changehistory: (Just listen to teacher)
[ooc: Follows and is companion piece to this. BB!Angela is [ profile] seemynightmares and Martha is [ profile] notquiteadoctor and both are mine to use. Jack referred to is [ profile] onlysayinghello. Other Torchwood muses do not yet refer to any specific muses, though we're in negotiations as we set up verse fully. ;-)]

"Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new... but who can understand and measure its sharp breath, its mystery and its design?" - Paraclesus

Santa Clara, California, 1961

The earthquake came unexpectedly, as earthquakes often do. Daniel's eyes widened, and he immediately moved toward safety. Adam's eyes shot toward the shop Angela had disappeared into, and he sprinted that way, getting back up when the rolling earth knocked him off his feet. There were more than a few advantages to rapid healing. The door to the shop flew open and Angela emerged with a dark haired woman clasping her arm, just as dust seemed to explode from inside, only to be sucked back in just as sharply. For a moment, the strange phenomenon caught his eye, but his attention snapped back to the scared girl in front on him quickly.

"Are you all right?" he asked, as the earth seemed to right itself.

Angela gave him a shaky nod, reaching for him as the woman let go of her arm. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It was just...there was so much stuff falling..."

Adam wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, then gave the woman a look. "Thank you."

Something dark flashed in the woman's eyes as she turned back from looking at her shop, but she nodded, a smile turning her lips up that he thought looked forced. "Of course." Glancing at Angela, her eyes dropped to the necklace. "You can keep it if you want. Maybe it will help with your dreams."

Angela and Adam both looked at her sharply. "What?" Adam asked.

The woman just smiled, and the look in her eyes disturbed him even more this time.

"Give her the necklace, Angela," he ordered quietly, and Angela unhooked it with shaky fingers, turning it back over. A flash of displeasure went through the woman's eyes, but she took it with a nod.

"I'm glad no one was harmed."

"Yes," Adam replied, pulling Angela a little closer. "So am I."

The woman gave him another half smile, and moved back to her shop. He thought about warning her about instability possible in the building, but then shut his mouth. Something about her was off, but he couldn't put a finger on what.

"Let's go find the boys and go home," he suggested softly to the girl in his arms, and she looked up at him, clearly troubled by something, but then nodded.

* * *

Cardiff, Present Day

Everyone else was gone for the night except Martha. Getting Jack to head home had been a monumental task, but Adam had finally managed it by sheer dint of bribery. The other man had his own tendency of running himself too ragged, and while neither of them needed as much sleep as others, Adam insisted that some was necessary. Martha's trouble getting Owen to leave had been more in line with him not trusting her alone with his instruments, still convinced she was after his job, but Tosh had gotten him to leave, finally. Gwen was on her honeymoon and Ianto was...Adam had no idea where Ianto was and cared even less. It wasn't like they were besties. Probably Adam coming in and sweeping Jack away had something to do with that, but he wasn't apologizing. Nearly four hundred years and no, he hadn't learned to share. Look where it had gotten him last time?

He winced slightly as Martha slipped the needle in his arm, drawing his blood out smoothly. )
changehistory: (A man in the shadows)
[ooc: Peter is [ profile] hadtobeahero, Sylar is [ profile] heroslayer and both are used with love and permission. Melissa is [ profile] capturedworlds and mine to use as I please. Companion piece to this.]

"We should go to Baltimore," Adam announced, not looking up from where he was stretched across the bed on his stomach, looking at the laptop.

"Um, why?" Peter asked, blinking as he looked over at him from where he'd been putting the laundry away. "What with it being right next to D.C. and have some sort of plan?" There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes along with wariness. Adam's plans weren't exactly something to immediately get excited about, after all, but if it got Nathan and Danko off their backs, or, better yet, talked some sense into Nathan...

"What?" Adam glanced up, a frown on his face for a moment, then shook his head. "Oh, no. Nothing like this. We should go for this." He spun the computer around so Peter could see it.

After coming over to read the webpage, Peter glanced up at Adam incredulously. "FaerieCon? You want to go to Baltimore in order to spend a weekend with people running around dressed up like fairies, going to seminars about fairies and shopping for...fairy stuff?"

"There are two masquerade balls, too," Adam pointed out helpfully, giving him an angelic smile.

Peter just stared at him.

Adam's smile faltered. "What?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

Adam scowled, spinning the laptop back around to himself. "No."


"I've never been to a convention of any sort besides a business one."

"Okay," Peter said cautiously, clearly still trying to work out what was going on. "They can be fun, I guess, but, um...I'm not sure now is really the time?"

"Then when?" Adam asked.

"We have eternity, you keep pointing out."

"But I want to go now."


"I'm bored."

Peter paused at that. If he'd learned anything, it was to take those two words very, very seriously when Adam uttered them. Bored Adam tended to be dangerous Adam who came up with plans to drastically change things in which people stood a good chance of getting hurt.

"I know we haven't seen a lot of action lately..."

"No, we haven't," Adam said, with a bit of a scowl.

Peter sighed. "Why this?"

"Because I've never done it. Do you know how few things I can say that about?" Adam glanced back up at him.

Peter looked like he wasn't sure he trusted the guilelessness in those blue eyes in the least. "Baltimore's really not the best place for us, Adam..."

"We'll be fine. Besides, the people hosting the Con did the art design and goblins for Labyrinth," Adam said, as if that concluded the discussion.

"So?" Peter asked.

"...It was a really good movie."

"You barely paid any attention to the movie. You just liked David Bowie's tights."

"Peter, anyone with any sense in the world appreciated David Bowie's tights in that movie." Adam gave him a look, arching an eyebrow.

Peter looked like he was contemplating banging his head on something. )
changehistory: ([Peter] split screen)
"How long has it been since someone touched part of you other than your body?" ~ Laurel Hoodwit

Thirty years.

Thirty years of cold, sterile rooms.

Thirty years of days in laboratories poked and prodded, sliced and burned, pushed to the edge of his sanity, feeling it snap, coming apart in pieces.

Thirty years of nights that stretched long with their silence as he worked to put himself back together, piece by piece, clinging to the thread of vengeance as his hope.

Thirty years where his only pleasures came in his head and his plotting, and finally in the burning touch of a girl who was never innocent, as broken and twisted up as he, who didn't know the meaning of the word "hope" either.

Thirty years of sounds coming and going, of pacing noises next door, now and then, and nothing of any use or solace, no one who could offer anything to him of value or even a reasonable distraction in the way of pleasant conversation or helpful news of the world outside, as useless as the scientists who dragged him to the cold tables to strap him down.

Thirty years of a void, staring into an abyss and watching with a detached curiosity as it stared back, feeling himself sink into it, clinging to the three centuries that came before to hold on to his sense of self, to remember who he was, what he was, and managing to find that hand hold, just, to keep the wit, the humor, the purpose, and then a sound, a breath, the smooth, consoling, lying voice he knew so well, and a softer, broken one he didn't, and everything changed.

Thirty years of waiting, and he waited another month, and he had a name, he had a story, he had a thread of a connection, weaving itself between walls in words and consolation as he offered sympathy and received hope in return in the news of the powers held in the body behind that beautiful voice belonging to the boy with that lovely name, the ideal weapon, the perfect revenge; but somewhere in the plotting something else lodged in the hope and the attachment, and when the boy stepped through the wall and sound became sight and words became touch, something tightened inside of him in a way it hadn't in so long he didn't recognize it, but even without a name for it, part of him knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
changehistory: (Uncertainty)
[AN: Not exactly how this scene went in RP, but mostly an artistic interpretation of a moment of how it was going in Adam's head. Nathan is [ profile] notacargojet and Angela is [ profile] mapetrelli.]

They sit there untouched, two waffles among four. There should be five, but Nathan refused. The boys devoured theirs before running out to play in the snow, and though she asked for one, Angela hasn't touched hers. Nor has he. Now there they are on china someone cherished, possibly handed down from generation to generation. It looks old enough to span at least the three that were gathered at the table just moments before, before they excused the youngest, before the secrets spilled out in confessions that couldn't be denied, before the anger erupted, before silence descended and the three of them were reduced to staring at separate points on the kitchen walls and floor and table, but never meeting each others' eyes to see what other secrets they might reveal.

He has no idea where they go from here.

It's a strangely disconcerting realization and one he's been forced to far too often lately. Things were going so smoothly up until...up until he decided to bring Suresh to Eden. That was the turning point, wasn't it? Elle's pregnancy was a dream come to fruition. Eden was flourishing and coming along well. Bennet had come to town, and semi-promised to keep him informed should he find his errant grandchild. Hiro running back and forth to Japan was a nuisance, yes, but he was loyal, at least, for once. And he had Peter by his side.

Now Peter is gone, and Hiro is acting oddly, and Angela is here in his life and home after apparently telling his son to kill him, and Elle is terrified by the apparent threat of her presence, and he had a few brief moments with his grandsons, but Nathan is here to take them away, and Nathan knows the truth, but doesn't really believe it, and nothing is being said because they are all staring at the walls, and the waffles just sit on some other family's china who thought to pass it on to grandchildren who will never run and play in the snow the way he can hear his doing through the glass of the windowpanes.

His gaze drops back to his waffle. Breakfast had seemed like a good idea, but like so many others it falters in cold retrospect. No infusion of normalcy can make this situation approach anything resembling familial. The man across the table may be his blood, but the likelihood of him ever calling him father is so remote as to be ludicrous, and the chance of this ever being his family, of ever finding place among them...he can't even decide which place he wants, can he, as fucked up as that is. Father, brother, son, lover. It's twisted up in his head too far, the bonds that run back and forth in blood and love and thirty years and a promise and a lie.

He takes a breath, tries to form words, tries to find a coherent thought.

Nothing comes.

The waffles grow cold.
changehistory: (OOC:  Hello my name is God)
It's Big Brother elimination day among your muses. Let's hear them vote who's in and who's out among your headmates. Don't worry, we're not really going to make you drop them.

Eden Adam: Right, I'm calling this thing to order. Let's get started.

Canon Adam: ...Why do you get to call it to order?

Jack's Adam: Exactly, any one of us could do it.

Elle's Adam: He has a point.

Eden Adam: *eyebrow arch* Might I remind you, that of the lot of you, I am the only one not to get myself buried alive? The only one to actually carry the plan to fruition? I get to call the meeting to order by sheer dint of being the only one in here with any bonafide leadership claims.

Giles: That isn't exactly accurate...

AU Adam: Not at all accurate, actually...

Wesley: I was the one who took over the Council...

Giles: Then you stopped talking and retreated.

Wesley: I'm back out now!

Giles: Yes, but back working for Angel or stuck in a magic castle that is eating your soul. Hardly the prerequisites one looks for in a leader.

Wesley: Says the man trapped in the castle with me.

Giles: Wesley...

Eden Adam: I said, come to order! Dear god, you lot don't listen any better than Peter.

One spoiler, sort of, for Heroes Season 3 premiere alluded to, fyi. Otherwise...sheer crack ensues below. )
changehistory: (Jack -- almost kiss)
He keeps insisting that he's an impossible thing. Something the Doctor said, that Jack was impossible, but it makes Adam frown slightly every time. Because if Jack is impossible, then so is he. In That fixed point in time, unchanging, a fact of the universe? It isn't completely true, is it? He ages, albeit slowly. He changes. He ... things alter him, even if he can heal from wounds, stays alive. He isn't fixed, unchanging.

He isn't Adam.

The sort of forever it might take to pull him from him, for age to kick in and make him something different, let time finally do its work, creeping in to part them, might be the time that even at nearly 400 years Adam cannot fathom, but curled up in bed sometimes, not needing sleep often, just watching him, Adam thinks of it. He's always had a morbid tendency that way, finding the worst in the situation. Better to prepare himself, he would tell you. But the worst would be losing him, after all that time. Of still, even if it takes millions of years, watching time creep itself across Jack's face and form, as it always does, as it always has. And still he will be there, unchanged, as perfect as he was the day the arrow pierced his heart.

Will he go mad, then? Or will he already be? Will he be tired, ready to let go? The end of the universe...staring out into the void...will he be there with the children of Earth who become something else, a horror, a monstrosity? Will that destroy him as well, trillions of years from now, finally? How long will he have been back alone by then? Will it matter? Locked inside a never changing form, watching even this fall away from him eventually...what will be left of the boy who set out to make his fortune with no idea what life would hold for him?

Most nights he can brush the thought aside. It is so very far in the future, incomprehensible even for him to think of truly living that long, seeing that much, traveling that far. He doesn't need to borrow trouble millions of years before he need worry.

But other nights, he does, and he pulls Jack a bit closer, almost clinging, and wondering just which of them is the impossibility, and what happens when they finally find that out.
changehistory: (Kensei - Waiting with sword)
It's time we see your muse's softer side. Share an intimate moment with us of your muse and one of their children.

Angela was sleeping, and Adam couldn't say that he blamed her. For all that he'd refrained from mentioning it, she had looked tired. Dealing with two boys all the way across the country...but said boys, it seemed had managed to get quite enough sleep. He'd attempted to put them down for a nap, at her suggestion, so they would be rested enough to meet everyone at dinner. Everyone, of course, now consisted of Elle and Micah only, and the ache of that was too fresh to consider.

So, instead, he focused on the two new additions to his life, who were looking up at him with bright, expectant eyes. Their questions, so far, had mostly been intelligent ones for such young children, and he was ridiculously proud, as if he'd had anything to do with it at all. If they were not going to sleep, he could, at least, answer those questions with a story.

Monty clung to him the whole way back down to the kitchen, though Simon seemed a bit more reserved, possibly trying to maintain some dignity of an older boy, refusing to be so very excited to be in a new place, with a mysterious new family member. Adam noted, however, that he did stay fairly close. Culinary masterpieces were not something Adam could manage on the best of days, but hot cocoa with steamed milk and marshmallows? That he could do, and that he did. Three mugs settled on a tray with cookies someone had thought to bake, and he herded the boys into the living room. The fire was going merrily, as usual, and the three of them settled on the rug in front of it.

'How come you're not old?' )
changehistory: (Peter -- Here we go again)
"You become responsible forever for what you've tamed." - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The newspaper article tucked under the files--at least the third of its kind--makes him shake his head, a rueful smile tugging his lips. It wasn't this bad when Massachusetts began allowing it, but things had been more confusing then, with two of them around, and the other still so very young. But that was past now, and they had sent him back, and clearly somehow they had gotten away with changing history. Which, it appeared, brought people's minds to the question of the future. They had worked so very hard to get to this point, to make sure things went as they were supposed to, to not mess anything up, and, with one minor--or possibly not that minor, really, in Peter's eyes--exception, they had done so. Crisis averted, Company made into something whole and healthy, families united, children strong and knowing their place in the world. People were alive who Peter said had died, before, tragically. There was no monster on the loose. And the boy had loved him and gone back to ensure it all still happened as they had decided it "should."

Only, in all of their planning, all of their dreaming through the years, they had never gotten quite past this point. They didn't know what would happen. Would Peter even stay, or would he somehow disappear out of existence? Could Adam make the boy love him and agree to give it all up, to go back? Had they altered things so much that they would arrive in the future of Peter's past with the world unrecognizable? There was no way to plan beyond that point, that morning, that day in Odessa when everything changed because of a boy's determination to save the world.

He had.

They had.

And the question remained: now what?

Angela and Arthur seemed to have made up their minds at least, he thought with a slight smile, lifting the newspaper article about couples gathered on courthouse steps. There had been less subtle hints, as well, and questions that made him eye Angela with suspicion while Arthur shrugged and retreated behind his paper. Charles was wandering about with a smug smile on his face, and Elle kept bouncing and giggling when he asked her what she was up to, and he was starting to fear that they'd be drugged and wake up in Los Angeles before a judge with a reception planned at Spago.

It wasn't that he was adverse to the idea. )
changehistory: (Half hiding)
"A man who knows the court is master of his gestures, of his eyes and of his face; he is profound, impenetrable; he dissimulates bad offices, smiles at his enemies, controls his irritation, disguises his passions, belies his heart, speaks and acts against his feelings." - Jean de La Bruyere (1645 - 1696)


It was not an easy time, nor easy lessons to learn. For all that he was well over a century old, for all that he had learned to lie with ease about his family, his past, the source of his fortune, none of that had truly prepared him for moving among the court at Versailles. It was almost terrifying, how out of place he felt, and he had to remind himself that he had been a samurai, a leader of men, a commander of a British mercenary fleet, a member of the Queen's Guard, a pirate captain with the open sea his to roam and rule. But these perfumed butterflies, flitting around gilded walls, whispering behind fans, dancing and flirting and frittering away their days baffled him.

The life they led was one he had always imagined he wanted. A child of the streets, bettering himself through each lifetime--to be at the finest, most decadent, most elaborate court in the world, accepted as one of them, was a dream come true. He had reached a pinnacle of experience, and he meant to savor each sensation it brought, drinking it up like a fine wine. And in the meantime, they were going to eat him alive.

He was gauche, bourgeois, rough around the edges with passion and temper both that flared hot. He acted on impulse still, with all the sense of the world owing him for the hand he'd been dealt that he'd hurled at Hiro over a century before. His thoughts chased themselves across his face, always readable, always bare and naked to anyone watching. He floundered, and his darling wife was little help, mostly amused at the boy she'd brought to court with her and his little faux pas.

Then he met the marquis de Castries, and things changed. A Navy man, himself, and a friend of one of Adam's former commanders, despite the sides they fought upon, he took pity on the seemingly younger man. Their lessons were thorough and intricate, and most days he despaired of the nobles, finding himself more in sympathy with the rising tide of revolutionary sentiment, but over the months, he learned, and once he set himself to learn the ways of the court--he learned them well.

When Frederica died, he was happy enough to take his leave of France, returning to the grace and simple beauty of Japan, seeking some balm for his soul and tortured memories of a country he had come to love, before. He did not find it, and continued East, back to the new World and a new life there, but the lessons he learned at court, he carried with him, letting them shape him, change him, mold his reactions. No more did he react in impulse, lashing out without thinking. No more did his heart reflect plaining on his face, his emotions an open book, his thoughts there for all to see. He retreated inside of a pleasant mask, a calculating smile. Eighteen months were all he spent at court, and he made a note never to return to another, but the lessons left him changed forever, and he carried them with him into the future, letting them continue to refine him and mold him into an enigma he delighted in presenting, making it a game to watch them always guessing and never fully grasping the truth of him.
changehistory: (Half hiding)
"Can we please stop talking about the cow?" Adam closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, leaning back in the chair.

"It was..." Melissa attempted to start again, leaning forward from where she was sitting on the sofa in his home office.

"I said stop," he snapped, opening his eyes to glare at her. She glared back completely unintimidated, and part of him wanted to applaud her for that. Too many people quailed when he snapped, and given what she likely believed about him--most of which was probably true--the fact that she didn't back down was admirable. It also made his head hurt, and part of him wanted to beg Mohinder to finish up the tests on Elle more quickly so he could send the chit back to Nathan to deal with.

"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms. "It's an important issue, both for the security of your little fortress here and for the general health of your people."

"It was a loose cow, Melissa," he said with a sigh. "It's been taken care of."

"It was sick," she argued.

"It's been taken care of," he repeated.


Adam dropped his hands and stared at her for a long minute. )
changehistory: (Fingers to lips)
In point of fact, Adam's not sure what to do with the boy. He's the same age, now, that Adam was when he stopped aging, younger than Peter by nearly two years, and the similarity is even more uncanny. They could be twins, until he starts to age, and that thought--the aging one--he finds both fascinating and repulsive. It would be interesting, to see how he ages, and at the same time, he finds himself wanting to retard the process for as long as possible, almost immediately considering daily injections that make Sark give him a slight look of horror. He's quick enough to accept the offer of healing, should he need it, though, Adam notes. He supposes in his line of work, that would be useful.

The line of work provides a way in, an idea of what to do with him until he figures it out fully. He has skills Adam lacks, knowledge Adam needs of the world political climate--the ever shifting alliances and enmities that make up a global world he has not participated in for decades. What he lacks in knowledge of these times, Sark knows with an intricacy that is impressive. He's intense and serious about it as well, sitting up late with Adam tracing patterns around the globe in detail that the older man has to admire.

That he admires other things feels exceptionally narcissistic, but he can't help the curiosity, nor, does he think, he can be blamed. It isn't often you find something new at his age, and this is definitely new. His fingers itch to explore more thoroughly, tracing over skin and finding out if the similarities end there, or run deeper inside of them both. The look he gets when he ruffles the boy's hair, however, makes him keep a more circumspect distance. There's a darkness there that possibly surpasses his own, and though he wants to dance with it, pull it closer, the boy could be too valuable to alienate him on a sensual whim.

So he contents himself with glasses of exorbitantly expensive wine, talking late into the night about information that would make Adam's objectives--at yet undefined--clearer, sharper, and easier to achieve. Sark is quick to discourage the flare of interest Adam shows in Rambaldi, with an almost snarl on those lips that makes Adam wonder if that's how he looks when someone upsets him, too. The discouragement only spikes his interest though, much to Sark's impatient looks and pointed comment about Adam not needing any more doses of immortality. The weapons, Adam argues, have their own uses, and Sark mutters something about always finding the ones with death and destruction and world domination aims, which amuses Adam to no end, given the business the boy is in.

And so they argue, night after night, in person and via encrypted email and phone calls, and if a plan still remains out of Adam's grasp about the boy's future, he decides more and more each day that somehow it has to be tied to his own. The concept of everyone having a twin somewhere has never hit so perfectly before, and he cannot believe it is anything but fate that has brought them together, so perfectly matched in skills and aims, each complementing the other. What to do will come in time. It always does. Until then, bedeviling the boy has its own rewards, and if he plays his cards right, he might find his own in time.
changehistory: (Kensei:  Angry ronin -- why always me?)
It's the set of her mouth that tells James something is amiss. Normally in motion, expressive, laughing, talking smiling, they're pressed together in a stubborn line that doesn't leave much room for negotiation. He wants to tell her from the wisdom of eight that at eleven years old, she's always going to have to be the one to negotiate, unless its with him and Stephen, who she can boss around as much as she pleases. He thinks about offering that, to placate her--dragging Stephen out into the garden in back and telling him they have to be soldiers guarding the Queen or some other dangerous game sure to get all three of them whipped if their father hears the word "Queen" cross their lips. But he's in the printing press, and so probably wouldn't hear over the machines, anyway.

"Come on," she snaps, before he can offer anything, however. He and Stephen both leap up obediently, but she gives Stephen a look. "You stay, Stephen. You can't come. You're too little."

His lower lip quivers, and James gives her an upset look, that she returns with a flash of growing impatience that he knows bodes ill for both of them if someone doesn't calm her down. "We're going out?" he asks quietly, and she nods curtly.

James kneels down beside the younger boy.  )
changehistory: (Upset/looking down)
Did you ever have to make up your mind?
Pick up on one and leave the other one behind
It's not often easy, and not often kind
Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Did you ever have to finally decide?
Say yes to one and let the other one ride
There's so many changes, and tears you must hide
Did you ever have to finally decide?

She'd thrown him out. Adam supposed that he should have expected it, really. Whatever his view of the situation, and despite how they both insisted he didn't understand, he did. His view of the world, of relationships, of love itself was so different from anything they could comprehend. He had to remind himself of that. He couldn't understand why Peter didn't understand his hurt, though. He'd been hurt when Caitlin left. Was Adam supposed to be less hurt at the thought of losing Angela? Peter was no more happy about Angela than Adam had been about Caitlin. The parallels seemed so clear to him, and he had at least tried to understand, hadn't he? Had he let him down with that, with his own insecurities, his own fears?

He'd loved before. He'd lived so many lives. He's promised "'til death do us part" on ten separate occasions...and death had parted them. Of all the things he'd never done, the one thing he'd never known was what forever felt like. He wanted to know. Did that make him a bad person, above and beyond everything he'd done? Was that what tipped the scales? It was selfish, but after thirty years in that place, didn't he have the right to be a little selfish?

Except he had a son, now. And his son...possibly had little to no use for him. Because of Peter. That hurt, cutting deep, because he didn't know if it would make a difference. If he chose Angela, did as she wished and walked away from Peter, would Nathan want a relationship with him, then? Or would he hate him for hurting his brother? Would Angela ever forgive him, even if he did choose her, or would he pay until she died?

And when she died...would Peter ever forgive him for having chosen her? Would he be throwing away his entire future happiness with one choice? Eternity with someone who challenged him to be better than he was, who inspired him the way Hiro had back then, who made him believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be a hero, could be someone to make...

Someone to make Nathan proud.  )
changehistory: (Burning thoughts)
It was cold at the cemetery, but then, it was cold most everywhere in the City at the present moment, so Adam didn't figure that there was much to be remarked upon, except a passing comment only he was alive to remember.

Hell will freeze over before you touch her, or see the boy, again, Monroe.

Adam cast an amused glance at the frozen earth and wondered if New York City counted as hell. Doubtful, though he had his moments of thinking it had to be. For all its verve, it lacked the grace he preferred, and the hole in the skyline reminded him too much of how lost the world had become and how hamstrung he was to do anything about it. Everything was so inelegant now, rushing and dark, polluted, dirty, the snow not even able to fall pristine, and here it mixed with mud disturbing the sanctity of the dead.

He stood by the grave, looking down at it. Snow covered the stone, but he could still make out the name, the dates, the inscription. Kneeling a bit, he brushed the snow off, rendering the name visible of the man he'd thought to make a friend, but whom he'd spent forty years hating. Rivals, from the moment they met. For Angela. For Daniel. For power. For the boy. Fury laced through him, and he could almost see his face through glass that was no longer there.

Angie and I just got back from Rome. Nathan loved it there, and didn't want to come home.

Can I tell you, Monroe, I used to hate you, but this morning, I think I have to thank you. That little thing you taught Angie with her tongue...God. I am a lucky man.

A smirk, a chill in brown eyes staring mockingly at him while they strapped him down.

He's graduating today, Adam. Valedictorian. You should have seen him up there on the stage. My son. I'm so proud of the man I've raised...

Glancing around and seeing no one, Adam snarled and kicked the headstone hard, feeling the impact reverberate up his leg, welcoming the pain, because it meant one sure and solid thing.

He was alive.

His lips curved as he squatted back down, low voice murmuring to the stone before him. He told him, in the same exquisite detail he'd been told, exactly how Angela had looked, stretched out with nothing on but the necklace he'd given her for Christmas. The way his name caught in her throat like something holy; how she remembered, even now, exactly how he liked to be touched. He whispered the secrets only a few knew about how she tasted, and the way she screamed and begged him for more. Dinners spent lingering over wine and whiskey, and laughter and plans, and how she'd betray them all now, again, this time, to be by his side. Always his, no matter what she felt for the cowardly corpse rotting beneath him.

Settling more, he told Arthur about pool games and whiskey, and blood tests. About fragile trust, and a relationship starting. How Nathan asked him not to leave, wanted him here in New York. He talked about kittens and a boy longing for approval that the man beneath him never gave, and how he could give it, could love enough to overcome whatever stubborn pride had kept Arthur's lips sealed. He chuckled at the memory, of the two of them trying to carry seven cats onto a subway and the looks they'd gotten, and the coffee they'd shared and how Peter had grinned in absolute delight.

And then he told him about Peter. About forever. About love that forgave even mistakes such as his. About how the furniture all ended up on the beach, and they'd had nothing but melon balls and figs and that was perfection, because they had each other. His son, the boy he'd never mentioned, had hidden from Adam, but Adam had found him. Had loved him. Had made him love in return. Movies and popcorn and a life free of the rest of the mistakes they'd all made. Free of Arthur's corrupt legacy. Free of his violence. Free of Daniel's taint. The world at their feet and all the time in the world to play with it, to see it, finally, remade and whole.

By the end he was flushed, eyes bright and fevered, almost laughing with a near unholy glee. Leaning in he pressed his lips to cold stone.

"Rot in hell, you fucking bastard," he murmured, almost lovingly. "I win."
changehistory: (Nathan -- Beside Myself)
"Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter." - Law #42, "The 48 Laws of Power" by Robert Greene

He had been willing to go alone, to take care of it, to be done with it, to cease and desist dancing around the issue. The night they'd taken the kittens to Peter, he'd been ready to storm out of there and slit Bob's throat in his sleep, but one thing led to another, and he hadn't gone and then there was Angela. But he'd stuck to his resolve to get it done, to stop any holding back. He'd promised not to torture, but he needed a kill, some primal violence learned young and ingrained welling up until he nearly wandered to the Park to be a target just so he could fight back.

Instead he was here, waiting with Nathan silent at his back. )

[OOC: Written based off of and to spark RP in [ profile] nota_fairytale. Nathan is [ profile] vote4nathan and used with permission of his mun. Bob and Elle are NPC's in that universe and nothing in here or any RP based off of this set up is binding on or meant to implicate [ profile] itsjustbob, any other Bob muse/player, or any Elle muse/player.]
changehistory: (Waiting for the light to shine)
Standing all alone
I bled for you
I wanted to
Each drop my own
Slowly they depart
But fall in vain
Like desert rain
And still they fall on and on and on

Hiro )

Drifting through the dark
The sympathy
Of night's mercy
Inside my heart
Is your life the same?
Do ghosts cry tears?
Do they feel years?
As time just goes on and on and on

Angelica and Angela )

I'm looking for you
I'm looking for I don't know what
I can't see there anymore
And all my time's been taken

Is this what it seems?
The lure of a dream
And I'm afraid to walk back through that door
To find that I've awakened

Peter )

The night seems to care
The dreams in the air
The snow's coming down
It beckons me dare
It whispers, it hopes
It holds and confides
And offers a bridge
Across these divides
The parts of my life
I've tried to forget
It's gathered each piece
And carefully kept
Somewhere in the dark
Beyond all the cold
There is a child
That's part of my soul

Nathan )

Got to get back to a reason
Got to get back to a reason I once knew
And this late in the seasons
One by one distractions fade from view
The only reason I have left is

*Lyrics: "Back to a Reason" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra
changehistory: (Leaning against wall)
"A man who knows the court is master of his gestures, of his eyes and of his face; he is profound, impenetrable; he dissimulates bad offices, smiles at his enemies, controls his irritation, disguises his passions, belies his heart, speaks and acts against his feelings." - Jean de La Bruyere (1645 - 1696)

Versailles, 1782

Adam was nearly 140 years old, and still these aristocrats baffled him. He'd slowly climbed, from peasant to samurai to merchant to bourgeoisie to officer in the Queen's Forces, a Major, a man of rank. When he abandoned them for Paris, he thought to try his hand a bit higher. Easy enough to claim to be the younger son of an aristocrat, come to travel, devoid of the responsibility that fell to his elder brother. He had the money to show for it, if he hesitated to claim a title, the smile, the looks, the charm, the charisma that had made men follow him to their own deaths with shouts and cheers.

The decadence suited him, he thought. He gambled and lost and gambled and won and made his way through the minor aristocracy until finally he found himself in the Queen's good graces while the King raised an indulgent eyebrow and let her play with the English puppy. But visiting was one thing, and, he quickly learned, joining them quite another.

Frederica was a lady of the best family. He'd only managed the marriage by seduction, finding her not as innocent as she'd claimed, but both of them confessing quietly to her father their sin, Adam swearing his dearest wish was to marry her, and the lady protesting she'd have no other, and tell them all she'd lain with him if his father didn't permit it. So they wed in pomp and circumstance, and from the fringes where he had watched, Adam found himself thrust into the center under his new father-in-law's auspices.

He'd learned to hide in plain sight, of course, always slipping through noticed for his looks, remarked for his charm, then gone with a smile and a bow. Now he was the focus of attention, scrutiny, everyone waiting for the English boy to prove himself as uncivilized as they all knew his people to be. Now there was intrigue, in a country seething with unrest, where every smile could hide a dagger and any frown could give away a plot. They watched him so closely he felt his skin crawl with it, his stories carefully dissected. He'd made himself too much of a mystery, and if they probed too deeply, he knew the story would unravel. So, ever the quick study, he learned to play their games. Intrigue became his life, as well, and he learned where a smile worked, and where a threat, murmured in a delicate ear would serve him better. His temper, always quick and hot, he learned to cool, to hide, only the iciness of his eyes belying his mood until finally, he learned to control that as well. His smiles came quicker than his frowns, his kisses hid behind more than fans. It took a few months, but by the time he left, his natural charm had woven itself into masks, ever fluid, ever changing. He learned their world inside out, and like a chameleon, fit himself inside of it.

When Frederica died a scant 18 months into their marriage, he slid behind the mask of grieving husband, then made his escape, back to Japan, but the lessons remained, never forgotten. Two centuries later, he would laugh at the games of New York's elite. Manipulative and sometimes macabre, they were still simplistic comparatively, and with a smooth tongue, a charming smile and eyes that gave nothing away, he played the game again.
changehistory: (Contemplative)
"You realize, of course, that an eye for an eye won't be enough. I want him dead." Adam sipped his whiskey slowly in the smoky bar, watching the woman across the table, pausing to reconsider that statement. "Of course, an eye for an eye, or an arm for an arm, or a leg for a leg...or, well, all of the above would eventually lead to his death. So, perhaps I do want it all."

The Rani smirked, eyes not leaving him. "I'd say that sounds fair, all things considered."

Adam frowned a bit, fingers tapping against the table. "That's where you come in."

"Oh?" One delicate eyebrow lifted and normally he would have paused in his thoughts to admire that perfect arch, but he was far too focused on the task at hand.

"Yes. I need somewhere secure to hold him. Ideally, this could take a very long time, especially if we give him regular infusions of my blood to heal him before I start again." He barely refrained from squirming a bit in his chair at the flash of heat that thought brought.

"Of course," she nodded in approval. "He won't be able to escape, and my lab is there for anything you'd need to revive him."

"An I.V. should do it," Adam said with a shrug. "More than just a syringe if he actually dies and I want to bring him back. I wonder if I could actually make him regenerate limbs..." His eyes were a little unfocused, just seeing something in the back of his mind, a fantasy stretching out across decades.

"We could start with something small, as I'm sure they did with you," the Rani suggested, sliding into what he deemed her scientist tone. "A toe, or a finger, perhaps, then some of your blood. See what happens. It would be an intriguing test of the limit of your ability to work on others as well."

Adam gave a brisk nod. "Yes. I want him to know what it felt like, to do what he did to me, to be that trapped, that know there was no way out. To wonder when it will end." There was a flash of darkness then, something broken deep inside. "Of course, he has to know I'll tire of the game. He'll die, eventually, one too many times, and I won't bother bringing him back. He can hope for that, wait for it. Beg for it, and eventually...I will give it to him."

Reaching out her hand, the Rani set it gently over his. He watched their joined hands for a moment, then glanced up and gave her a bleak smile. "That's more hope than he ever gave me."

She was silent then, because, really, what could you say to that? Eventually Adam's eyes cleared and he leaned across the table, heedless of the whiskey and started discussing the particulars of how to make his dream come true.

ooc: [ profile] thisway_comes used with her mun's permission, though any faults in characterization or voice are solely mine.
changehistory: (I need you to believe)
April 1963

He waited, leaning up against his brand new red Plymouth Sport Fury convertible. Boys walked by, eyeing the car with envious eyes. The girls smiled invitingly, and he let his eyes slide down over their legs, revealed in the new mini-skirts that had come into fashion. Sometimes he really did love the twentieth century. He kept his smile respectful though, never resting for too long on any one girl, watching the door of the high school as students poured out, looking for one dark head in particular.

When he saw her, Adam’s eyes lit up. He tracked her movements across the school yard. He knew the instant she saw him. Her smile broke out and she said something to the girl next to her and headed toward him at a rather unladylike pace. He caught her close as she reached him, pulling her tight against him. Then, knowing all her friends were watching, knowing what it meant to be dating the “older boy” with the car and the job and the right jacket, he kissed her, fingers curling around the back of her neck in a possessive grip she didn’t seem to mind in the least.

“Where have you been?” she asked, a little breathless when he lifted his head and pulled away to open the car door for her.

“I had to go to Odessa and check on the company,” he said, as she slid across the seat and climbed in behind the wheel.

“The paper place?” Her nose wrinkled just a bit, and Adam reached out to flick it lightly with his finger.

“The paper place, yes.” Though it was already turning in to so much more. Not his dream, not yet, but the foundation at least as he hired scientists and built labs underneath the structure. Three floors down, it was a labyrinth and only he knew the secrets it already held.

“But you’re back now, at least for a while?” He noticed the slightly cool tone, with an amused quirk of his lips, the little way she adjusted her sunglasses, the way she didn’t quite look at her friends as they pulled away, and yet made sure everyone noticed.

“I’m back for as long as you want me,” he murmured, just for her, in a tone that brought heat to her cheeks. She’d barely turned sixteen, and though she tried to give him a worldly smile, the sheer innocence behind it made him almost laugh.

* * *

December 1964

“You want me to what?” Angela sat up and stared down at Adam where he was stretched out on the rug like he’d grown a second head.

He took a moment to study her, the way her hair curled damply around her face and the flush growing on her skin, heightened by the lights he’d strung on the tree in his apartment. He reached out and traced his fingers over her, almost in wonder, then wound them through her hair and tugged her back down to him, where she belonged.

His lips brushed over hers, tongue light and teasing. “I want you to go out with him.”

Eyes fluttering closed she shifted to slide on top of him. “With Arthur?” she asked with an expert shifting of her hips that made him moan and arch up into her, cutting off what she might have said in a gasp as he filled her. After he’d gotten her past her initial reservations, the first night he’d taken it beyond kisses and clandestine touches, she had proved to be a very apt pupil, following him even into the darker corners of desire with an eagerness to please and be pleased that he had found so rarely.

“With Arthur,” he murmured against her lips, hips rocking again. “Yes.”

“Why?” she asked, pulling away a little before he grabbed her hips and pulled her back down on him, fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks. Her eyes fluttered closed again, and he smiled.

“We need him. And he asked,” he reminded her, one hand sliding up her side to cup her breast, thumb teasing over her nipple.

“What about us?” There it was, the youth the vulnerability, the girl he’d found and made his.

“Nothing needs to change. Arthur never needs to know.”

She frowned, just a bit, and he tugged her lips back to his, kissing her, moving inside her, until the questions drifted away.

* * *

June 1965 )

OOC: Angela Petrelli used with permission of her mun as we create backstory for them. :-)


changehistory: (Default)
Adam Monroe

February 2014

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