Adam Monroe

There was a distinct sense that it was very possible that he ought not be doing this. Repercussions could abound, sliding between both of their timelines. Already the questions abounded of what he was like in this Peter's world. If Kirby Plaza happened, then Hiro was not there, and Sylar had not thrown him to the wall...or had he? He should ask, he thought. Ask if they had all been there, and Hiro still...Because if it had gone wrong in just that Claire hadn't shot Peter or Nathan hadn't appeared, hadn't stepped away from Angela and to save Peter, then Hiro still could have been flung back in the past and his own life taken the same course until somehow, some other way, he escaped the Company facility.

But it hadn't happened that way here, and part of him felt his headache with the repercussions of that, because if changing it here hadn't changed this boy's future, then had Hiro stopping him in that vault not truly changed the future his Peter had seen? Had the virus been released somewhere, somehow? Was there a world where with God's grace it had all gone right? And if so, why was he stuck in this one where everything felt fragile and hard and sharp, like he could fall apart at any moment, and the choices that tore from emotions he'd never expected nor wanted to feel seemed harder. A setback, surely. Just that, a few more weeks, a month or two, some sleep, some rest, and he'd be fine. Back to his old self, back to looking about. Back to a new plan.

So damn the timelines crossing, he decided, as he entered the Yaffa Cafe, taking in the bright animal prints and Christmas lights strung around and smiled to see that some things didn't change, even if his blessed East Village had gone and gotten gentrified while he was locked away. This he knew, the music and the people, and if the clothes changed, the air did not. He'd settled on jeans, considering the venue, and a sweater over a button down shirt, with his leather jacket and scarf. Casual, but still pulled together, unable to be sloppy. If he was nervous, it didn't show as his cool eyes scanned the room, looking for a familiar face, and, failing to find it, moving to take a seat at a booth in the back where he could watch the door and wait for Peter, this new Peter who shouldn't be here, but was, to appear.


[ooc for anyone reading: For now, I think this is in the "open" verse. Coming out of RP in sixwordstories, but I think that's best, so "his Peter" would be youngerpetrelli when referred to in discussion with this one, yeah?]