changehistory | Home Sweet Home (For Open and nota

In the end, he decided against the brownstone and chose a flat in the East Village. It had always been somewhere he was more comfortable than the Upper East Side or any of the fancier neighborhoods. From the son of a whore in the slums of London, he'd risen to become a courtier at Versailles, then a gentleman of the South, easily mingling among the various strata of society, but the upper echelons always made him twitch with their hypocrisy. The aristocracy--even when born out of the American bourgeoisie--never changed.

The East Village had been gentrified during his imprisonment, until it was trendy and expensive, but it still kept more of a bohemian vibe, and part of him couldn't bear to actually move to Brooklyn.

The flat was in an old pre-war building on Avenue C. It had high ceilings, exposed brick, and hardwood floors throughout. The kitchen was small, but since he didn't cook much, it didn't much matter. A fireplace nestled in one wall in the living room, and the price came in solidly under one million dollars so he was pleased by that as well. He paid cash, took the keys, then set about having some of his things transferred from Montreal. The furnishings he picked out himself--reds and browns to compliment the tile and brick, a large sofa across from the fire, a comfortable chair by the window, a table and two chairs tucked in a nook. He turned one bedroom into a library, lining three walls with bookshelves that reached to the ceiling with a futon against the fourth wall for any guests. His bedroom he did in shades of blue and grey, with a feather bed and down comforters piled on top of a King size bed. He never wanted to sleep on a thin mattress on a cot again. If he didn't sleep much, it didn't matter. The bed would be comfortable, dammit.

When it was done, he was pleased, or as pleased he could be about being in the City. It wasn't a location Bob would think to look. They all knew about his money, they'd look somewhere more posh. But this, he decided, suited him just fine.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Mmm, and samosas. Naan?" He is lying on his stomach next to Adam with the menu. He reaches over to the nightstand and picks up the cell phone. He dials the number than hands it to Adam.

Adam takes it, waiting 'til they answer and placing their order, including samosas and two orders of naan. After confirming the order, he tosses the phone aside, settling back down into the bed with its comforters and pillows.

Hiro snuggles in next to him. "I very much like this bed."

Adam chuckles. "So do I, carp. I thought it might even get me to sleep, and sometimes it manages it."

"How little do you really need to sleep?"

"Need? I don't know. I've gone days without any harmful physical response, though I find my mind tends to get more scattered if I don't at least get a couple of hours to let my subconscious work things out in REM sleep," Adam says with a shrug, "I like sleep, still, though, so I've never pushed to see..." He trails off, because Bob did, once, before eventually giving up.

"Sleep is nice, when there are no nightmares. I am finding it harder to sleep, though. I think my internal clock is messed up. So, what is the longest you ever slept?"

"I think I slept around the clock, once. Or perhaps longer...it's possible some of the things I took for death were just prolonged periods of unconsciousness while my body repaired itself."

"You have suffered that much damage? To have slept so long to repair would indicate that you had nearly been killed."

Adam's eyebrows went up. "What do you think happened when that tent blew up, carp?"

"oh... I didn't want to leave you there."

"I didn't say you wanted to, carp. You told me to take your hand. I refused."

And broke my heart. I wanted to save you. "I wish you had. I could have handled you yelling at me, you hitting me. I wish..." He can't say any more. It's over 300 years gone and he can't fix it.

Adam shrugs slightly, glancing away. "I couldn't. Not then." Perhaps not ever. It was something he was still unsure of.

"And now?" This is Hiro - he pushes when he really shouldn't. And he can't help but ask.

"I don't know," Adam says, not meeting his eyes, a frown drawing his brows together.

"I..." Hiro is interrupted by the doorbell. Pulling on his jeans, he teleports to the door, pays the delivery man, then teleports to the kitchen to pick up plates, then to the bedroom. He piles everything on the nightstand.

"I know I have given you no reason to trust me. I'm just asking for another chance."

Adam gives him a faint smile at the bouncing around to get everything, shaking his head slightly, then the smile fades as he gives Hiro a serious look.

"You're here. I allowed...I'm working on the trust, carp."

Hiro nods. "I cannot ask for more." He starts dividing the food. "It smells very good." He's trying to lighten the mood by artfully arranging the food on the plate before he hands it to Adam.

Adam gives him a bit of a smile, allowing the mood to shift as he pushes more to sitting, leaning against the headboard as he takes the plate.

"It really does. I'm starving."

"Red sauce or green sauce for your samosas?" He likes the green himself, but he's not overly picky.

"Green," Adam said, "But just a bit. I don't like to over dip them."

Hiro pops the lid off the green and dunks one of his before handing it to Adam. He takes a bite and smiles. They're light and crispy on the outside - just perfect. He then pops the lid on the red and dunks the rest in. "How many different restaurants are in New York?"

Adam dips his a bit, and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before shrugging a bit. "Thousands upon thousands, I'd guess. I have no idea."