changehistory: ([Peter] -- Here we go again)
It might be the Christmas season, but this is one day Adam takes out of his holiday festivities to celebrate the birth of someone he finds far more special than Christ--however sacrilegious that might sound.

Meta

Feb. 10th, 2009 12:53 pm
changehistory: (Are you kidding me?)
Peter?

Why, exactly, is Television Without Pity listing you as one of TV's Most Eligible Bachelors?

Clearly I need to have a talk with them about the definition of "bachelor."

I don't expect that conversation to go...pleasantly for them.
changehistory: (Peter -- Here we go again)
Happy birthday, Peter.

I do hope you haven't made any other plans for the day, since I'm fairly intent on stealing you away for most of it.
changehistory: (Peter -- Healing)
[ooc: For [livejournal.com profile] yearsguilt, [livejournal.com profile] thatsortofpower, [livejournal.com profile] its_myturn and [livejournal.com profile] youngerpetrelli]

I love you. I don't know if I say it enough.

I love you, and I appreciate you.

Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for giving me the chances you've given me, thank you for your trust, thank you for your love, thank you for being mine, and letting me be yours.

I just wanted to say that.

Adam
changehistory: (Peter - Not broken)
It's been there in my dreams -- the scene I see unfold
True at last, flesh and blood, to cherish and hold
Jealous fools will suffer, yes, I know and I confess:
Once I lost my way when something good had just begun
Lesson learned, it's history, when all is said and done


He wasn't him. In the end it was as simple as that. He didn't do those things. He didn't make those plans. He didn't toss aside the best thing that ever happened to him in search of vengeance. There had to be something, of course, somewhere, enough to make the boy come back, but. He wasn't him any longer, and his mistakes would never be Adam's.

How that resulted in him standing before the mirror in a shop that was far too feminine to even dare to offer tuxedos, having Angela order the shop girls around as they fixed his collar, his sleeves, his trouser legs and generally made him want to twitch, he had yet to figure out. He eyed the champagne she had in her hand with longing, but it had been forbidden him because it might spill on the fabric.

"Couldn't we have gone to a tailor?" he asked, fidgeting in a way that got him swatted by the overly familiar shop girl. She got an icy glare for her troubles, but she seemed no more impressed by it than Angela.

"What do you think this is, Adam?" Angela asked, glancing up with an arch of her eyebrow.

"It looks like a dress shop," he pointed out dryly.

"Louisa's husband is the best kept secret in the City," she said absently. "He does all Arthur's tailoring."

Adam snorted. )
changehistory: (Waiting for you to realize)
It is not my fault he's an idiot. Will people please stop yelling at me and throwing--or blowing--things around my office?

Thank you.
changehistory: (Amused smirk)


Your Dosha is Pitta



You have a quick mind, a gift for persuasion, and a sharp sense of humor.
You have both the drive and people skills to be a very successful leader.
Argumentative and a bit stubborn, you have been known to be a little too set in your ways.
But while you may be biased toward your own point of view, you are always honest, fair, and ethical.

With friends: You are outgoing and open to anyone who might want to talk to you

In love: You are picky but passionate

To achieve more balance: Be less judgmental of those around you, and take cool walks in the moonlight.

changehistory: (Bored)
To: ppetrelli@primatech.com
From: amonroe@primatech.com
Subject: Personnel matters

Peter,

Elle keeps stopping by my office. Your mother keeps running her off.

Am I missing something?

Adam

P.S. -- About the other night--we aren't getting predictable are we?


ATTENTION
The information contained in this message is a confidential communication from the Primatech Paper. It is intended to be read only by the person or entity to whom it is addressed or by the designee of such person or entity. If the reader of this message is not the intended recipient, you are on notice that distribution of this message in any form is strictly prohibited.

If you have received this message in error, please immediately notify the sender and/or the Legal Division of Primatech Paper by telephone at (914)555-6830 and delete or destroy any copy of this message as well as any attachments.
changehistory: (Burning thoughts)
[AU 'verse]

The journal is a modern style, with a magnetic flap and fake leather faked to look old and distressed. Of course, now it is, and how they had kept it all this time still amazes him, but it had been something precious in a way--proof that Peter was who he said he was, from when he said he was--so Adam had kept it wrapped in oilcloth, kept from the elements and preserved. It's falling apart now, the ink nearly illegible, preserved like other old books, and almost never taken out, never touched. He's copied it, though, so as not to lose it, painstakingly writing out each entry that spanned four weeks that never happened, but carefully document the reasons why it never occurred, why a boy came back to save a man he loved from becoming a monster.

He's read it enough over the years that each entry is nearly memorized, but he pulls out a copy again. The code was a simple one, one he and his siblings had worked out as they learned to write. It had been Mary who'd thought it up and taught the boys, letting them work it into their compositions for the school mistress, saying all sorts of things they oughtn't. A child's game, but with that...it tucked into the journal entries, carefully worded in ways Peter would never have deciphered should he have picked it up. The code had been what convinced him the boy was telling the truth, because for all he now knew a code breaker could probably sort it out fairly quickly, then...no one else would have known.

Tonight is different. He hasn't visited the pages in over a year, as if reading them could bring them into being as the dates on the pages coincided with those on the calendar, evoking events he has no knowledge of outside of story and Peter's memory. He tucked the pages far away in the back of his desk at home, bound up to protect the present from becoming what it was, had been. But it is past, now, the last date, and things have remained as they have made them, and so he pulls forth the pages again wondering if tonight they will make more sense in truth, in fact, than just in words he translates in his head.

These were his words. This was his plan. This dark bitterness, softened only by Peter's presence, but even that not enough to stop him from his murderous purpose. Kaito's death. Angela's attack. The feel of the gun in his hand and how it felt to watch Victoria fall, blood pooling around her, the shock on her face, the fierce sense of accomplishment at it's doing...and the excitement that laced each line as they drew closer and closer to the goal. He was giddy with it, it seems, hungry to watch the world fall around him, to build it anew, drunk on rage and vengeance and righteousness, a sense of being so far above those around him that their lives mattered not. Worry, some, that the boy would fall away, that he might lose him, rambles on how to keep him by his side, to not lose this opportunity, but only here and there, and more of a sense that it must be done, and he would find a way to fix it with Peter after.

He wishes he could toss it away and say he doesn't believe it, to toss off the fetters of the life that now never was. It seems the journal should have disappeared, never written, because that man never existed, but it remains here, in his hands, tangible proof of who he was. Who he was. Because it was him, and he was that person, and it is useless to deny it. The guilt that weighs on him isn't rational, perhaps, but he sometimes thinks it isn't for who he was that he feels it, but because it is who he could become. Even now, even with a past filled with love and laughter, and partnership, it is hard not to think he is better than them, to not be certain that he and Peter are meant to rule, not guide. They are everlasting, and his father's words, words Peter couldn't erase the way he erased the other boy's betrayal, still echo. The arrogance in the words on the page, he recognizes. The anger, he knows, if not so bitterly. The injustice in the world, he wants to rectify. The sense that it is all spinning out of humanity's control, and that something must be done, he shares.

There is no virus; Peter saw to that. There is no deadly weapon at his hand save Peter himself, and in that, perhaps they differ, because to use Peter is to him unthinkable, where to the other, to the man he was, it was necessary and inevitable. That angers him, sometimes, knowing what Peter risked, what Peter gave up to save...this man, who wrote these words, who had these thoughts, and who didn't care what he demanded of those who followed him...and knowing, still, that he still does that, daily, weaving his webs of words around his still faithful followers. He's learned from journal what not to do, what path doesn't work, what plans have to fail, and how to succeed. He's learned from his past mistakes, from his past self, but the lesson learned might not be the one that some might hope.

Because no matter the anger at the fool he thinks he was, he knows, reading those words and hearing the soul behind them, that when you strip away the man he's learned to be, and the man he once became with their lives so differently lived...his once past and his now present are not so far apart as one might think.
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: (Peter -- Here we go again)
[OOC Note: AU 'verse, inspired by this fanvid that made me go "oooooh". Peter referred to is [livejournal.com profile] thatsortofpower]

Pretty, very pretty, but really quite mad. Right out of Bedlam, for sure, I thought, though how he'd ended up in Japan I couldn't fathom. Surely no ship would take him on, talking the way he was, about the future? His clothes were strange, true, and his speech, though it was a relief after so long to find someone who spoke English, even with his strange accent. The place he spoke of being from, I'd never heard of, even. "New York." It was New Amsterdam, then, you see, and part of the Dutch colonies, not the British. He at least adjusted to that to clear up the confusion of locality, but then his complete lack of knowledge of the Dutch language, of which I'd picked up a bit on the ship, was just as baffling, though he seemed to think it ought to lend credence to his story.

But how do you accept that someone has come from the future to fix the past -- to fix you -- especially when you're not aware that anything is truly broken? Which, looking back, I suppose I knew on some level, but I was a child, then, not even thirty, and hardly given to the introspection and self-examination I am now.

He wasn't mad, of course. Not in the least bit, though I have to say he does have a tendency towards maudlin brooding that I've never quite broken him of, but that isn't madness, nor is it relevant for the discussion. But then? That day? I thought it a pity that someone quite so pretty had to be insane. Of course, I couldn't leave him to wander the countryside all alone in that state. He didn't speak the language; he had no idea of the customs; he stood out like a sore thumb, both by virtue of being a gaijin and his clothes and attitude. So, I took him with me out of some sort of...fine. Out of pure selfishness, really. He was pretty, he spoke English, I was lonely, and he seemed terribly fond of me for some reason I didn't understand then. His story proved to be far more true than I could fathom, then, but that is neither here nor there when asking about first impressions. It's a story for another topic, an issue to delve into at another time. Perhaps.

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Adam Monroe

February 2014

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