piscesnebula | I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror [ peter + adam ]

It's been a long few months.

For a long time, Peter had been content to rot in that cell, knowing he deserved it. Knowing he was too dangerous to be allowed to live among people. He'd been mostly convinced that he could handle Ted's power, and he'd been wrong. He'd lost control of it, and if it hadn't been for Nathan, the machinations of his mother and Linderman and others would have come true. He would have blown up New York city. Millions would have died. And how did Peter repay Nathan for saving the city? He gave him a lethal dose of radiation and third degree burns over most of his body.

And so, he had wallowed. He'd pushed Elle away when she tried to have some fun with him. He'd obediently taken his pills. Until the man in the next cell over had started chiseling cracks into his confidence in the program: they've been days away from finding that cure for decades, he'd said, this isn't safety, this is a prison. And the wool had begun to fall from his eyes, seeing this place for what it really was.

They'd escaped. They'd used Adam's blood to heal Nathan; the burns had started disappearing before his very eyes, though they hadn't erased any of his guilt. After they'd started to leave the hospital, Elle and the Haitian had been there -- but seconds too late. They'd gotten away, out of the Haitian's radius. Adam had hotwired a car, and gotten them on the road.

Exhausted, Peter had found himself dozing off in the passenger seat, head against the window. His dreams are fitful, full of poisonous radiation and hands slipping out of his grasp. And when he wakes, it's because Adam's pulling into a driveway.

"Where are we?" he asks, voice a rasp.

  After centuries of observing others, it didn't take long for Adam to realize his new cell neighbor could potentially be his key to freedom. It would take time, yes. But for the immortal, time was always on his side. And so he bided that time, little comments here and there to get a feel for Peter—how to unwrap him, dig his claws into him, gain his trust, and most importantly, have access to those extraordinary abilities of his. Empaths were a rarity, making Peter the first real prize Adam had set his sights on in years, if not decades.

  All had gone according to plan—well, except for the part where modern car technology prevented Adam from having his pick of the litter. They weren't riding in style exactly, but at least they had evaded recapture. Once Peter fell asleep, Adam tampered with the radio, scanning the channels for something decent, something familiar. His face underwent several judgmental expressions until he finally found the oldies station. They weren't oldies to him, though. With that taken care of, it was peaceful enough to formulate the next steps in his grand plan as they sped along to their destination.

  At Peter's question, Adam glanced over with a confident grin. ❝ Someplace safe to the north... One of my properties. No worries, it can't be traced back to me. ❞ And he had made sure they hadn't been followed. This wasn't his first rodeo, after all. ❝ I figure, we play it safe. Lay low for a while. Ensure your abilities have fully returned and such. ❞ After glancing down at the empty crisp bag, he added, ❝ Not to mention, I haven't had a decent meal in thirty years. ❞

  After leading Peter up to the front door, Adam felt around for the key, trying to remember where he'd hidden it all those decades ago. Not under the rug... Not above the doorway... Aha! A fake rock, of course. The door opened, revealing traditional Victorian decor throughout the place. The kitchen had appliances dating back to the seventies. But no microwave, seeing as those didn't become standard in households until after Adam's unfortunate incarceration. Perhaps a shopping trip was in their future.

  With a subtle bow of his head, Adam motioned for Peter to make himself at home. ❝ It's not much, but it'll do for the moment... Now, more importantly, how are you faring, my dear? ❞ Placing a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder, a look of concern washed over his features. Oh, he knew the empath was fine—especially since he had regeneration—but the show must go on! ❝ Please, let me know if there's anything I can do to make this situation more pleasant. In fact, what's your favorite cuisine? We shall order whatever you desire, ❞ he finished with a warm smile.

Peter dimly recalls a conversation where Adam had revealed he'd been locked up in that cell sometime during the 70's, and the house only confirms it -- everything seems in fairly good repair, but it's all in an older style. What's surprising is that Adam has houses in working order at all, considering how long he's been locked up, but Peter guesses that's just something you anticipate when you live that long. He must have been accumulating money and property for a while.

That's probably a lesson that Peter could stand to learn, since he's possibly staring down the long barrel of immortality himself.

Adam's hand on his shoulder breaks him out of nearly getting lost in his thoughts, and he conjures up a wan smile. "A shower, a change of clothes, and some decent food would go a long way to making me feel human again." He almost volunteers to do the food ordering himself -- did they have takeout in the 70s? does Adam know how to do that? -- but Adam looks like he'd relish the chance to pick food for himself for once. "Italian? Either that or Vietnamese. Or Mediterranean. I'm easy."

Seriously. Anything sounds good. He has to stop himself before he lists off another dozen cuisines.

He's assuming Adam has clothes here, and he needs to get out of these grey prison clothes, so Peter heads off toward what he assumes is the bedroom. "I'm gonna shower and steal some of your clothes," he calls. "There'd better not be any flared jeans."

  The immortal's wealth of properties, bank accounts, and alliances had been centuries in the making. Not long after Adam discovered his ability, he knew plans needed to be put into motion for the betterment of his future. And so he found himself befriending some of the most powerful families in the world where the reward for loyalty was well worth his time. In those allies, there were a few he entrusted with his secret who continued to help him out to this day. One of their tasks was to keep an eye on his properties, and in return, they could use them as vacation homes when empty. The arrangement worked out exceptionally well once he'd been locked up. Otherwise, there was no telling what condition the house would have been in.

  Adam gave a subtle nod at Peter's modest yet sufficient wishlist. ❝ I cannot think of a better plan. Italian it is. I'll order us a whole little buffet. ❞ Few activities in life never got old, even after centuries — eating delicious food was one of them. Although curious about the Vietnamese and Mediterranean, something told him to stick with a classic that most American restaurants were decent at mimicking nowadays. In a way, it was a curse to have been able to travel the world, tasting authentic dishes.

  The empath would find a whole closet full of clothes, yes. Just as he was about to answer Peter, he remarked about the flared jeans, pulling a genuinely amused grin from Adam's lips. When was the last time that had happened? He couldn't remember. With a playful tone, he returned, ❝ They are called Bell Bottoms, Peter. Don't judge me... The seventies were quite a wild time. ❞

  Once he heard Peter's footsteps fade, Adam took out his phone. Luckily, guards could be bribed if one offered them enough money to smuggle things in. There had been security cameras, so he only used it for important business. He knew how to make calls, send texts, and Google (as the kids called it), but that was pretty much it. Hopefully, it was enough knowledge to order the buffet he had promised. Eventually, he found a place advertised as authentic. They weren't lying, as the guy who picked up had a thick Italian accent. Seeing as it was one of the many languages the immortal spoke, he proceeded to place the whole order in it.

  With delivery in about an hour, Adam had plenty of time to freshen up as well. But first, he searched the cabinets on a mighty quest. ❝ Now, where the bloody hell did I put them? ❞ he mumbled to himself, opening one door after another until finally—❝ Aha! ❞ He carefully lifted the bottle of wine as though it were an ancient artifact and placed it on the counter. Now, to find the corkscrew!

Several minutes later~

  Peter would find Adam lying on the couch in defeat, the bottle gripped in hand, and the cork secure despite the many human teeth marks on it.

Bell bottoms. Ugh. Look, he might have been born at the very tail end of the 70s, but no thank you.

The shower is heaven. Showers in the Company cells had been mostly cold, with barely any pressure, and he'd only ever been allowed ten minutes at most -- not that he'd even wanted to spend ten minutes in there. Here, there's actual hot water with actual pressure, and Peter might spend a little more time than necessary in there. He doesn't dare use the alarmingly dry looking bar of soap or the shampoo bottle because fuck knows what that's curdled into over decades, but even just the water is good.

For a few minutes, he does his best to think. He knows he can trust Adam. The guy told him the truth about their captivity, risking everything. He sneaked into the hospital to heal Nathan, risking everything. He gets the sense that Adam has a plan, but about what, he has no idea. Maybe his plan is nothing more than enjoying his freedom; maybe it's revenge on the Company. Either way, Peter owes a lot to Adam right now.

He'll stick with him, at least for now, he thinks. Nathan's being cared for. He can't stand to look his mom in the eye right now, knowing what she'd planned. There's nothing else for him in New York.

In the bedroom, he manages to find some dark jeans (not bell bottoms, thank you), and a black t-shirt. He runs his hand over his cropped hair and hates it for the millionth time, but he can't deny the shower went a long way to making him feel better. When he finds a defeated looking Adam holding a wine bottle with teeth marks on it, Peter's mouth quirks in an amused little smile. "What, no corkscrew?" He disappears back into the bathroom and comes out with a wire hanger, takes the bottle from Adam, and with some finessing and bending the hanger hook into a sharper fishhook shape, manages to fish the cork out.

He offers the newly opened bottle back to Adam. "Can you even get drunk with your ability?" he wonders out loud.

  With how comfortable the couch was, Adam found himself beginning to doze off until he heard Peter's voice. ❝ I've searched the entirety of the kitchen. I haven't a clue what past me was thinking. ❞ When Peter disappeared, the immortal sat up to check the time. Luckily, the food would still be a bit. He'd go wash up as soon as this travesty was taken care of. Once Adam noticed what Peter had returned with, he simply stared for a moment. How had he not thought of that? Hmm, it would be blamed on the lack of freedom for thirty years, he decided. Yes, there were no wire hangers in his cell, so naturally, he'd forgotten about them.

  For a moment, he considered using a glass, but he had waited long enough for this moment as it was. ❝ Thank you, Peter. ❞ Adam took the wine and lifted it to take a long swig straight from the bottle. Once finished, he let out a sigh of contentment before focusing on Peter's question. ❝ Actually, I can. Though, the buzz wears off faster than a normal human. But yes, it always puzzled me why. Over the centuries, the more I thought about it, the only conclusion I can come to is that, I partook of alcohol so much so that when my ability manifested, it assumed liquid courage was a natural substance in my body. ❞ Tilting his head, he shuffled through memories better left forgotten. ❝ In fact, I got pretty well sloshed right before I discovered my power. And since I'm fairly certain it didn't manifest in that exact instance of my death, it must have been lying dormant for no telling how long, observing my drinking habits. ❞

  After a few more gulps, Adam set the bottle down and nodded toward the clock on the wall. ❝ Dinner will arrive in about twenty minutes. Here... ❞ From his pocket, he took out enough money to pay the bill along with a decent tip and handed it over. ❝ I should be back beforehand, but if not, this should take care of it. ❞ After glancing at the bottle one last time, he made his way to prepare for the grand Italian feast that was on the way.

  Once in there, Adam had the same idea as Peter—the shampoo and soap didn't look appealing at all. They could go shopping later, or tomorrow, he supposed. Still, the water felt amazing. For a few long moments, he stood motionless underneath it, thinking, plotting... perhaps even scheming. It was tough to concentrate when hungry, though. They would at least stay under the radar for a couple of weeks. Surely, the heat would have died down by then. In that time, he would need to secure Peter's full and undying loyalty if his grand plan had any chance of being seen to fruition. Of that, he knew for certain.

  After washing up the best he could, Adam wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way to the walk-in closet. Looking over the clothes, a smirk tugged at his lips. A few minutes later, he swaggered into the living room wearing the grooviest Bell Bottoms Peter would ever lay his eyes on, along with one of the loudest paisley print shirts he could find. With poker face on and not a word spoken, he waited for Peter's reaction when he noticed.

While Adam's in the shower, Peter does some thinking.

First, he wonders about Adam being able to get drunk. Because Claire couldn't: like any teenager with a mysteriously manifesting healing ability, one of the things she'd tried was to drink her body weight in booze, and she said she'd barely managed to get even a tiny bit buzzed before her body just healed it away. Adam, on the other hand, can get drunk, but his theory is that his pre-manifested healing took it in stride, essentially. Which leaves Peter with the question: can he get drunk? Does he have two healing powers in his DNA now? He'd discovered that Claire's power worked automatically, without having to think about it much -- just as well, or he'd never be able to come back from the dead multiple times -- but with Adam closer, would his stupid ability be manifesting that one instead? Or was it first come first serve? Even if he did use Adam's power, would it even work the same way with alcohol for him?

He can't figure any of that out by himself, so he has to reluctantly discard that for the next topic. Long-term plans. And there, he draws a complete blank. He's better off staying away from New York for now, that much he knows, but what more than that? Does he find other people with powers? Is society eventually going to realize they exist? Where is he going to be next month?

Shit. All of this is making his head hurt, when he mostly just wants to sleep for a month, blissfully free of Elle waking him up with electric shocks. Curiously, he glances down at his hand, and thinks of her -- her sardonic little smile when he got too close to a truth, the predatory glittering in her eyes when she was in a good mood -- and watches little sparks of lightning arc between his fingertips. When someone knocks at the door, he lets the sparks die, answers the door, and then has to take three trips to lug in all of the food that Adam ordered. He's just got the table loaded up and the guy paid and sent on his way--

That's when Adam chooses to make his entrance.

"You look like Starsky and Hutch," Peter deadpans. "Zero out of ten for modern appeal, a reluctant seven out of ten for the period look." It's not even period to Adam, though, is it? Oh god, he probably still thinks it's hip. The only modern clothing he's seen on whoever visits his cell, which was probably Bob and that's it. Among his dawning horror, he breaks, and laughs. "If you go anywhere like that you're gonna stick out and we're gonna get our asses thrown back in those cells because you look like Janis Joplin."

  At Peter's comments, the ratings, Adam gave an exaggerated spin as he made his way over to the table. ❝ A zero? Oh, Peter, how you wound me, ❞ he said playfully, finally allowing a grin to spread across his lips. The empath's laugh was pleasant, but most importantly, it hinted the first part of Adam's plan might have been working — endearing himself to Peter. This was not only the easiest part but also the most fun.

  ❝ No worries; I certainly won't be going outside like this. ❞ Adam was accustomed to adapting to the times, and he would do so eventually once he found out what those adaptions should be — because, yes, Bob had been the only person who visited not in uniform — but for now, there were a few suits, jeans, and button-up shirts in the closet for when they went out. As far as he knew, those never went out of style. In order to spare Peter's eyes, he took off the colorful shirt and tossed it aside, revealing a black tank top underneath.

  Luckily, the restaurant had brought plastic utensils and extra plates, seeing as the ones in the cabinet probably had at least a layer of dust on them, if not worse. After fixing his first plate of the evening and pouring each of them a glass of wine, Adam took a seat as his attention returned to Peter. ❝ Wait, how do you know of such ancient subjects? Reruns while growing up? I must say, imagining Angela watching Starsky and Hutch amuses me greatly. ❞

  Once Peter was situated, Adam lifted his glass. ❝ To freedom... and Italian food, which we'll be eating for at least a week now. ❞ To say Adam's eyes had been bigger than his stomach when he made the order was an understatement.

"It's not that ancient," Peter says dryly. "It's not, like, forgotten history. Knowing about that stuff just comes from cultural osmosis now. Like how I've never watched the Star Wars movies, but I know that Darth Vader is--"

Wait. Shit. Spoilers??? Holy shit, Adam might not even know that Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker's dad, he's been out of the world for so long.

"--I won't finish that sentence." Instead, Peter starts digging into the food, loading a plate high with bits and pieces from different boxes. Some tagliatelle con polpette (with extra meatballs), some crumbed calamari, toasted bread dripping with olive oil and garlic, and some caserecce on the side. It's heavy with carbs, and exactly what he's been craving.

He pauses to lift his glass in unison with Adam, a wry, crooked little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "To freedom," he echoes, "especially freedom from those meals they inflicted on us."

With that, he digs in, and lapses into silence for a minute or two as he focuses on stuffing food into his face. Christ, he's never been much of a foodie, but he could write a thesis singing the praises of these dishes right now.

"So. What now?" he asks at length, washing some pasta down with a sip of the wine. "Because they're still gonna be looking for us. They've just let a nuke escape, and I'm not even sure if I can control that."

  A knowing smirk of amusement formed on Adam's lips as Peter continued. ❝ No, no, you're quite alright — Darth Vader is Luke's father... You see, before they banned women, and then anyone but the straightest of straight men from checking in on me, I talked my way into all sorts of treats such as movie night, fast food, chocolate, and most important of all, a phone. Hell, I even came close to escaping a few times. ❞ Eyes drifted down to his plate as a remorseful shake of his head was given.

  But that was the past, and it was time to look toward the future. There was no way in hell Adam was going back there. No way he would be kept from such lovely dishes ever again. ❝ It should have been illegal what they attempted to pass off as food in there, ❞ he agreed with a nod. It was tough maintaining his manners and eating at a normal pace with normal-sized bites, but he managed. It was essential to preserve the image of control at all times, especially with what he had planned for dear Peter.

  Though, Adam's eyes became half-lidded, and a soft, almost salacious sound escaped his throat as he savored the calamari and chicken fettuccini Alfredo a moment before Peter's question pulled him out of the trance. After taking a sip from his glass, he tilted his head as though he hadn't given much thought to their strategy yet. ❝ We'll have to kill two birds with one stone, I suppose — I'll teach you to control your powers while we wait them out... If I remember correctly, from my intel, their efforts will die down substantially after two weeks. During that time, I'm certain I can have you performing to perfection. ❞ His voice was velvety smooth, while the confident smile he gave was warm and sincere. And if he was wrong, well, at least he could regenerate.

Peter has to bite back the urge to roll his eyes -- of course Adam managed to seduce every man and women he could into giving him things. He probably should have realized that sooner.

It's then, and only then, that he has a revelation: Adam is in fact startlingly attractive. When they'd first started speaking through the walls of their cell, Peter had actually imagined him as an old man. Adam had never said exactly how long he'd loved, but the word centuries had been used, and so, Peter had just imagined him as aged and withered, despite the strength and smoothness of his voice. Walking through that wall and being confronted with a young face had been surprising.

But he'd been so distracted with escaping that he hadn't given that face much thought. Now, as Peter has the luxury of slowing down, enjoying the aftermath of the a hot shower and the current reality of as much good food as he wants to eat, he gazes across the table and thinks: shit. Adam is hot. Like, really hot.

Like any empath worth his salt (not that Peter knows any others), it's the sense of his emotions that initially hook him. Adam feels... like he has clarity of purpose. He knows who he is and wants he wants. He's confident, and charming. Generous. The outer layer is secondary to him, but the outer layer is hot. Smoothly spoken, an intense blue gaze.

The last thing he needs right now is a goddamn crush. And yet.

"It probably won't be nearly as easy as you think," he says wryly. "My last teacher had to resort to throwing me off buildings. I've never exactly been a good student."

  For a brief moment, Adam could have sworn he caught Peter's gaze fall slightly differently on him. But that was quickly dismissed, seeing as they were both attempting to make up for lost time regarding a decent meal. He'd never found pasta so alluring before in his almost four hundred years, to be honest.

  But the look Peter gave did push him to begin formulating his next move, as it were. It would take place tonight. Yes, the idea being considered could have been regarded as a bit cliche, but that was part of the fun. It was also subtle and innocent, so Peter wouldn't suspect a thing. For the moment, though, the immortal found he was genuinely enjoying himself. It wasn't just the food or wine but the company as well. ~~Pun not intended.~~

  When Peter nonchalantly revealed his last teacher had thrown him off buildings, a breath of amusement escaped just as Adam was about to take a sip from his glass. ❝ They wot? ❞ It was a serious matter, but the alcohol delayed his expression from conforming to that fact. ❝ Sorry, but wouldn't that expedite the detonation process? ❞ Not to mention, who could possibly harm this puppy of a man in the first place?

  Then, an idea hit him. In case it was a telling look given earlier... Adam's face filled with concern, his deep blue eyes locked onto Peter's as he reached over to place his hand on top of his. Softly, he shook his head. ❝ I would never ever throw you off a building, or anything else—sorry, the wine isn't helping with words... ❞ The hint of a warm smile formed on his lips as he continued, ❝ Peter, what I'm trying to say is, I would never hurt you, alright? No matter how rubbish a student you are. We'll get this under control. I promise. ❞ That said, he gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

"To be fair, I didn't actually have the radioactive power at that point. Just a whole lot of visions and dreams that said I would explode somehow," Peter valiantly defends. "So I wasn't actually going to explode when he threw me off a roof."

Does that actually make it better? Maybe not. He'd sure as hell felt like he was going to explode when all of his powers had started kicking in one after the other, after he'd finally figured out the trick to pulling them out. He's pretty sure Claude was just doing the best he could, and it's Peter's fault that Claude had to run, but--

--but Adam's concern and those soft blue eyes reel him in. The warmth of Adam's hand on top of his own abruptly reminds him of how long he's gone without affectionate human touch (because he struggles to classify Elle's efforts as affectionate), and he finds himself turning his hand over, curling their fingers together for a brief moment.

"Kinda hard to hurt me these days anyway." Peter's joke feels a little out of place up against such genuineness. "But... thanks. Seriously. I've lived for so long being so scared that I'd hurt everybody around me, I-- it'll be a relief to have this under control."

  Adam nodded as Peter explained further. ❝ Ah, that makes much more sense. ❞ Visions and dreams... So he'd also gotten a taste of Angela's ability. And her predictions always came true in one form or another from what he'd witnessed when around her all those years ago. Perhaps he'd pay her a little visit. Pay them all a visit to thank them for locking him up. Especially Kaito. Oh, how he'd savor Hiro's reaction when—

  ...The constant simmering rage Adam hid so well underneath the surface momentarily faded as Peter returned the warm gesture. Although a calculated move that received the intended result, it surprisingly brought sincerity to his grin, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself. They'd gotten to know each other somewhat over these past few weeks, and even though it had been through a wall, words and inflections could reveal almost as much as body language if one listened carefully enough. Peter was unlike most people the immortal had met in his lifetime, and he found it refreshing.

  Adam allowed the touch to linger a moment, his thumb absently brushing over Peter's skin as he continued. ❝ Well, you have nothing to worry about here, love. The nearest neighbor is at least a mile away, and I'm decently tough to hurt also. ❞ After a light squeeze, his hand returned to his glass to lift it for a sip.

  Usually, he would have poured himself a refill to chase the buzz, but instead, Adam set the bottle aside as all attention remained on Peter. ❝ Don't know about you, but I'm knackered, especially after such a feast. Best meal I've had in years — perhaps even a decade — all possible thanks to you. And in appreciation, you may take the king bed, if you wish. I don't mind sleeping on the couch. ❞ Something told him that Peter might object to that proposal.

The nearest neighbor being a mile away-- it's something Peter hadn't actually noticed on the drive in. He'd been so exhausted, so mentally strung out from the after-effects of imprisonment and breaking out of the Company cells. The knowledge has him gusting out a sigh of relief.

He doesn't know how big the radius is of Ted's power. Nathan had been thinking a specific figure, somewhere in the millions, Peter had heard the whispers of it in his mind. It means the explosion would have been pretty fucking big. Big enough that a mile distance wouldn't help much.

Still. It's something.

After Adam pulls his hand away, Peter's skin aches in the wake of it. He has to stuff his hands between his knees to force himself not to reach out again. Months in that cell has him so starving for human touch he barely knows how to handle it, and Adam is warm and gentle and his voice is so soft, and the emotional feel of him is so steady and reassuring. Fuck.

"Are you kidding? No, that bed's big enough to fit five of us, we can share," Peter insists. He puts his plate aside, and starts closing up containers of food. He's stuffed, too, and all he wants is to sleep, and he kind of immediately regrets the offer to share because now he can't stop thinking about the ramifications of sharing a bed, but it's the right thing to do. "Besides, you were in that cell for decades. You deserve a proper bed."

Seriously. Decades.

"I promise I'm not an annoying sleeper," Peter adds, a half-grin quirked at the edge of his lips.

  As it had been so long since Adam was first locked up, the exact memories of how he felt during those first few months had faded with the passage of time. Especially since he made no effort to remember them. Otherwise, he might have taken it into consideration regarding Peter. Humans, evolved or not, weren't meant to handle solitary confinement. It had been a harsh lesson to learn the hard way. And so, while he was attention-starved as well, he knew how to remain focused in order to manage the feeling. It was so very exhausting, though.

  At Peter's offer to share the bed, Adam tilted his head thoughtfully as though he hadn't expected the compromise. ❝ Hm, you do make excellent points. ❞ And honestly, he would love to finally sleep on a real bed after all this time. Following Peter's lead, he began helping, sorting the leftovers and stacking them in the fridge. ❝ Alright, we shall share... ❞ A playful expression washed over his face as he continued, ❝ But, I can't promise anything. I mean, I don't snore or sleepwalk, but I've been told I sometimes talk and occasionally steal covers in my sleep. So, if you wake up to a draft, feel free to take back what is rightfully yours. ❞

  Once the food was secure, Adam began making his way to the hall, flicking off the lights as he went if Peter was following him. The moonlight gleamed strong enough through the windows to where he didn't bother turning on the bedroom light as he slipped off the ridiculous bellbottoms and threw them aside. He'd almost forgotten he was wearing them. ❝ Certainly hope those don't go missing or get set ablaze or some such, ❞ he said while giving Peter a faux look of suspicion.

  Lastly, he pulled off the tank top, leaving him in nothing but his boxers as he slid underneath the covers to get comfortable. The luxurious Egyptian cotton welcomed him, drawing a low hum of approval that held a hint of salaciousness from his throat. It had been so long since Adam felt such expensive fabric against his skin and such softness underneath him. Oh, how he'd missed it. Glancing over, his attention returned to Peter, and he playfully patted the space beside him. ❝ You're in for quite a treat — past me spent entirely too much money on this setup. ❞

Peter almost thinks to himself: it's been a while since he shared a bed with someone.

But that's not true, is it? It was maybe only six months ago that he and Simone had spent the night together. Just once, before everything had really started going to hell. She'd found him after Nathan's election fundraiser, soaking wet from a thunderstorm and furious from Nathan using his so-called suicide attempt for politics, and her touch and her smile and her soft skin had made him forget everything else that had happened that night.

And now all he can do is bitterly regret that night, because if she hadn't found him, if she hadn't spent the night, then maybe she'd still be alive. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten her killed.

Distracted by half-visions of blood and bullets, he's slow to respond to Adam's joke about his stupid flares. It takes him half a second of an uncomprehending stare, and then an amused little noise. "Pity I don't have pyrokinesis yet."

He mirrors Adam, stripping down to his boxers. Peter's always had a complete lack of self-consciousness about his body, and he enjoys the brief glimpse that he gets of Adam's; lean and sleek, but with a power there, a confidence. He all but collapses messily on the bed, shoving himself under the covers, settling on his side facing Adam. The sheets are nice, but even a hospital bed would feel great right now, so he doesn't think he's in the best frame of mind to judge.

His thoughts are still grey, like thunderclouds heavy with rain, and after a silence he can't help but ask--

"Adam? Did you... ever hurt anybody because of your powers?"

  Peter's delayed response was quickly overlooked, chalking it up to exhaustion from the events of a long day and overeating a grand meal. Adam felt the same way, so he couldn't blame him. But, the word yet caught his attention, reminding him just how powerful Peter could become in time. With enough abilities, he would be unstoppable... They would be unstoppable if Adam played his cards right, that was. The thought brought a genuine grin to his lips. ❝ Yes, truly a pity. ❞

  As Peter got into bed, Adam made no attempt to hide the way his gaze wandered over newly bared skin in appreciation before returning to the empath's face and those puppy eyes of his. His personality, combined with his appearance, made this all the more easier. Although the immortal found all sorts of women attractive, it was rare to find men who were his type — pretty yet masculine with a loyal heart. Naivety was a plus, seeing as he could replace it with the wisdom ~~and jadedness~~ he'd learned over the centuries without having to go through a tedious trial-and-error learning stage. It was almost uncanny how Peter fit the bill.

  The question was unexpected, and usually, Adam would have shied away from answering or made up a story. But instead, he slowly nodded. Seeing as if anyone would understand, it would be Peter, he began, ❝ I didn't mention my ability to my first wife, and after twenty years of marriage, it became apparent that I wasn't aging. She didn't take it well at all. Called me a devil before leaving and died a few years later in a nunnery. She left scared and heartbroken. I failed her. ❞ Back then, being relatively young, he hadn't developed the skill to read people yet.

  By now, Adam was looking through Peter as the unpleasant memories returned. ❝ A couple, I faked my death to make a break for it or simply abandoned them, though I left plenty of money out of obligation. I had no idea what I wanted from life, and they paid for it. ❞ There was no denying those were selfish mistakes. But nowadays, he knew not to get himself into those sorts of situations to begin with. ❝ And lastly, one had drunk herself to death after accidentally seeing me regenerate. I should have paid more attention to the signs. Should have noticed how deeply the incident had affected her. So, I failed her as well. ❞ Eyes settling on Peter's, he observed his reactions and awaited any questions or comments he might have.

When he'd asked the question, Peter hadn't been sure what kind of answer he might be expecting. He'd seen all kinds of powers so far, and with some of them, it was pretty easy to understand how they might accidentally hurt people -- Elle's electricity, or Nikki's strength. But regeneration? He'd admit, it didn't seem like something that could harm others, it seemed like something entirely self-contained.

And then Adam starts speaking, and Peter realizes he just hadn't been thinking broadly enough. He'd only been thinking about physical harm.

He'd never considered how emotional attachments while immortal would harm others. It's a sobering thought, even in the midst of his already trending-melancholy thoughts.

"I'm so sorry." It feels inadequate against the enormity of what Adam must have seen, and Peter will admit, he's still kind of grappling with the idea that Adam is centuries old. He's lived lifetimes. He's had relationships that would have lasted other people the majority of their lives. What kind of effect does that have on someone psychologically? How is Adam still stable? Does he still remember what his first wife looked like, or have centuries of memories crowded out those older memories, or does the regeneration keep his memories perfect?

Peter may very well be in for the same fate, if his copied regeneration works passively and constantly. He'll have to watch Nathan grow old and die, along with his mom, and his nephews, and everyone he's ever cared about -- he's used to death, but it's easier when it's his patients and not his own family.

Fuck. This is a terrible topic to think about right before he's supposed to try to go to sleep.

"The Company kept me in there because they kept telling me I'd hurt everyone if I was free. Did they... tell you that too? Did it work on you?"

  As predicted, Peter's reaction was thoughtful and sincere. And even though he only spoke three little words, there seemed to be genuine care behind them, something Adam hadn't had the pleasure of hearing in a long time. It was nice. ❝ Thank you, Peter. ❞

  The immortal's expression softened as he watched him for a long moment, curious about the full effects his recounting of the past might have had on the empath. Sympathy was easily confirmed, and the gears seemed to be turning, but would he put two and two together and realize that, eventually, he would be all alone—that was unless he remained by Adam's side? Time would tell.

  The answer to the following question wasn't as cut and dry. Although Adam knew the angle he would shoot for and the perfectly laid out plan in his head, there still remained an unstable variable in more ways than one — Peter. Gaining his friendship seemed effortless, but what about his loyalty?

  ❝ Quite the opposite, actually. They disapproved of my plan to help others, curing people with my blood as I did your brother. Next thing I knew, I was being torn away from my wife — the one who incidentally was to blame for the bell bottoms and teaching me how to give Travolta a run for his money on the dance floor — and locked up, never to enjoy another disco ball again. ❞ There was an attempt to lighten the mood in order to show Peter he didn't mind talking about the past. At least, with him.

  As Adam got comfortable, adjusting his pillow and casually leaning over Peter to turn off the bedside lamp, possibly accidentally brushing bare skin against bare skin in the process, he continued, ❝ I suppose I should have seen it coming, as there was no profit to be made with my plan. So instead, they experimented on me, used my blood in their research of biological weapons... I do wonder if they're still up to such horrific schemes... ❞ he finished softly, his voice trailing off as if mostly speaking to himself, even though he was confident Peter would pick up the breadcrumb and run with it.

Even in the midst of one of the most harrowing stories he's ever heard, Adam still manages to make him smile with his stupid disco quips--

And then, all of a sudden, he's plunged into feeling like a fucking teenager again, getting flustered over the simplest brush of skin against skin, made worse by virtue of the whole bed-sharing situation. Peter's no stranger to crushes -- he's had one after the other ever since he turned twelve, from the moody poetic goth girl in his class when he was sixteen to the wise-cracking handsome EMT when he was in nurse school, and a dozen more beside. He's always had a thing for the cerebral types, the sensitive souls, and maybe it's no surprise he's forming a thing for Adam.

He thinks it might have started back in that cell. Adam had shown a capacity of self-reflection that was fascinating, the kind of wisdom that would usually only come with time and experience. Adam is gentle in every way he's shown Peter, and considerate, and--

And then he has to go and drop a bomb like research of biological weapons.

"They what?"

Goodbye, previous relaxation. Hello, whole-body tension. Peter's eyes are dark in the moonlit room, avid, fixed on Adam.

  With anyone else, Adam might have allowed them to stew in the panic he'd just evoked — perhaps even relished witnessing it — but Peter had taken the bait like a good boy, and there wasn't any reason to make him suffer on the hook. He didn't deserve such torture.

  Having not laid back yet, Adam met his gaze and rested a hand on Peter's arm to gently rub in a comforting manner. ❝ No worries, love. I'm certain if they had wished to use the virus, they would have released it by now. You see, it was right before I was locked up three decades ago that they'd discovered it and began attempting to manipulate it into a weapon. My sources tried to keep an eye on it, but the trail went cold. I assumed they gave up. ❞ A slight shrug was given.

  After a moment of observing Peter's reaction, Adam sighed as though in defeat. ❝ I'll tell you what — after your training, after we're confident the search for our whereabouts has died down, we'll raid the warehouses to ensure they aren't holding onto anything dangerous, alright? With your extraordinary abilities, it should prove trivial. ❞ A deceptively warm smile crept across his lips at the thought.

If there's one thing that's true about Peter Petrelli, it's that he doesn't easily let go of things. It's been true of him since he can remember -- his first crush that he pined after for years, a sentimental hairband that he doesn't still have only because it broke and fell off his wrist, the way he'd designated himself the protector of a classmate from bullies in his teens, his favorite take-out meal.

He's sure as hell not going to hear that the Company is experimenting with biological weapons and just shrug it off.

"They're stubborn enough to keep you locked up for decades, I don't trust that they just gave up when they couldn't find the answer right away," he insists. Adam's comforting rubbing of his arm is doing nothing even remotely comforting (but it's still nice, so he's hardly going to protest). "First a bunch of people wanted me to explode and wipe out New York. And then another group of people want to release a virus? This doesn't feel like coincidence, Adam."

Shit. Peter rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He's going to have to use every trick in his book to fall asleep -- and he learned a lot of tricks catching naps during 24 hour shifts.

  After a long moment, as if taking Peter's theory into consideration, Adam finally nodded thoughtfully. Seemed the empath was intent on making himself suffer, unfortunately. It served to reinforce the image Adam was gradually building of him, each reaction an intriguing puzzle piece.

  Giving Peter's arm a final pat, Adam laid back to look up at the ceiling as well, his fingers entwining to rest on his stomach. "All right. When an empath says they have a feeling, I suppose it's wise to listen. The question now is, what do you propose we do?" He knew what he wished to do to The Company, but suggesting outright gory revenge would make him appear too eager, of course. Not to mention, Peter probably wouldn't be on board with what he had in mind. At least, not yet, anyway.

  Looking over, Adam gave a sleepy yet thankful grin. "And since you've granted me my freedom, it's the least I can do to help you gain peace of mind. My knowledge of The Company is yours to wield as you please, Peter... Command me as you desire," he finished in a whisper, his words innocent yet deliberately chosen.

When an empath says they have a feeling, I suppose it's wise to listen.

And that, Peter thinks, might actually be the first time anybody has listened to him when he has a feeling. He's so used to having his hunches be dismissed by Nathan, by his mom, that it's a strange feeling when Adam so easily extends his trust. The problem is, he doesn't immediately know what to do, because he's not exactly experienced in... whatever this is. Planning to take down a decades old company that has been torturing people with superpowers, and has designs on biological weapons.

Half caught up in furious thinking, Adam's whisper catches him by surprise. It's a good thing it's dark; that way nobody can see him flush, even if his cheeks feel embarrassingly hot. That whisper brings to mind all sorts of images that Peter struggles to suppress. Soft skin, and heated lips, and--

Great. He's just digging himself deeper into this hole, isn't he?

"Whatever the answer is, I'm not going to come up with it half-asleep and full of carbs," he reluctantly admits. Peter rolls on his side again, facing Adam, one arm stuffed under the pillow. Watching him in the sliver of moonlight coming in through the window. Maybe he'll dream the answer. "We'll come up with a plan tomorrow, after we've both had some decent sleep in an actual bed. Because I don't know about you, but I'm excited to wake up without a crick in my neck."

  Having no recollection of the last time he'd been so full and comfortable, Adam's eyes were already fighting to stay open at the sound of Peter's soothing voice. Despite the empath's somewhat endearing naivete, he was confident he'd come up with an excellent plan of attack... And if not, Adam could easily help steer him in the proper direction. With his prowess and Peter's powers, The Company wouldn't know what hit them.

  ❝ Yes, in fact, I have a feeling I may oversleep. But if not, I'll be careful not to wake you. ❞ And he figured Peter would extend him the same courtesy of only awakening him if the house was on fire or some such. With that said, Adam stretched out to lay on his stomach, his head comfortable on the pillow, turned toward Peter to give a few final words of gratitude. ❝ Thank you again, for getting me out of there. It was a gift I won't be forgetting. ❞

  Over the centuries, Adam had taught himself incredible control over his body. Lie detectors didn't work on him, and neither did torture. Complete authority over his heartbeat and breathing were parlor tricks by now as well... But those things depended on him being awake. While asleep, the most he could manage was lucid dreaming, but even that eluded him sometimes as dark thoughts took the form of nightmares. And so, as admitted earlier, during the night, he mumbled softly in his sleep. So quietly, it might not have awakened Peter, but if it did, he would hear parts of sentences. ❝ How could you... You monster... You'll be the first... ❞

  When Peter woke up in the morning, he would find that he had somehow been promoted to the honorary position of Big Spoon™. It seemed that in Adam's unconscious search to get comfortable and warm during the night, he'd hit the jackpot, nestled up cozy against the empath.

It takes Peter a long time to get to sleep.

At first, it's because the thought holy shit the company are making biological weapons is looping on repeat. He spends a considerable amount of time in self-recrimination. He prides himself on being perceptive, but he'd sat in that cell for months, unaware of what was going on. Being lied to, and swallowing those lies for too long. Willingly playing captive for a group that never had his best intentions in mind. Then he starts thinking about what to do about the biological weapons and the lying and the potential link to the plan to let him blow up, and... look, nobody ever called him the best offensive strategist, so he mostly only manages to come up with a couple of plans of attack, each with their own drawback.

It's somewhere around pondering the details of Adam's history with them that he manages to fall asleep. He thinks his dreams are restless. Glimpses of a plague; of death, bodies thrown into burning pits. Glimpses of an eclipse, of an airplane packed with orange jumpsuits. A world where commuters fly down the streets and a dark-haired Claire hunts him.

It all evaporates into smoke when he wakes and he's warm and comfortable for the first time in months. It takes him a second to realize his arm is looped over Adam's waist, keeping them snugly together, and bare skin is pressed against bare skin, chest to back, thigh to thigh, buried in rumpled covers.

He should probably feel embarrassed. But it's not the first time he's woken up cuddling someone he isn't dating. Peter figures he probably grabbed Adam in the night -- that's just how he is when he sleeps. And why complain? Unless Adam's virtue is bothered, he's comfy.

"Morning," he murmurs, hoarse with sleep. He smooths a hand over Adam's side, and the action feels more intimate than he's earned. "You awake?"

  After the nightmare, which eventually transformed into a gore-filled revenge fantasy that Tarantino could have directed, Adam managed to drift off into a deep, peaceful slumber. It was unusual, being able to sleep so effortlessly beside someone he hadn't known very long. Someone who knew how to actually kill him, at that. Seemed his subconscious trusted Peter more than he would ever admit awake. After a hundred or so years, reading people had become second nature, so honestly, it wasn't too much of a surprise.

  The real surprise, he would soon discover.

  In the hazy state between wakefulness and dreamland, where the passing of time wasn't taken into consideration, the warmth of another's body against his wasn't an unusual occurrence, so no alarms were set off immediately. It had been six long years since Adam had shared such closeness with another. Having sorely missed the feeling, a hum bordering on a moan escaped his throat as an unknown hand ghosted along his side, pulling delicious chills along his skin.

  The question finally managed to pull Adam into the waking world fully. In a split second, the realization of the situation dawned on him—he was the little spoon! The plot twist had not been planned... but he found himself making no effort to correct the situation. It was more than pleasant, and Peter didn't seem to mind; quite the opposite, in fact. Interesting...

  Adam's hand slid to pause on top of Peter's in a gesture of appreciation, and he looked to the side to answer. ❝ Apologies if our current predicament is my fault. It appears platonic bed-sharing is a skill I must work on... ❞ With that, he turned onto his back, yet remained just as close as he continued, ❝ Unless you'd care to remain like this a little longer as we plan our day? ❞ With soft eyes, he observed Peter's reaction to his words and how he was absently caressing the top of his hand.

As Adam speaks, Peter's memory abruptly clutches as the whispers he'd heard muttered while Adam was sleeping. He hadn't remembered them as he'd woken, too warm and comfortable for anything else to distract him, but with that raspy-with-sleep voice had hit his ears, the memory had come back.

How could you. You monster. You'll be the first.

It serves as a reminder that Peter doesn't even know the half of what Adam went through in those cells. He's almost been too afraid to ask questions and dig deeper, because he's paranoid that the real story is much grislier than Adam has portrayed, with all of his light-hearted stories about fucking people to get Star Wars tickets. At the back of his suspicions lingers the question, if they were experimenting on biological weapons, what would they have done to the regenerating man in their cells.

The touch of Adam's hand on his only barely chases those thoughts away.

"Nah. This is nice," he murmurs, muffled against the back of Adam's shoulder, chin propped against bare skin. Peter huffs an almost-laugh. "I'm not exactly skilled at platonic bed-sharing either."

He's too much of a worrier to fully enjoy the moment with so many other concerns in mind, but he wants to take just... five minutes. Maybe a couple more. Five minutes to enjoy this. And then he can shift into world saving mode.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks, dark hair tickling the back of Adam's neck. "You were... talking in your sleep a bit. Bad dreams?

  Nice was an understatement, at least from Adam's perspective. Besides the obvious comfort of the moment, he wasn't having to pretend he enjoyed Peter's company or the way his body felt against his. Although acting came naturally, it could still prove exhausting after so long. Being able to actually relax in the moment was a breath of fresh air. Giving a soft breath of amusement, he nodded. ❝ Suppose we'll have to be unskilled in that department together. ❞

  Another breath of fresh air was the sincerity in Peter's voice as he asked how he'd slept. Adam remembered the nightmare clearly, so he could guess what he might have mumbled in his sleep. Slowly, he nodded as he attempted not to get distracted by the way Peter's hair playing at his neck drew shivers down his spine. ❝ At first, yes. But it passed. ❞

  Normally, that would be where the sharing ended. But sometimes, the truth worked in one's favor better than any lie ever could. ❝ It was of a memory that still haunts me to this day. Whenever they took me out of my cell, brought me to other rooms that held different machines, they assumed if at least one of the employees escorting me was a big, buff guy, I couldn't possibly get away from them. Well, they were wrong of course, but I knew not to reveal that card quite yet... ❞

  After a slight pause for dramatic effect, Adam continued, ❝ One day, as they walked me down the hallway, I spotted a little blonde girl being escorted by a couple of employees followed by Bob. They were taking her into a room I had unfortunately visited before. This piqued my curiosity, so I stalled my guards long enough until I heard screaming. After knocking them out, I made my way to the room to find sparks flying while Bob simply sat there as his daughter pleaded for him to stop the experiment. After making quick work of the machine, I beat Bob to a pulp. ❞ A sigh left his lips. ❝ Who does that to their own daughter... ❞ Of countless regrets, one was not finishing off Bob for good, but Elle had been right there. No sense dumping trauma on top of trauma.

Somehow that doesn't come as a surprise.

Peter had known that Bob experimented on his own daughter; Elle had told him as much. Not in those words, but in darkly playful asides. Implications. And he'd always gotten mired down in the implications for the rest of the day, wondering how many other people were experimented on, how many other kids had been tortured, and tearing himself apart with trying to justify staying there. He'd blinded himself willingly, telling himself it was for the best that he stay locked up and powerless.

He's lucky that they never experimented on him. Sometimes, he wonders why they didn't. Maybe his power was too volatile to risk an overload.

Peter sighs, pressing his forehead against Adam's nape. "I'm sorry," he murmurs there. "That you had to witness that. That you were stuck there for so long. That I didn't... see everything for what it was sooner."

The silver lining is that Adam wasn't having these nightmares all night. That shows an interesting kind of strength; he's been alive for centuries, he must have enough bad memories to play on repeat all week. Staring down the barrel of what might be his own immortal life, Peter's not sure he has that same kind of strength.

"We'll bring every single one of them down," he promises. "I don't care if it takes us years."

  The way Peter's warm breath washed over Adam's bare skin drew his eyes to close. The apology was genuine, as expected. Everything about the empath was authentic, in fact, and it was strangely awe-inspiring for Adam to witness. Such people came into his life perhaps once a decade, and he was wise enough to know they were rare gems... to be cherished.

  ❝ Thank you, but no worries, ❞ he began as his hand lifted Peter's, bringing it to his chest and entwining their fingers, ❝ Bob puts on a damn good dog and pony show. I'd wager he had Elle there as well, using her to convince you with chaotic yet innocent devotion. One can't blame you for falling for such a ruse. ❞ That said, he gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

  It was Peter's following words that had Adam mentally grinning like a Cheshire cat that ate a canary. Voice calm with an air of curiosity, he turned his head to ask, ❝ Are you certain you're ready for such commitment...? We undoubtedly make quite the team, you and I; they won't stand a chance, especially after you unlock the full potential of your abilities. ❞

  Potential — Peter held an unlimited amount. And Adam could hardly wait to help him discover it... help to sculpt him for his true purpose at the immortal's side.

Edited (Formatting~) 2024-10-13 03:36 (UTC)

"It's not like I can just return to my old life."

It comes out wry, more bitter than he'd intended. Of everything that happened, the Company is the only obstacle to him returning to his old life. His 'suicide attempt', his sudden resignation, his months-long break, all of those things wouldn't look great on his CV, but he's sure he'd be able to find a new nursing job. The only problem is the Company. Would they hunt him down again? Who would they hurt to get to him? Peter doesn't know the answer to these questions, and he can't risk collateral damage.

More than that, he wants to do something. Not just nursing, not just waiting by people's beds and making them comfortable. Something big, something useful, something good. That urge had led him to a high school in Texas, covered in his own blood and resetting his own broken bones, but he'd saved the cheerleader. Had he saved the world? He doesn't know. But the feeling had been unforgettable. It had felt right.

As far as he can tell, the next step in being a hero is taking down a company that tortures and incarcerates people like them, one that's maybe working on a biological weapon and fuck knows what else.

Alone, that might be a daunting prospect. But he has Adam.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Peter's voice settles into something more sure as he squeezes Adam's fingers. He nudges his forehead one last time against Adam's nape before reluctantly withdrawing his hand, and sits up, blankets piling on his lap, stretching with a bitten-off noise. "And even though I'm sure you did a good job at keeping this place off the grid, they could find us any day now, so we need to be ready. I have no idea what kind of powers their people have."

  The telling tone in Peter's voice tugged at the sides of Adam's lips, forming a slight frown. Not being able to return to his old life was for the best, though; people like them weren't meant for such a mundane existence. No, they were meant for greatness. The empath would hopefully learn this fact in time.

  The frown persisted as Peter sat up, taking his heavenly warmth with him. It reminded Adam how much he missed physical contact. A reminder that, although evolved, he was still human, with all the same weaknesses, no matter how much he'd trained to overcome them. His relatively youthful body and the hormones it brought with it weren't helping matters either.

  On the bright side, the hint of enthusiasm in Peter's voice was a welcome surprise. Adam followed his lead and sat up, the frown replaced with a look of confidence. ❝ That's the spirit. ❞ His hand lifted to cup Peter's cheek. ❝ Their powers are a non-issue. Whatever they can do, you can copy and do better. You're special, my dear. ❞ It wasn't simply a line meant to manipulate — from what he had seen, it was the truth.

  Remaining close, Adam tilted his head and kept eye contact as he asked softly, ❝ Now, let us go over what we'll be working with... Please, remind me about each ability you have and how much control over it you already possess? ❞ As far as he knew, Peter hadn't revealed all his powers to him, but If memory served correctly, telekinesis was one he'd mentioned and should probably be their first priority unless there was somehow an even more potent one to work on.

Right-- good point. He can copy whatever they do. That doesn't necessarily mean he can fight them better, but it's something.

Adam cups his cheek, and Peter has to spend a moment wrestling everything inside of him under control. He's already acknowledged that Adam is stupidly hot, and now all of that is leaning in, all bright blue eyes and strong jawline, pale hair mussed from sleeping. He'd seem untouchable yesterday, an immortal held apart from the rest of humanity, unknowable, indefinable. Today, right now, he looks just like any other man. Still warm from sleep, a pillow crease on one cheek.

For a moment, Peter imagines kissing him. Would Adam be passionate, the type to explode into action and movement, his every movement wanting and hard? Or would he be patient, soft and explorative and kind?

Biting down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, Peter reminds himself he got the last person he loved killed.

He forces a breath of a laugh, a rueful, crooked little grin. "Not before I get some caffeine in me. I can barely remember my own name right now, let alone every power I've picked up." Because he can't help himself, Peter leans into that hand for a moment, letting himself indulge in Adam's warmth before pulling away. He gets off the bed, goosebumps rippling across his skin in the morning chill and the lack of Adam's touch, and starts pulling his clothes on.

"We need a shopping list. Clothes, food. Burner phones would be useful." Peter pulls his t-shirt over his head, shoves his hair back from his face. "You've gotta have a bank account tucked away somewhere, right? Something that's been building interest for decades?" He shoots Adam an amused glance. "That's what all the immortals on TV do, anyway."

  With a thoughtful expression, Adam observed the effect his closeness and warm gesture had on Peter. Seduction was the most important — and honestly fun — skill in his arsenal, as it had been extremely rare to find anyone immune to his charms in all those decades. As much as he was tempted to lean in just a bit further to capture the empath's lips with his own, it wouldn't have been the most strategic move at the moment. The foundation to build loyalty needed a bit more cement. Not to mention, they had important work to do today, and he knew himself — a kiss would only serve as a maddening tease. Peter should be savored, and such attention took time.

  Adam's brows raised slightly as he was reminded the empath was new to all this. The life of an immortal wasn't always the easiest, but as Peter leaned into his touch, he wasn't worried. It wasn't a road the empath would have to walk alone, was it? Honestly, Adam hadn't had a chance to pause and think that far ahead. Gazing into Peter's big brown eyes gave the answer he needed for now. ❝ Ah yes, caffeine. Understandable, ❞ he replied with a nod.

  All attention remained focused on Peter as he got dressed and suggested a plan until, eventually, Adam couldn't help the breath of amusement that escaped him when the immortals on TV were mentioned. ❝ Giving out my secrets, are they? Yes, I have quite a few bank accounts, ❞ he admitted before getting up and opening the nearby closet to search for something that wouldn't embarrass Peter if they went out. ❝ Every house of mine bears a hidden safe with banking info and petty cash, you see. Just enough to last a bit if I can't get to the bank right away. ❞

  A moment later, Adam returned wearing normal jeans while buttoning up a simple white long-sleeved dress shirt. Making his way over, there was a playful smirk on his lips. ❝ There's only one problem — I simply can't remember where I hid it. ❞ Or could he? ❝ So, what say you attempt to find it with one of your extraordinary abilities, hm? We can have tea or coffee first, if needed, of course. ❞ It would be an entertaining test, as he really didn't fancy digging under floorboards or searching the attic. Two birds, one stone.

So, Adam does have more clothes that aren't rejects from the 70s. Thank god. He won't draw attention when they go out, now-- not that Peter knows if it's actually wise for them to go out anywhere public. How hard will the Company be looking for them? Hard enough that they'll be combing street cameras with facial recognition?

Adam's suggestion has him blinking in surprise, and then narrowing his eyes.

"Adam, I didn't pick up money GPS," he scoffs, heading toward the kitchen to see if there's any coffee there. He starts rattling through the cupboards, hopeful, and eventually comes up with one sad container of freeze dried coffee that withstands the sniff test. It's probably toxic. It's like decades old. But hey, they won't die, and if it's still got caffeine... it'll be worth it?

Futily, he wracks his brain for an ability that might actually help. Because he's kind of hopeless at the best of times, he's taken Adam at his word that he can't remember. The only thing he can think of is the telepathy, but that would only work if Adam does know the location.

"I don't think that even exists. Maybe if I had something like whatever that power is where you touch items to see their history, but I don't." Just in case, Peter taps the telepathy anyway as he gets some water boiling. At first, it's a little like static, like white noise, or a radio in another room. Distant voices. And then, as he tunes in a little more, focusing on the determination and justice that cop had felt, he can sense Adam nearby. The surface of his thoughts, a gentle murmur. "I don't know, what's the most likely place? Behind a painting? In the attic?"

  At first, Adam laughed softly at Peter's reply before slowly shaking his head as he followed him to the kitchen. If only there were such a power, but since there wasn't — as far as he knew, anyway — the empath would have to think outside the box. Perhaps combine powers, if that could be done. The possibilities were conceivably endless.

  As Peter searched one side of the kitchen for coffee, Adam took the other, hopeful for tea, but knowing that any found wouldn't be fit to use. ❝ Ah, Clairsentience; a somewhat rare ability, ❞ he said absently as the search through the cabinets came to an end with nothing of substance found.

  With the water boiling, Adam made his way over to see what Peter had discovered. A slight pout formed on his lips at what appeared to possibly be coffee. Yes, he would be waiting until they went into town. Perhaps there would be a Starbucks, as he'd been gifted a latte from there before and quite liked it. Not that he'd had much to compare it to in decades, though.

  Besides the memories of Starbucks and lattes telepathy might pick up, Adam's gaze drifted over Peter, with his bedhead and half-asleep demeanor, conjuring stray thoughts along the lines of yes, waking up to this every morning would be lovely. At the questions, Adam lifted his hand to gently comb Peter's hair back. ❝ There are only two general areas it could be — in the attic, in one of the hard to reach corners, or underneath something heavy, inside the ground floor. ❞ His thoughts told if he had to guess, it was in the attic, but he wasn't one hundred percent certain. ❝ Perhaps you can use your power of Intangibility to search? It's a small portable safe, so grasp it, and bring it back with you from its hiding place? ❞ Curiously, he observed Peter, wondering how confident he would be about this plan.

Peter's not sure if he immediately regrets the telepathy or-- something else.

Because first Adam thinks about Starbucks, and he guesses that makes sense -- (Peter's wistfully thinking about the little cafe down the block from his apartment and he has half a mind to lecture Adam about how garbage Starbucks is and real Italian coffee is where it's at not that milkshake coffee shit) -- but then he catches a glimpse of his own face, his rumpled hair, a snatch of wistfulness, curiosity, and, it's just a lot. Knowing that Adam wants to wake up to him every morning is a lot. Peter now gets why that cop had looked like he didn't sleep. Could he even turn it off? Did he have that luxury?

Thankfully, Peter does. Or at least, he's supposed to. Because when he goes to try to carefully dial that power down, it stays firmly stuck where it is. Part of him likes hearing Adam's thoughts.

Fuck.

"Sure, that could work," Peter says, and he feels like his own voice is coming from a mile away, deliberately casual in the face of his internal chaos. "I'll give it a try after I've got some caffeine in me."

It doesn't take long to get the coffee brewed, and when Peter takes a sip, it takes every scrap of stubbornness he has not to spit it back out. It had smelled okay, but holy shit.

"Nope." Peter sets the coffee back down. "Well, maybe." He picks it up again and takes another sip, and scowls even worse than the second time. "That's disgusting." And yet he's not putting the cup back down. "Want any?"

  Over time, if Peter peeked into Adam's thoughts long enough, he might notice the subtle disconnect between the relatively youthful physical side and the jaded, guarded wisdom of the centuries and how often they clashed. Spontaneous flights of fancy — such as hoping Peter was different than most people and desiring to wake up to him — were allowed to exist, but only in silence behind a poker face. At least until he felt comfortable enough around someone to allow his walls to come down. It was safer that way.

  But for now, with all he'd seen of the empath, Adam would humor his wishful thoughts and enjoy the moment, even if it might all turn to shit in time... As it seemed the coffee had, if Peter's reaction was anything to go by. A subtle smirk of amusement formed on his lips as he couldn't help thinking how adorable Peter could be.

  Shaking his head, Adam gave a soft laugh. ❝ But, you just said—you know what, alright, you have me curious... ❞ Putting his hand over his, he lifted the cup to his mouth for a sip. There was a pause. His eyes twitched before narrowing as he forced a swallow. Any trace of a grin was gone now. ❝ ...In all my years, my regeneration has never been put to such a test. ❞

  With restrained urgency, Adam took out the wine and gulped it to get the horrible taste out of his mouth before turning to Peter and offering the bottle. ❝ That simply won't do. I'm going to get you some decent coffee, love. Believe I saw a couple proper shops on the map, then we'll pick up a few things. I have enough money for us today, no worries. ❞ A grocery list began forming in his thoughts — tea, coffee, milk, sugar, whatever sort of styling product Peter needs for his hair...

"I think," Peter says solemnly, "that if we didn't have cellular regeneration, we'd be dead already. Dead from stomach necrosis or something."

He takes the wine bottle and has a generous few gulps, swishing the last mouthful around to chase the taste of rancid coffee out of his mouth. God, that was awful.

With that done, he hands the wine bottle back just incase Adam wants to get daydrunk -- hey, who is he to judge, the guy's like a few centuries old -- and very, very carefully does not remark on exactly what hair product he uses. He knows damn well it's really, really rude to be intruding on Adam's thoughts like this, and yet--

There's something pure about hearing his unguarded thoughts. Adam is a man that wears one face and hides another. His every sentence is cleverly chosen. Peter knows he's prone to being gullible about people, but even he can pick up that Adam only lets people see what he wants them to see. Telepathy is affording him a whole new perspective. He'll tell Adam soon, he resolves. Just... not quite yet.

"I'll go look for that safe, it shouldn't take long. I think I can differentiate between solid matter and empty space while I'm intangible, so it shouldn't be too hard to stick my hand through the floorboards and find something. Do you wanna go shopping alone, or should I come with?"

  A nod of understanding was given. Death by coffee; how utterly embarrassing it would have been after surviving plagues and pandemics throughout the centuries. Once Peter handed him the wine bottle, Adam took a final swig before returning it to the cabinet so they'd have plenty to go with the leftover Italian food later.

  At Peter's agreement to look for the safe, Adam found a pencil and began taking the liberty of marking on the floor where the empath should check during his search. Luckily, these weren't totally blind guesses, as he always hid his treasures in the same few places throughout his different properties. That way, they were never truly lost. So far, there were places to check underneath the fridge and in the corners of the kitchen beside cabinets.

  As he stood back to observe the ability that had bought them both their freedom, Adam paused to look at Peter and slowly shook his head. ❝ Never underestimate your enemy. If they were to catch us apart, I... ❞ wouldn't be able to protect you. ❝ I would be a sitting duck without you, you know, ❞ he finished with a soft laugh as he gave Peter a pat on the shoulder. ❝ Besides, I believe the Italian restaurant has a cafe on the side. It'll be my treat. Least I can do considering my decades-old coffee made an attempt on your life. ❞

  Normally, Adam might have been worried about going out into town, but not here. One of the reasons he'd chosen this city was its lack of progressiveness, especially concerning technology. The only cameras would be in and around the bank, so as long as they kept their distance from that building, he was confident they would be fine.

"A sitting duck," Peter scoffs. "Yeah, you're a helpless little delicate flower without me."

Peter's pretty sure it's the other way around. Adam has been surviving for centuries; god only knows what he's had to do to survive. He'll know his own body down to the cellular level by now, he'll know everything it's capable of, every kind of wound he can get away with and how long it takes to heal. Peter, on the other hand, still can't activate half his abilities when he wants to.

Well, at least he's got decent coffee to look forward to once he finds the safe.

The first x that Adam marked is square in the middle of the kitchen. What happens next isn't exactly big on dignity; Peter gets down on his hands and knees, stares very intently at his hands for a long few seconds, and nearly clocks himself in the face when both hands fall straight through the floor. He recovers (somewhat), and pushes the power into just one arm so that he can lean on the floor with one forearm and shove the other arm through the floor, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what he's picking up on.

"There's a kind of... vibration," he narrates to Adam. "It makes sense that this kind of ability would come with a solid matter sensor, right? Otherwise you'd be feeling your way around in the dark. But I think I'm just picking up floorboards here."

He makes his way to the next spot, and the next. And eventually, finds a more solid mass right in front of the fireplace.

"Jackpot." He shoots a crooked grin at Adam. "Got any powertools lying around? We'll need a saw, at least."

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror [ peter + adam ]

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SORRY FOR THE WAIT I LOST THIS REPLY 😭😭😭

No worries, it happens :)

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Sorry, been busy moving into my new house. Was more tiring than expected.

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