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

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

it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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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