spongetastic: (Phoebe: Bed)
[personal profile] spongetastic
His arm was gently wrapped around her shoulders, his face turned so he could watch her sleep. She had a content, peaceful look on her face with the touch of a smile on her lips. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his own mouth. Carefully his fingers moved to comb through her hair. When she shifted he paused, but she only let out a soft sigh and turned more toward his warmth.

Sixty years together and Peter still loved these small moments. The years were so clear on his wife: the creases in her face, the gray of her hair. Peter, on the other hand, was still young and dark-haired. As each year left their mark on Phoebe, he skated away untouched. In body, anyway. In heart and mind he felt the years with her: the losses and gains, the pains and joys, the struggles and triumphs. He felt the ninety years he lived even if he didn’t look it.

Peter remembered when that first gray hair appeared. Phoebe hated it but he convinced her not to color it away. She aged so gracefully in his eyes and in the earlier years he liked teasing her by kissing the forming wrinkles. Every time he touched her he felt their memories and fell in love with her all over again. He hoped they could build even more memories before…

Peter was closing in on a century with a wife who was aging; one day she would be gone. Thinking about it only made him sad, and he didn’t want to waste whatever time was left feeling that way.

He stopped trying to sleep maybe twenty or thirty years ago. He noticed he was needing less and less until one night he didn’t need it at all. Once he passed the fifty year mark he decided there was no point in forcing his body to do something it didn’t want. It reminded him of a lifetime ago when he was trapped in Sylar’s mind. That only lasted five years but it could’ve been a standstill infinity. Peter never completely understood that fear until he was faced with it himself.

Then there were the thoughts of Adam Monroe. Now Peter knew what it felt like to be eternally young while the woman you loved changed before your eyes. Peter still saw her as the young woman he married but she wasn’t. He had to pretend to be nothing more than another resident nurse in public and save the loving husband for their private moments. It hurt him to do it but what other choice was there? How could he explain he was the same man who married her when they were in their thirties? Adam would’ve understood, but he was gone.

Peter rested his hand on her chest to feel the steady movement’s of Phoebe’s breathing. He didn’t want to think of the future, because all he saw was a lonely bed and eternity. He wanted to think of his wife sleeping by his side for one more night, of dancing with her one more time, of having her for as long as he could.

Maybe he would wear the ring around his neck one day, but he hoped that was a long time from now.


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Peter Petrelli

October 2013


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