changehistory: ([Angela] [Peter] Hallelujah)
[ooc note: Based on RP in [livejournal.com profile] hearts_andminds. Peter referred to is [livejournal.com profile] dreamtof_flying. Angela is [livejournal.com profile] seemynightmares and mine to use.]

When he came in, she was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with an open jar of peanut butter, licking delicately at the spoonful she’d scooped out. A half full glass of whiskey sat next to her, the bottle on the counter, open, with an empty glass next to it. She paused for a moment, then pulled the spoon out of her mouth and held it there, swinging up and down in the air as she watched him across the space between.

The twist of near pure panic in his gut was ridiculous. With her hair twisted up on her head, held in place with a pencil, and a nightshirt on that he thought might have kittens on it, she looked about twelve, no matter if she was right and date of birthday in the village or no, she’d reached her legal majority a couple of months before. It was the look in her eyes, he decided. Kittens and pencil bun aside, that was all Angela, and it had never quite failed to send chills down his spine.

That, of course, was also ridiculous. He could heal from anything, and all she did was dream the future. She didn’t even have an aggressive power. And yet...

She smiled. It didn’t help. It never did when she was in this mood. Dangerous. Somehow, across the hall, when they weren’t watching, she’d grown up a bit more than anyone noticed.

“Found your whiskey. Have a drink?”

Adam let his bag slide off his shoulder. Running wasn’t a good idea. So he told himself to show no weakness, and moved across the room, closing that distance that had felt safe, and reached for the bottle, filling the empty glass.

“You’re still too young for this.”

“So ground me.” The look in her eyes practically dared him to say anything more as she deliberately reached for her glass, taking a sip, and he had to wonder what whiskey and peanut butter tasted like.

“Where’s Peter?”

“At the clinic. He had to work the late shift.” Another lick of peanut butter, another sip of whiskey, her eyes never leaving his face.

He was going to die. She was going to murder him in his sleep. )
changehistory: ([Angela] BW)
Sometimes when the night stretched out long before him, he thought of her in that big house, all alone, and what might have been, had fortune and fate smiled on them, and wondered if she ever sat and dreamed about him, too.
changehistory: ([Peter] - fear me love me do as I say)
Title: The Man Who Sold The World
Author: Bria - [livejournal.com profile] ladyofbrileith
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Adam/Peter, Mohinder/Sylar
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, m/m relationships-but no graphic sex, spoilers for S2 and part of S3.

Words: 15,520

Summary: In a world where over 99% of the population has died, decimated by the release of the Shanti virus, Adam has worked hard to build an outpost of civilization for survivors in a paradise, a new Garden of Eden, where humanity can be shaped into the image of his choosing. But while most of the survivors have resigned themselves to this new world and struggle to find their own place and build lives within it, Peter refuses to do so. Despite the feelings he and Adam share, Peter won't rest until he manages to undo what was done, no matter the cost, and Adam must find a way to stop him before it's too late, and his perfect apocalypse is destroyed.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6
Notes: Thank you to my wonderful betas: [livejournal.com profile] kirsteena, [livejournal.com profile] risingfire and [livejournal.com profile] keep_them_safe

FANMIX to accompany: by [livejournal.com profile] entwashian - The Future Never Happened
changehistory: ([Angela] BW)
As requested by [livejournal.com profile] notacargojet, but with [livejournal.com profile] mapetrelli and [livejournal.com profile] seemynightmares in mind. ;-)

Adam/Angela: I'll Stand By You )

Note: MASSIVE thanks to [livejournal.com profile] deep_red_bells's mun for finding unlocked versions of several of these songs, when I only had protected files. :-)
changehistory: (Waiting for you to realize)
Dear Angela,

Sorry about the thing with Maury. That got out of hand. I hope you're doing well.

Just a quick question--you're still you, right? I mean, married Arthur, broke my heart, had two sons who like to foil my plans for the world, one of whom is now dating my sister, which I'm sure you despise--all of that's still true, yes?

Just checking...

xoxo,
Adam
changehistory: (Just listen to teacher)
[ooc: Follows and is companion piece to this. BB!Angela is [livejournal.com profile] seemynightmares and Martha is [livejournal.com profile] notquiteadoctor and both are mine to use. Jack referred to is [livejournal.com 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: ([Angela] [Peter] Hallelujah)
[ooc: No particular Peter-muse implied. Adam just insisted on this being written. If your Peter would like to be involved in a "where does this go from here" or spinning AU from here, let me know. Angela is [livejournal.com profile] oncewasadreamer and mine to use for purposes of this. Also, please to be excusing any mistakes in the Italian, as I've relied on phrase books and Babelfish...>.>]

"Life is a series of experiences, each one of which makes us bigger, even though it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and griefs which we endure help us in our marching onward."

For all intents and purposes, Adam Monroe had died, like Takezo Kensei and Richard Sanders and so many other aliases the man sipping a glass of wine in a small tavern in Portoferraio had borne before him. He preferred it that way. After nearly fifty years and disaster after disaster, it was time. Time to move on, time to disappear, time to be someone else, time to come up with some new plan. What had started as a dream, had grown into an idea through the fall of 1960 and the spring of 1961, and matured into a plan through the rest of the 60s...he had to finally acknowledge it had failed. The Company, his disciples, his grand new world order. Perhaps he'd moved too quickly, should have bided his time, let them come to him more slowly, guided the previous generation in the raising of this one. If he'd had a hand in it, in the rearing of a generation of specials from birth, maybe things would have gone differently. Then again, he thought he'd caught this one young enough, vulnerable enough to shape them, and he had in some ways, but not enough.

Whatever the reasons, whatever might have been done better, he let it go now. It was done. He let Adam die, let them all believe it, and walked away. A new name, a new home, a new life. He'd done it so many times before, it was routine, though he didn't like the way it tugged at him, like ripping off a skin he wasn't ready to shed. Still, the island was beautiful, and he settled into its rhythm easily enough, adopting an Irish accent, buying a small house, getting himself a job helping out on one of the fishing boats when the owner's son went off to college. He didn't need the money, but it gave him an entrance into the community that being a rich expatriate wouldn't have, and the simple work let him be out on the water again, in the sun and warm air, working so he didn't have to spend his time thinking. There was even a girl, not one of them, but just a girl, sweet and sassy and with a smile on her lips who kept him from thinking at night when he was most prone to brood.

He probably should have gone somewhere other than Italy, but there was some element of masochism he couldn't break.

The masochistic impulse made him keep one tie, one contact who sent him news. He knew when Pinehurst burned, knew about the body found inside. He almost sent flowers to the twice-widow, but stifled the impulse, reminding himself he was dead. He watched the news, saw Senator Petrelli take his place in politics, rising up. He heard his words with a chill down his spine, the echo in them ringing out across time to quell any sense of pride he might otherwise allowed himself to indulge in.

He knew when Peter went on the wanted list. Knew Angela was safe, and when she wasn't, and almost reached out again, to tell her to get herself and her younger son out, to offer her sanctuary, but Peter wouldn't run, and she wouldn't leave Nathan. He knew that without asking, and best, still, if they thought him dead. Best not to go back. What could he do, anyway, but end up back in a cell, and he'd spent too long in those these last three decades.

He knew when things went back to normal, though not how, and he let himself breathe a sigh of relief, hoping now he could truly let them go, and for a while he was able to. Able to bury himself in his new life and let them get on with theirs however they were.

Cut for spoilers for 4x13 & 4x14 )
changehistory: ([Angela] [Peter] Hallelujah)
This is potentially the most ridiculous question ever asked. My partner's family...god. My partner's family, you see, turns out to be my family. Or, no, not turns out to be, because...I knew it was a possibility when I started falling in love with him. I knew there was a chance...

And, no, before anyone asks, he and I are not related. There's no blood or DNA we share.

But the situation is...complicated, and it always will be complicated, and I cannot change that. I cannot change what I am, that I am a man who does not age, who moves through time without having it touch me, that I have loved before, and that I loved...that once upon a time I loved his mother. That maybe there is a substantial part of me that still does. I'm not someone who stops loving when I have fallen. We had a child, she and I--his half brother. We have grandchildren--his nieces and nephews. The secrets are out, now, and everyone knows. He has to live with the fact that he's dating his mother's ex, and his brother's father, and "complicated" is actually a very mild word.

Add in the fact that his mother and I haven't exactly had the most...stellar of records for honesty in the past, and that there are more wounds there, and some days I have no idea what the fucking hell he's doing with me. Shall we review, in brief, how I get along with his family? See if it counts as "good terms"?

His mother: We were lovers for near on 14 years. I count her, still, as one of the loves of my life. We plotted to destroy the world together, for purposes we still believe were good ones, though we may have come to disagree on the level of destruction necessary to achieve our purposes. I may have tried to kill her with my pet telepath. She may have told our son how to kill me and that he should do so. I still love her. I'm fairly certain part of her still loves me. I chose him. She accepts that fact. We're speaking. We all got along well for the holidays. On the other hand, I bought her a necklace that cost more than a small house, so I say that might have been a bit over the top, but...all right, all in all, on good terms?

His elder brother: Hated me for ages for using Peter. Threw a few punches. Exchanged more than a few insults. Found out I was his father. Wasn't overly pleased at that at first. Seems to be coming around to the idea, though, and wanting to spend time with me, and lets me see his children and be in their lives, so...I think we're getting there?

His twin: My BFF. Probably feels as uncomfortable as a new member of the family structure as I do, as we were both cast out of it for decades, but, we're coming to terms with it, and though he was royally pissed at me lately for certain...actions I took that weren't all that advisable, we seem to have made up.

His niece: My granddaughter. My protege. She's never really had a problem with me, despite everyone trying to turn her against me for a while. She was the first to realize what we were to each other, to accept me as part of the family, and we've been close for a while, bonded by our mutual ability, one no one else fully grasps, even the others who have acquired them. There's something to it, when it's just yours, when it is what you were born with, and it bonds us.

His nephews: Monty seems to adore me. Ninja swords and pirate stories work well for that. Simon, I'm less certain of, but I don't think he dislikes me...

His nephew-in-law and one of his best friends: Oh dear god, don't get me started. My first love who married my granddaughter; who betrayed me for another; who built me up into believing I was something special to him, then took it away; who buried me alive and left me there to go mad...Honestly, I have no idea what terms we are on from day to day. I have...forgiven as best I am able, and I believe he has, as well, and sometimes I see the glimmer of the friends we once were, but then he married Claire, and now...I do not know again. I can't think about it.

So. It's complicated, but honestly, it isn't so much his family I worry nearly as much about as it is him. How he will take my entanglement in his family's life, the more he thinks about it. If he ever realizes how much his mother meant, and still means, to me. I gave her up, I chose him, and I've no regret there. She and I hurt each other too deeply to ever go back to what we were, before, but what we were...I don't think he knows, and I worry if he ever understands, ever grasps it, ever fully understands it. He's taken so much from me, put up with so much, forgiven so much...

Sometimes I wonder when enough will be enough, and what will be the final straw.
changehistory: ([Angela] Look how far we've come)
Making snow angels was the pastime of children, but Adam reminded himself his angel was little more than a child--and moreover one who'd had too much of her childhood taken from her--and the laughter that lit up her face at seeing him covered in the wretchedly cold stuff more than made up for the mild humiliation.
changehistory: ([Angela] Look how far we've come)
[ooc: Angela is [livejournal.com profile] mapetrelli and is used with permission and lots of love. Set in AU world where Angela married Adam instead of Arthur--traces the course of their marriage from proposal to present day. Warnings for graphic sexual content. Um, also, 6415 words--epic smut is epic?]

Five fulfilled places of 102 Places to Have Sex

1964

On a porch swing )

1965

Under a waterfall. )

1975

In a tree house. )

1990

On your patio, balcony, or deck on a starry night. )

2008

In the back of a limo. )

One place you would never do it

1978

In a corn field )
changehistory: (Wedding ring)
There are ten of them looped together on a chain and resting in his vanity case. Some are worn with time, the metal darkened to the point that no amount of polishing in the world could get it clean. Some are simple, plain bands with little ornamentation around them to make them stand out save some scrollwork etched into them in an attempt at beauty, or the engraving one bears on the inside that hasn't worn away no matter how often he's rubbed his thumb over it to call her face back to mind. Two are highly ornate, with jewels embedded in the gold, a piece of art from a time of artifice. Three still gleam, a century or less old. One has flakes of salt and blood in the groove he's never bothered to clean--a permanent reminder of the price of trust and the pain of treachery. The newest bears dents from the concrete wall it hit again and again and again as he screamed for them to let him out.

Sometimes he lets them fall through his fingers, each one bringing to mind a memory, a face, a smell, a laugh, a time in his life that will never come back. The people he's loved, the loves he has lost.

Other times he stares at them, and sees only the absence. The ring that isn't there. The hole that wasn't filled. The vow that wasn't made. The road that wasn't taken.

That there will eventually be another added to the chain, he has no doubt. Life goes on. He goes on, forever and ever, amen.

But no matter how many other rings are added, he knows he'll always look at the chain and see the one that's missing.
changehistory: ([Angela] [Peter] Hallelujah)
It's not something he can ever say aloud for fear of offending them both, and the complexity of the emotion is impossible to capture in words anyway, but part of the draw will forever be the ghost of her he sees reflecting back at him from Peter's eyes.
changehistory: (BW - scheming)
Dearest,

Would you be available to have dinner with me sometime this week?

Love,
Adam
changehistory: ([Elle] Lightning)
Title: Girlfriend
Pairings: Adam/Angela, Adam/Elle
Summary: When you're nearly 400 years old, you'd think that you'd learn to handle women, but Adam's discovering that even after 30 years out of the field, navigating the dating waters can be a scary thing when his old flame is still interested, and his new one won't back down.

Nicer quality download at sendspace.
YouTube Link


changehistory: ([Angela] Look how far we've come)
Adam cares nothing about the piece of compressed carbon set in metal wrapped around her finger and placed there by another man, because when he slides it off and places it on the burnished wood of the table before leading her to his bed, she just smiles that secret smile of hers, and he knows where her heart truly remains, now and always.
changehistory: ([Angela] BW)
Enough was enough. He was tired of watching them hurt each other. He was tired of standing back and trying to act like he was disinterested beyond being Claire's roommate and mentor. Nathan was his son. Claire was his granddaughter. They were the only blood relations he had in the fucking world, the only ones he'd had in centuries, and he was tired of seeing them hurt when they had a chance at something so much more.

He'd never asserted any authority with Claire, treating her like an adult, free to do as she pleased, and while he tried to guide her toward better decisions, he'd never laid down the law or rules at the house or anything else. He'd been there when she needed him, tried to show her she could trust him. But this time he'd let his annoyance and worry override that, and, half to his surprise, she'd listened.

Angela had arranged the Nathan side of things, and now he was pacing her living room, waiting for the younger generations to arrive. He wasn't quite certain what to say, but, well.

It was time someone took this family in hand, and if no one else was going to step up to bat to do it, then he damn well would. They were hurting, ripping apart at the seams, all of them, and he couldn't let it continue. He knew they both wanted to fix it, so hopefully there wouldn't be any difficulty, especially after his discussion with Nathan the other night. Hopefully that desire, with some sort of forcing them to face the issues and not retreating would be enough.

Somehow they had to get it right. They deserved that, instead of continuing to suffer for the mistakes of their elders. He had to find a way to make it right, no matter what it cost him.
changehistory: ([Angela] [Peter] Hallelujah)
Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
But love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah


If he closes his eyes, quiets his thoughts, he can hear her voice in the recesses of his mind, warm in the dark with promises he let himself believe in, promises that he wanted to cling to, even when things went wrong and she turned cold. Gold bands on her finger and his, different in style and time, divided them, each driving a deeper wedge, but there was something still that lingered that he couldn't bring himself to release her from. It was supposed to be different; life was supposed to finally shape itself into something that made sense instead of a sequence of vignettes connected only by a sense of failure and betrayal, where each wound struck a bit deeper, carved away another vital piece. But here he lies, trying to pull her to mind and when it brushes over him, wringing a reaction he thought long gone, it hurts, like a razor blade slicing deep into his skin. He pinned it all on a girl, gambled it all on a smile, trusted himself to a pair of brown eyes and believed that the world could be reborn, and that he'd found the one to bring it forth. Every hurt, every disappointment, every betrayal was a necessary step on the path to her.

Well there was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah


He was wrong. He was so very wrong, he tells himself, over and over, hardening his heart to the feel of the bed beneath him, chilling it to drop below the temperature of the walls they've encased him in. Once again, he's alone, and worse than alone, he's left with her voice, with the memory of his belief, his foolishness, taunting him in the dark, the recriminations he wants to spew out, but there's no one to hear. The heat of anger freezes over, encasing him slowly behind a new barrier, frigid and unyielding. The fire of passion chills to the iciness of retribution. There's a hollowness he feels carving out inside of him, where it aches when he remembers in his dreams, everything that was and could have been. Days of warmth and nights of fire, when everything seemed possible and life was his for the taking and he truly knew what it meant to be invincible. It hurts to be separated from that, hurts to remember, and so he buries it deeper until he can no longer bring it to mind, until the smell of her skin, and the feel of her hair no longer haunts him. And when the opportunity comes, it is easy to give the order. He barely recalls her face.

Well, maybe there's a god above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you
It's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah


The boy has her eyes. It's a little thing that worms its way under his skin and into the recesses of his mind, sparking up first in his dreams in a dark motel room, jerking him awake. Not his father's eyes, but hers. He watches him through the next day, suspicious and withdrawn, sniping remarks more quick to fall from his lips, watching the confusion, the flare of hurt in the boy's eyes with something like satisfaction. It doesn't matter he doesn't know the reason for it. The sins of the fathers, or mothers, as it were. He hurts, and he oughtn't. Nothing should hurt anymore, not after so long. His skin shouldn't hum when the boy touches him in concern, either. That's a path he's not treading again, not with those treacherous eyes. He refuses to melt the ice again. Surely he's learned the lesson by now? Yaeko. Hiro. Helene. Louisa. Theresa. Angela. He's not fool enough to let that crooked smile warm his heart, even as he finds his own lips returning it without a thought. He'll play the game, but on his terms, and this time he won't forget the danger. This time he'll win.
changehistory: ([Angela] BW)
He and all of her sons might have been in Paris for Baileigh and Sark's wedding, but that didn't mean that Adam had forgotten about Mother's Day, or Angela, or that this was the first one to come around since he'd been truly sure Nathan was his and thus Angela the mother of his child.

Therefore, Sunday morning, a bouquet and note were delivered to the mansion in New York:



Angela,

I'm sorry the timing of things worked out that everyone ended up away...I know that's not how it was planned, but if it's any consolation I'm thinking of you today, and so very grateful for you, and for Nathan, and for Claire. For our family, even if they don't really know it. Thank you for being there, for raising our son into such a brilliant man. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you, that circumstances dictated our lives go down a different path, but you are now, as you were then, always in my thoughts. I'll take good care of them here for you, I promise, and of Claire, Peter and Gabriel...always. I won't let anything happen to them, for your sake as much as theirs.

Happy Mother's Day, Angela. We'll be back home soon--perhaps you'll let me take you to dinner to make up for all of us being away today?

Always,
Adam
changehistory: ([Angela] BW)
[Angela is [livejournal.com profile] mapetrelli]

Then

On the other side of town a boy is waiting
with fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal
She drives on through the night anticipating
'Cause he makes her feel the way she used to feel

She rushes to his arms,
They fall together
She whispers that it's only for awhile
She swears that soon she'll be comin' back forever
She pulls away and leaves him with a smile

You can't hide your lyin' eyes
And your smile is a thin disguise
I thought by now you'd realize
There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes


The bed is rumpled, still, the sheets probably warm if he bothered to brush his fingers over them. If he closes his eyes, concentrates, he can catch the scent of her perfume in the air, overlaying the musky odor of sex. His skin is sensitive where it's healed from the rake of her nails and the bite of her teeth, marks of passion spent he'll never bear for long, so the room, those pieces of her that linger in his flat are all that he has left. He had to be careful with her, of course, more careful than is his wont, ensuring to leave her unmarked, sending her back to her husband looking untouched, though if he doesn't know where she has been, then he's more of a fool than Adam thought. He has to know. They all know. She's good, but she's not that good.

There was a time, once upon a time, when he thought she could be his. More than these stolen moments, more than an affair in shadows. He likes to tell her she is, remind her of just how far he's in her life, an indelible mark upon her mind and soul that she'll never truly escape, but it's another man's ring on her finger, another man's bed she spends most of her time in, and he has to content himself with these visits. He presses, on occasion, winding words around her with reminders of just what it could be like, the two of them together, always, away from Arthur's poisonous influence and control. But the boy changes things, he knows. She murmurs against his lips, soft promises of someday, if she can find a way, that it's him she loves, that she's his, and one day it will be the two of him. She'll be his Eve in their new Eden. Just wait until they strike, until they can carry out the plan, and then it will be the two of them, she swears it.

He knows she's lying, but he kisses her back softly, and for a while he pretends she's not.

Now

She gets up and pours herself a strong one
And stares out at the stars up in the sky
Another night, it's gonna be a long one
She draws the shade and hangs her head to cry

She wonders how it ever got this crazy
She thinks about a boy she knew in school
Did she get tired or did she just get lazy?
She's so far gone she feels just like a fool

My, oh my, you sure know how to arrange things
You set it up so well, so carefully
Ain't it funny how your new life didn't change things
You're still the same old girl you used to be


It's still chilly enough that he lights a fire in the fireplace, settling in front of it with a glass of whiskey, staring into the flames. There's a feeling nagging at the back of his mind that he shouldn't be doing this, that he's playing with fire. He taught her too well, perhaps. For all his confident swagger, his surety, the truth is she told Nathan to kill him. Things have changed. She's not the girl he knew, but he keeps trying to believe she's in there, his Angela, the one he loved more than perhaps he ever told her, more than he ever told anyone. But she's a woman now. A woman who sent her son to blow up half the city. Who let their son believe his brother was dead--no matter how useful that turned out to be for him. She's become the woman he'd set out to mold her into, and that makes her dangerous.

The others won't approve. They'll call him mad. They'll question his judgment and maybe they'll be right. Claire and Hiro wll be the only two who even truly understand his possible reasoning, and both of them will see every landmine in it, because the reasoning is madness in and of itself. Oh, he can rationalize it. She has information they need. It is better to consolidate than fight a war on two fronts. It makes sense, doesn't it? His eyes fall closed. There are so many secrets, so many lies, so many webs woven through time, and she knows them. Where so many others don't, really, she knows him. Knows him well enough to play him, as he knows her well enough to play her. It makes them worthy opponents; it makes them even better allies.

But he doesn't know which they are. And he doesn't know which is more dangerous.
changehistory: (BW close up pretty eyes)
Forget the fact that I'm technically dead:

I realize this might be 40 years late, but --

Angela, will you marry me? <3

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changehistory: (Default)
Adam Monroe

February 2014

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