle, and Nathan laughed, "Slow down there, Pete. You okay?"
Peter nodded, and looked away from Nathan's eyes. He couldn't look at him. He was too ashamed of himself, too disgusted with himself. He tried to sit up but he couldn't, not yet. He just laid there in Nathan's arms, his head against Nathan's chest. "I just--I just want to go home, Nathan. Please."
"Okay, Pete, come on." Nathan helped Peter into the front seat, buckled him in, and started the car, turning the air-conditioning on full blast. Peter drank the rest of the water bottle and finally started to feel better physically.
But he still could not look at Nathan.
"You want to tell me what you were doing at court today, Pete?" Nathan asked.
"Actually, no. I don't. Just drop it, okay, Nathan?" Peter slammed his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, willing himself to keep it together.
"Okay," Nathan sighed. "I'll just ask Ma." Nathan put the car in drive and started towards the Petrelli mansion, and he didn't say another word, and for that, Peter was grateful. Ask her. It doesn't fucking matter, Nathan. You know what happened. You know how I feel. And you just don't care.
- 1
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Courtroom Drama