[WM] 24.6: Revenge
Mar. 10th, 2008 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
changehistoryIt was cold at the cemetery, but then, it was cold most everywhere in the City at the present moment, so Adam didn't figure that there was much to be remarked upon, except a passing comment only he was alive to remember.
Hell will freeze over before you touch her, or see the boy, again, Monroe.
Adam cast an amused glance at the frozen earth and wondered if New York City counted as hell. Doubtful, though he had his moments of thinking it had to be. For all its verve, it lacked the grace he preferred, and the hole in the skyline reminded him too much of how lost the world had become and how hamstrung he was to do anything about it. Everything was so inelegant now, rushing and dark, polluted, dirty, the snow not even able to fall pristine, and here it mixed with mud disturbing the sanctity of the dead.
He stood by the grave, looking down at it. Snow covered the stone, but he could still make out the name, the dates, the inscription. Kneeling a bit, he brushed the snow off, rendering the name visible of the man he'd thought to make a friend, but whom he'd spent forty years hating. Rivals, from the moment they met. For Angela. For Daniel. For power. For the boy. Fury laced through him, and he could almost see his face through glass that was no longer there.
Angie and I just got back from Rome. Nathan loved it there, and didn't want to come home.
Can I tell you, Monroe, I used to hate you, but this morning, I think I have to thank you. That little thing you taught Angie with her tongue...God. I am a lucky man.
A smirk, a chill in brown eyes staring mockingly at him while they strapped him down.
He's graduating today, Adam. Valedictorian. You should have seen him up there on the stage. My son. I'm so proud of the man I've raised...
Glancing around and seeing no one, Adam snarled and kicked the headstone hard, feeling the impact reverberate up his leg, welcoming the pain, because it meant one sure and solid thing.
He was alive.
His lips curved as he squatted back down, low voice murmuring to the stone before him. He told him, in the same exquisite detail he'd been told, exactly how Angela had looked, stretched out with nothing on but the necklace he'd given her for Christmas. The way his name caught in her throat like something holy; how she remembered, even now, exactly how he liked to be touched. He whispered the secrets only a few knew about how she tasted, and the way she screamed and begged him for more. Dinners spent lingering over wine and whiskey, and laughter and plans, and how she'd betray them all now, again, this time, to be by his side. Always his, no matter what she felt for the cowardly corpse rotting beneath him.
Settling more, he told Arthur about pool games and whiskey, and blood tests. About fragile trust, and a relationship starting. How Nathan asked him not to leave, wanted him here in New York. He talked about kittens and a boy longing for approval that the man beneath him never gave, and how he could give it, could love enough to overcome whatever stubborn pride had kept Arthur's lips sealed. He chuckled at the memory, of the two of them trying to carry seven cats onto a subway and the looks they'd gotten, and the coffee they'd shared and how Peter had grinned in absolute delight.
And then he told him about Peter. About forever. About love that forgave even mistakes such as his. About how the furniture all ended up on the beach, and they'd had nothing but melon balls and figs and that was perfection, because they had each other. His son, the boy he'd never mentioned, had hidden from Adam, but Adam had found him. Had loved him. Had made him love in return. Movies and popcorn and a life free of the rest of the mistakes they'd all made. Free of Arthur's corrupt legacy. Free of his violence. Free of Daniel's taint. The world at their feet and all the time in the world to play with it, to see it, finally, remade and whole.
By the end he was flushed, eyes bright and fevered, almost laughing with a near unholy glee. Leaning in he pressed his lips to cold stone.
"Rot in hell, you fucking bastard," he murmured, almost lovingly. "I win."
Hell will freeze over before you touch her, or see the boy, again, Monroe.
Adam cast an amused glance at the frozen earth and wondered if New York City counted as hell. Doubtful, though he had his moments of thinking it had to be. For all its verve, it lacked the grace he preferred, and the hole in the skyline reminded him too much of how lost the world had become and how hamstrung he was to do anything about it. Everything was so inelegant now, rushing and dark, polluted, dirty, the snow not even able to fall pristine, and here it mixed with mud disturbing the sanctity of the dead.
He stood by the grave, looking down at it. Snow covered the stone, but he could still make out the name, the dates, the inscription. Kneeling a bit, he brushed the snow off, rendering the name visible of the man he'd thought to make a friend, but whom he'd spent forty years hating. Rivals, from the moment they met. For Angela. For Daniel. For power. For the boy. Fury laced through him, and he could almost see his face through glass that was no longer there.
Angie and I just got back from Rome. Nathan loved it there, and didn't want to come home.
Can I tell you, Monroe, I used to hate you, but this morning, I think I have to thank you. That little thing you taught Angie with her tongue...God. I am a lucky man.
A smirk, a chill in brown eyes staring mockingly at him while they strapped him down.
He's graduating today, Adam. Valedictorian. You should have seen him up there on the stage. My son. I'm so proud of the man I've raised...
Glancing around and seeing no one, Adam snarled and kicked the headstone hard, feeling the impact reverberate up his leg, welcoming the pain, because it meant one sure and solid thing.
He was alive.
His lips curved as he squatted back down, low voice murmuring to the stone before him. He told him, in the same exquisite detail he'd been told, exactly how Angela had looked, stretched out with nothing on but the necklace he'd given her for Christmas. The way his name caught in her throat like something holy; how she remembered, even now, exactly how he liked to be touched. He whispered the secrets only a few knew about how she tasted, and the way she screamed and begged him for more. Dinners spent lingering over wine and whiskey, and laughter and plans, and how she'd betray them all now, again, this time, to be by his side. Always his, no matter what she felt for the cowardly corpse rotting beneath him.
Settling more, he told Arthur about pool games and whiskey, and blood tests. About fragile trust, and a relationship starting. How Nathan asked him not to leave, wanted him here in New York. He talked about kittens and a boy longing for approval that the man beneath him never gave, and how he could give it, could love enough to overcome whatever stubborn pride had kept Arthur's lips sealed. He chuckled at the memory, of the two of them trying to carry seven cats onto a subway and the looks they'd gotten, and the coffee they'd shared and how Peter had grinned in absolute delight.
And then he told him about Peter. About forever. About love that forgave even mistakes such as his. About how the furniture all ended up on the beach, and they'd had nothing but melon balls and figs and that was perfection, because they had each other. His son, the boy he'd never mentioned, had hidden from Adam, but Adam had found him. Had loved him. Had made him love in return. Movies and popcorn and a life free of the rest of the mistakes they'd all made. Free of Arthur's corrupt legacy. Free of his violence. Free of Daniel's taint. The world at their feet and all the time in the world to play with it, to see it, finally, remade and whole.
By the end he was flushed, eyes bright and fevered, almost laughing with a near unholy glee. Leaning in he pressed his lips to cold stone.
"Rot in hell, you fucking bastard," he murmured, almost lovingly. "I win."
