[private]
WHO: Peter and Adam.
WHAT: *weep*
WHERE: Adam's house/the disco.
WHEN: Evening. Day 135.
( Things are gonna change for the better. )
WHAT: *weep*
WHERE: Adam's house/the disco.
WHEN: Evening. Day 135.
( Things are gonna change for the better. )
A day.
Checking on Peter. Checking the clock. Rain. Why was it raining? He couldn't remember it raining here. Checking on Peter. Finally deciding that he should give him a haircut - get rid of all the burnt hair since Peter would be wanting a haircut when he woke up.
If he woke up.
When.
And a silent indignance at the very essence of mortality itself, there was no way in hell Adam was going to let him go. Not to Death. Not to Circumstance.
None of it.
The hair - he couldn't bring himself to throw it away, instead opting to wrap it in a shirt of his and tuck it away in the back of one of his dresser drawers.
The injuries seemed to have healed. Adam's had taken quite some time, far longer than normal. But Peter - he couldn't really say when his own had, but Peter's, he could estimate just where the sun's position in the sky would be each time he noticed something new looked as if it had healed.
Now, Adam was sitting at the foot of the bed on a chest he put there. He couldn't really recall what he had in there but he was trying, solely as a method of trying to pass the time.
He heard some movement and was on his feet before Peter had a chance to pull back the curtains and stumble, Adam intercepting and catching him, steadying Peter so he wouldn't fall.
"You - " Adam stared at Peter, who he was holding on to as if to say he really would not let go. "I see you've.. woken up."
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And he almost dropped to the floor.
"You - " Peter snarled, breathing heavier as he steadily became filled with rage. "What'd you do to me - what did you do!?"
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Not exactly taking it as Adam had hoped. Namely, remembering what exactly happened. Which would have left far less suspicion.
"There was an explosion at the clinic. The Joker's doing. You wanted me to meet you there at sundown. I did, saw something I took as a warning and rightfully so - I pulled you out before it exploded. We.. were both rather injured so I brought you back here and for the past day, you remained unconscious. But it looks as if your wounds are healed now. And apologies about the haircut - I wouldn't have done that but I figured you would do without the singed bits."
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"It's gone," he whispered, running his hand through his short hair once more. Habits died hard.
Peter swallowed, looking up at Adam who took the time to take care of him, help him, save his fucking life despite how horribly he treated him. Why? Why the feelings, why bother, why try to win him back with this bullshitt when he murdered Hiro - his friend. When he wanted to murder countless others, and yet Adam still loved Peter and Peter -
Habits died hard.
"I I need to lie down," he murmured, stepping away, falling toward the bed, and crawling onto it as if he were drunk.
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Probably the Clinic.
Adam wasn't thinking, too overwhelmed with months - was it months? Felt more like years - of what he had been holding back, what he wanted to say, to do, and here he was getting too far ahead of himself. Getting his hopes up where it would be overstepping any sort of acceptable boundary or right that he had left.
What did he have left?
Peter was stumbling and that was a good enough sign that he shouldn't be standing. What if this wasn't even real and Adam had merely dreamt he woke up -
Adam pushed aside far more reservations than he had ever thought possible to have around Peter, taking a seat next to him on the bed. "Are you feeling faint? Pain somewhere? Peter - " Adam reached over as if to touch him, check on him - then thought better of it.
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It was kind of cute endearing.
"I'm - I'm fine," he lied through his teeth, closing his eyes. "Need a drink."
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Then, the blatant lie.
Adam quickly went to get Peter a glass of water from his private kitchen, returning with it and taking his seat next to Peter, handing him the glass. "Here you are. I assume by 'drink' you mean water."
"Now as for what you were saying about being 'fine'," Adam looked over at Peter, "I'm over four hundred years old - a fact which, I am sure, has not escaped your memory. If you want to try to fool me, you really must try harder."
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Yet, if he hated Adam so much, why did Peter want to talk to him at the Clinic where...where it exploded into a million pieces. His pride, his work, his purpose on Rivelata was gone due to a comic book villain he used to love.
The immortal came back, and Peter struggled to sit up, wincing at how sore he was. He gladly took the drink, taking a few sips, listening to Adam mother him more than his own mom.
"There's nothing to talk about."
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"Talk? I didn't even mention talking. I merely assumed you had an injury acting up or something of the sort that you were trying to hide when you said you were fine. But since you've brought up talking, now I really think there is something that needs to be said here."
Taking an accurate guess as to what Peter had to say was really not something Adam would dare to do. He didn't want to get his hopes up for nothing, the way he had so many times before. A new world, a different world?
No. Not at all.
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Peter reached over Adam, placing the glass of water on the bedside table. He leaned back into his pillows, the comfortable bed. It didn't even occur to him that this bed was probably Adam's, the one he slept in every night, and whatever else he did in his spare time. It was just nice. Very nice.
Ah, and the talking.
"What do you mean?" Peter said, looking away, wanting to avoid the topic altogether.
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More open-ended questions which would leave the opportunity for Peter to say something like this, perhaps. But nothing specific.
"I'm sure after all that's happened, you may have some questions, don't you now?"
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And Adam killed him.
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That.
"Everything I had told you through the journals was true. It was a sort of delirium, although unpleasant. As if - I didn't have control over what I was doing. I was consumed with grief, this unbreakable cycle of loss which was going at full speed century after century when one thing I wanted to find was love that was incapable of death. Instead, I had everyone I ever loved ripped away due to circumstance or time and most times, deep down I would know despite having those lingering thoughts that maybe something would happen. If it had happened to me, it wasn't impossible that there might be someone else out there who could also beat time at its own sick game. That's.. when I met you. An empath, who was still alive and newly capable of surviving his other powers. At the time I had no idea about Claire, but if you hadn't absorbed it from her, it would have been from me. Then there was that unfortunate incident involving a coffin, and then, Peter, I found you again, only to have finally beaten time itself and whatever this place is, and getting settled in to an eternity that I wouldn't have to be constantly at odds with, everything was yet again ripped out from under me and I couldn't.. The grief was too much for me to bear and I acted without realizing what I was doing. Symbolism and metaphor and madness encompassing my thoughts and I swear to you, Peter, the truth."
The truth. He was still keeping his promise.
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"I can survive a plane crash, a burning building, being held under water, and that apparently justifies murdering my friend? Justifies all that you have done? Because I can't die. I can be someone you can fuck whichever century it is."
Shaking his head and looking away, he couldn't think. Just so angry, so fucking pissed off at how...how uncontrollable everything was. Couldn't control Claire, Adam, Lauren, Hiruma, Nathan - oh God, Nathan. He could have done anything, everything, but he didn't.
Peter was a little boy, and he wanted to grow the fuck up already. People couldn't tell him what to do, what he should do. Fuck them. Do things on his terms - his terms.
He turned his attention back on Adam, sitting there, drowning in his emotions and metaphors. Peter reached out, actually willingly touching him, grabbing his face firmly.
"Fuck you," he growled, and kissed the son of a bitch, far from being tender or loving.
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In fact, he was starting to border uncomfortably on the edge of irate.
Everything that had transpired and if sincerity was going to be met with disbelief, this sincerity and from his rather important confession to Peter - which was what now? Forgotten?
Adam glared, determined, and would have made that confession again but Peter grabbed him.
And - that confession would have to wait.
For now.
Positively stunned into silence, both literally and the not-so-literal sense.
Well. Adam had never fancied Peter as an aggressor.
Reacting, mind racing for any way to make sense of this and falling so very short, Adam took a moment before he was responding, hands on Peter and releasing month after month of frustration in a kiss that was taking a rather unexpected turn.
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