changehistory: ([Claire] Eternal)
Everything always came back around, in the end, Adam thought. He'd left London after the end of the War, making his way back to America, to Los Angeles that time, to a wife who'd betrayed him and reminded him just how much he'd lost through the years. After her, there had been a time of hope, though, when he finally found those like himself, found a way to maybe build a new home, a place for himself in the world where he didn't have to hide.

But it had all gone to Hell as quickly as so many other good things in his life had, and the last few decades had been nothing but betrayal and pain and loss.

So, he'd returned to the place where it all began, the birthplace he'd only rarely let be home after he fled the first time all was lost. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe not. But if nothing else, no one would think to look for him here. He'd watched as things imploded in America, kept informed in that way he always had managed by people he still knew, and didn't look back. They'd made their beds, let them lie in them. He'd gotten out with his skin intact, and he wasn't going back to risk losing it, not for any of them, not after what they'd done.

Why save those who wouldn't save you, or who didn't truly want to be saved?

He bought a townhouse, settled into the anonymity of the city, moving into the rhythms of it, but found his feet tracing old paths past buildings that held nothing but ghosts overlay whatever had moved in and tried to oust him. God, but why he bothered, he didn't know. Maybe he should have gone to Australia, instead. That would have been new.

Still, slowly he found a place for himself, sort of. He found a pub he liked, and musicians to play with now and again, and caught up on theatre and film and television and books and music he had missed, and busied himself with acquainting himself with life in the 21st century, and time passed.

It was raining today, a cold rain where you wanted to curl up by the fire with a book and a whiskey and someone or something to pet, but since the cat was hiding under the bed, and Adam found himself down at the corner pub instead, nursing a pint at the bar, watching a football match and chatting with a couple of the locals who'd braved the weather instead. It was all so very normal, he had no idea what to do with himself, but he assured himself it was the waiting period, the calm before the storm. He'd come up with something else, some other plan, some other way to move forward.

He just needed to get his feet back under him first, and then everything would be fine. A sign would come along, and he'd know it, and then he'd be back.
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: ([Claire] protégé)
There were plenty of sparkly things tied up in bows under the tree that were meant to spoil her, but the biggest gift Adam wanted to give Claire was a life free of the loneliness that had haunted his.
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: ([Claire] protégé)
Get your ass home. Now.

Do not make me come and get you.
changehistory: (With Claire)
Claire was right, of course, in thinking that whatever she'd gone through had made him think of his years in the cells at the Company. He'd been their favorite guinea pig for a while, after all, and they could even justify it by saying what he'd nearly done made it only right that he "help" advance their knowledge of just what his blood could do. Then, he thought, they'd just done it for fun. For all she hadn't been held for 30 years, he was well aware of how much damage could be done in the time she had been held, especially by someone who delighted in inflicting pain and fear.

It was something he'd never wanted her to find out, and it was something none of the rest of them could truly fathom. For all Peter had their ability, no one had done that to him, and for all that Sylar had suffered at the Company's hands...he hadn't been able to heal then, not like they could. It was different, when they could break you down into tiny pieces and watch you put yourself back together and just do it again and again and again until you wished you couldn't, until your gift really was a curse.

He didn't talk about it either, not really. He alluded to it, flippantly, now and again, and he suspected they all knew--they'd seen enough they could guess what might have been done, but he didn't talk about it. What was there to say, really? It had happened. He'd survived. Hiro had buried him alive, and honestly, that had been as traumatic as any of the torture, and that was what woke him up in a cold sweat still more than the other nightmares, at least most nights. But he knew they'd broken him in ways he hadn't been broken before, and that all the pieces weren't back together and might never be. He was aware. You didn't go through something like that unchanged, and if three hundred years of life hadn't prepared him for it, then he was sure eighteen hadn't prepared her, and the relative spans of time it had gone on hardly mattered.

He wasn't sure what he had to offer her, beyond someone else who had been through it, who knew. And he wished to god she didn't know, because it wasn't something he'd ever wanted to have to share with another soul. But he did know that she was too young to have to bear it alone, and people were always saying talking about things helped, so. He grabbed them both a beer, because this wasn't something that should be talked about cold sober and who the hell cared if she was only eighteen--he'd been drinking beer at five as it was cleaner than the water--and knocked on the doorframe of her door instead of just wandering in, leaning there, watching her.

"So, shall we talk about it?"


Nov. 20th, 2008 08:06 pm
changehistory: (Bright smile)
We're having guests!!!

Sark and Baileigh are coming for the holidays! They'll be here for Thanksgiving and Christmas both!!

Julian says he can help you cook, so you're not just stuck with me and Peter and our ineptitude. :-D!!!

We need more dishes or something.
changehistory: (Touched)
[ooc: Sylar is [ profile] heroslayer, Peter is [ profile] youngerpetrelli and Claire is [ profile] girl_ofsecrets and all are used with the kind permission of their muns. Mohinder is [ profile] witnessof_fate and Sark is [ profile] elementof_risk and both are mine to use and abuse as I please for purposes of the prompt. ;-)]

"My home is not a place, it is people." - Lois McMaster Bujold

Sark had chosen the restaurant after Adam insisted--repeatedly--that he didn't care where they ate, and that it had been Sark's choice was frighteningly obvious. Dear god, but his puppy had expensive and extravagant tastes. But they had his favorite wine, though the sommelier tried to tell them that they didn't until Sark either dropped a name or a threat and then they suddenly had not just one bottle of the 1982 Château Pétrus Bordeaux, but two, and Adam had to chuckle at just how smug the puppy looked, the frightening chill in his blue eyes melting away as it it had never been. He insisted on pouring for everyone even Claire, and the restaurant was the sort not to have to worry about their liquor license, or whatever Sark had murmured either kept the eyebrows from being raised, at least.

Adam had worried, a little, about this first gathering in such an intimate setting. True, they'd all been at the party, but this was Peter and Sylar and Claire and Mohinder all at the same dinner table, with blood under it, metaphorically, between them, soaking their history together, all of them with their pasts. He'd done his best to assure Claire she was safe, and it was a testament to her trust in him that she'd come, that she seemed to be enjoying herself. That she was here meant more to him than he could say, more than he had said to any of the rest of them--their little secret. Sylar knew and Peter knew what the girl was to them, of course, but what she was to him they kept between the two of them for fear of how Peter would react. Secret upon secret laced tighter inside of the blood between them all, but it bound them, too. They weren't just his friends, then. They were his family, too. And that, he was finding, was a precious thing.

If things started out somewhat awkward, with glances back and forth like everyone was waiting to see if someone would lunge for a steak knife and slit someone's throat, a few dry comments from Sark and a couple of well aimed shots back from Mohinder, the two outside the familial bonds, yet pulled back in by their own ties and twisted up in their own ways, eased it and by the time the waitress cleared the salads, they had eased into a few cautious stories being told around the table. By the time they opened the second bottle of wine and started on their entrees there was even teasing, and by the time dessert was served, outright laughter had broken out more than once. Adam was feeling very warm, and he didn't think it was the wine.

Going back to the flat instead of parting ways seemed almost natural, and looking around, seeing his four favorite people--and Suresh who, really, he had nothing against--Adam couldn't stop the grin. Thirty birthdays passed in cold, sterile rooms with an occasional visit by Elle if she remembered the date and could get past security as the only thing to hope for, and then this...for a moment it didn't compute. It did not seem possible that life could change this drastically in one year, that anything could change this much, could be this different, could be this right.

He was shaken from the reverie by a glass of wine being thrust into his hands along with a pair of sunglasses.

"Sunglasses, puppy?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at Sark.

"Oh, I believe they are de riguer," Sark replied with a smirk, before moving and handing them out.

Sylar was busy rooting through the box with a grin, setting things up and bickering with Peter over the drum set, and Adam watched for a moment to make sure they weren't going to hurl each other across the room and start the blood bath he'd half expected when the evening had been proposed, but Peter finally threw his hands up and shrugged. Mohinder had retreated to the chair with a glass of wine, staying far out of the way, but Sark thrust sunglasses at him as well. "Everybody plays, Suresh."

"I don't sing..."

"Yes, you do," Sylar corrected him.

"Not for this!" Mohinder protested. The two of them held each others' gaze and Adam got the sense there was some sort of silent communication going on--a sense heightened by Peter's sudden blush, and he had to smirk. Sark was watching them, too, before suddenly getting very busy with the Wii. He wandered to join him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You're singing to start."

"I do better on keyboard..."

"There isn't a keyboard. It's Guitar Hero...and you need to learn it first, so...singing for first round, because you can sing... Most of these you're going to have to learn, because they're a bit after your time being out but this..." He cast Adam a smirk, put on his sunglasses and picked up the guitar. "Peter, you're up next with Suresh and Claire. Bad guys against the good guys should work I think, yes?"

Adam laughed, shaking his head. "What are we playing?"

Sark flicked on the TV, and flicked on the game. "Just listen and keep up..."

"Sweet Home Alabama"--very loud--filled the room and Adam grinned, waiting for his cue, and forgot about looking silly, pretending to be a rock star with as much abandon as he could muster.

"Big wheels keep on turning
Carry me home to see my kin..."


changehistory: (Default)
Adam Monroe

February 2014

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