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] [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: (A man in the shadows)
Adam was still in possibly the world's worst mood--which didn't, in general, bode well for the world--but he tried to stifle it, push it down, go on as if things were fine. Nathan wanted to spend time with him, which meant, at the least, that what he'd been doing these last few months hadn't been for nothing. He'd done this before, after all. Oh, not with so many people, or so many twisted up complications, but the family with the normal life, and fitting into society without the grandiose schemes...he'd done this before. Why it didn't fit now, why it left him unable to sleep and seething with a leashed fury now, he didn't know. Probably the last thirty years had something to do with it, but for all that he encouraged Claire to talk about her trauma and not keep it bottled up, he didn't have words for his own.

It would be so much easier if he didn't care. If he could just play them all like some well-tuned orchestra. He'd started down that course, startled at how easy it was, but somewhere along the way he'd found himself sucked in to things he'd never really had, things that went far beyond any shadow of a normal life, and now the whole lot of them seemed off message, and him with them and that couldn't be allowed.

He needed to regain control, of himself and of them, to be working toward something more than wedding bells and vacations, and today was the first step of that. The other night with Sylar had been...blowing off steam, he told himself, but not really practical for him beyond strengthening the bond with the boy which was always useful. This, though...today could be different, good, a step forward for himself. So long as Nathan didn't ask about Peter, they'd do just fine.

Tugging his wool coat a bit more snug around him in the morning chill, he rang the bell at Nathan's house, hoping he was ready. They had time to snag a coffee and walk to meet the realtor, and then it was on toward building a future for all of them. Or that's what Adam was hanging on to like his last thread of sanity, at least.
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: (A man in the shadows)
Pinehearst has Claire. We're going to get her back. Meeting Sylar in Times Square in 20 minutes. He's contacting Hiro.
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 [livejournal.com profile] notacargojet and Angela is [livejournal.com 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.

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Adam Monroe

February 2014

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