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07 January 2009 @ 11:18 am
[un-betad wip] Mate or Die...  
Matt/Nathan. PG-13; could someday become smut, for boudecia7. Sneak preview to the flist. This is the Mate or Die trope plotbunny I had. Tell me if it's cracky or if it works or what. This is set during speculative!Vol. IV.


Junior New York Sen. Nathan Petrelli collapsed this morning during a speech on the Senate floor. Petrelli, well known from his unlikely recovery from a seemingly fatal gunshot wound, did not appear to have brought that same luck with him to Washington. Doctors said they were unsure of the cause of his collapse, but they suspected there might be some undiagnosed trauma to Petrelli's heart in the wake of the assassination attempt.

The White House released a statement saying, "The President is saddened at his close friend's health concerns but he believes Senator Petrelli is tenacious and a fighter and will surely make a full recovery..."

The doorway had stopped letting in light. Nathan opened one eye. It hurt to see almost as much as it hurt to breathe, and it wasn't doing him much good because there wasn't any light. Someone was in the doorway blocking it. His fear fought past both logic and sedatives and forced him to keep squinting into the darkness.

"You know why this happened, right?"

A gurgling noise was the first thing his throat gave him. On the second try the sound made it out. "...Matt?"

"I had to see for myself. God, it's true. You really did lose it."

His throat burned and his lungs complained with each inhalation. "...should have... you arrested..." he gasped, unable to force the words out any harder than a whisper.

"But you won't." Up to the hospital bed he came, the fugitive from the law he'd once helped enforce. "You know I'll stop you if you try."

"...not afraid of you...."

"You are afraid of me," Matt said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hip lay heavy near Nathan's leg. "That's why you did this to us. Because you were afraid. Because your biological daughter can't be killed, and I can read your mind, and Peter can do almost anything..."

"...don't say... name!"

"...and all you can do is fly. I don't blame you for feeling inadequate, Nathan. It must suck to be upstaged after being the golden boy your whole life. But what you did, man..." Matt shook his head. "What you did to us! It'd be unforgivable if it weren't so damn pathetic."

"What are you trying to say?" It was the first full sentence he was able to choke out. Matt's presence, his incendiary words, were filling his bones with strength.

"You had to show us you were the powerful one. No, you had to show yourself. You had to lie to yourself, create the illusion in your head of being the strong one. Of being alive."

"My life is not an illusion." Nathan was staring him in the eye a good minute before he realized he'd sat up, that his heart was beating strong and fast.

Matt's response was quick. "Do you see Linderman anymore?"

"How did you know..."

"Daphne saw him too. It was my dad. It was his illusion." He took a breath. "Now think of this, Nathan. Your mother told me what Linderman could do. He was a healer, wasn't he? And you've thought all this time Linderman brought you back from the dead, but he was never there. Your mind created him. So how did you recover from being shot?"

Nathan looked down. All at once he felt the bruises, the tortured organs, the veins that by all rights should long since have drained of blood. He clutched blindly at Matt, crumpling toward him, unable to breathe. He could taste metal and bitterness in his throat. His punctured lungs flooded and flattened uselessly. "...dying... help..."

Matt just looked at him sadly. "It was an illusion. My dad made you think you were okay, and your mind has been trying ever since to keep you alive. It's been months since Dad died, and you just can't take it anymore." He leaned down to whisper in Nathan's ear. "This is reality that's killing you, Nathan. You're dying of the truth."

His lips at Nathan's earlobe were a bright point of light in the dark room. Nathan found another wellspring of strength. He straightened up, but his hands remained closed around Matt's sleeves. "Then keep me alive," he said. "You can do what your dad did. You did it to Ma. Do it to me. Tell me I'm OK. Make me believe it."

Matt withdrew, and the pain rushed back in to fill the void. "I can't. I can't do what my dad did. I can't cross that line. It won't work." He put a hand on Nathan's cheek and looked at him with pity in his eyes. "All I can do is want you to get better," he said. "I can't make it happen."

Nathan leaned into the hand. Everywhere Matt touched him, he felt whole again. His lips pursed as he whispered. "Then want it. Want it really, really hard. Please."

A prickle of stubble, Matt's face against his other cheek, moved slightly with the vibration of the words. "I do." Whispered like a prayer, half-full of bitterness, half of tears. "God, maybe I shouldn't, but I do. I want you to be well. Please." He put both arms around Nathan. "Please, God, please get better."

The vertebrae beneath the skin where Matt's hands met felt straight and strong. The rest shouted to him in a thousand voices of pain. Nathan gasped. He felt Matt's lips brush his forehead, and it was enough to bring clarity to his thoughts.

"Do that again," he begged when the sensation was gone. "I... I can think when you do that."

Matt obeyed. Thoughts pushed hard through the haze of hurt. Nathan knew now what was happening, understood probably better than Matt did what his touch was doing. He remained there, eyes closed and mind ringing with understanding, for a minute, then pulled away and looked up.

"You want me to get better," he said. Matt nodded. Nathan broke into a smile.

"It's working," he said.

And he touched his lips to Matt's gently.

A shot of relief zinged through his ribcage. He looked Matt in the eye. And without knowing how, without thinking about it, they were kissing again. Rough, chapped lips slid across his. Tiny, sharp hairs like razor blades stung at his chin. Heat and breath all mixed up. He moaned loudly.

"No. No."

Matt pushed him away, wiping his lips. spitting. He got up. Pain burst hot in Nathan's gut. He doubled over, and as quick as he'd retreated, Matt was back at his side. "What the... Nathan, what's wrong?"

In answer, Nathan clamped his hands down on Matt's wrists. He scowled. "You touch me," he said, "and I heal. I think it's because you want me to. You're making it happen."

Slowly the meaning of the words fell over Matt. "That... that almost makes sense," he said, blinking. "But your injuries are internal, I can't heal what I can't touch."

The fire hadn't left Nathan's eyes. "Then touch me everywhere you can."

lea1-santomelea1santome on January 7th, 2009 06:27 pm (UTC)
Sad sad.

Yet nobody has the power to heal through kissing.

Triste triste.

Todavía nadie tiene el poder de curar mediante los besos.
boymommytotwoboymommytotwo on January 7th, 2009 08:24 pm (UTC)


more, please...