Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured in this fic, it's just a bit of fun, don't sue me!
Summary: Instinct can only push Peter for so long, until he wants answers his body can't give.
Form: Drabble (I think)
Spoiler(s): A little bit for 2x01 and 2x02.
Pairing: Peter/Nathan (if you look you can see it, just squit a bit)
A/N: This is just a bit in the middle until I can get a couple of stuff finished and as usual Comments=Love!! Super Thankyou to my always patienct Beta karathephantom
Relax, you have to relax; breathe, slowly in and slowly out, until your rib-cage hurts and the elastic muscles burn. Breathe until your mind goes white and the silence deafens you. Breathe until the black behind your eyelids consumes your skin, until the metal underneath your flesh disappears and the air rests in your belly.
Forget the rattle of biting chains and the scent of copper filling a place you don't understand.
It's easy to forget when you don't have a memory to be responsible for. The responsibility of holding and cradling a memory you don't have, the hunger for bodies with no faces. The constant struggle to grope for a word that defines your existence slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You don't even trust yourself to think that you might have had sand under your feet, under your skin.
No pull towards the recognition of the time you have being here, no desire for giving a name to the light that cuts through this place or to the nothingness that fills the space.
But you want something, something to brand the skin your in, give identity to the blood that runs through your veins, the beat of your heart and the longing the fills the locked spaces in your mind.
Instinct pushes you now, the instinct to be free from rope and walls, to feel the rain on your face, you don't even know what clouds look like but you know you want them, you want them as much as you want the shadows running from you. Ghosts of lips and hard lines of a loving body; love that blankets you in warmth, pressed and flush against skin, a name that burns on the tip of your tongue belongs to another body, another name that eludes you as much as your own does.
But then you're tugged again, to female screams and broken glass, so you pull and something in you gives, some control is given back and for the first time you know the pull on your lips is called a "smile".
But the box in his hands chains you again, the threat of orange flames panics you and you know heat is bad, fire burns and destroys, not good can come of flames and heat and all fire might bring and the flicker of pain and screams that are not your own press into you skull as the shadow of loving hands cradle you in a past that is blank.
But something gives, and your heart pounds and a spark of hope crawls over your skin because you have a name, you have something to give you meaning.