onepassingnight | under the boardwalk // people walking above || closed log;

He nods, moving to sit on an abandoned towel. He doesn't like the expectation in Peter's eyes, but he's lost the right to dislike what Peter does or doesn't do. Peter's right about one thing: Adam always has a story. The one he's about to tell just may be a little more truthful than any of his others. Even so, he needs a minute to build up to it, or maybe three. He wipes his hands against his pants, palms suddenly sweaty despite the wind.

"It's better for him this way. I got a glimpse... If we stayed together--" Swallowing a shuddering breath, he's not sure he can go on. The tears are starting to come fresh and twice as hard, and no matter what he does they just keep spilling. He clutches his chest when they start to hurt and squeezes his eyes shut tight; they could be acid against his skin for how they light his skin.

He'll do whatever Peter wants him do. At least while he's here he can't ruin his life, not when it's already ruined. He can have peace, just for one night and in this dream he can be human again. Adam can finally have some rest, knowing Peter hates him again.

Oh, no. Peter doesn't hate him. As he already said, it's never just that easy. Frustrated, pissed off, endlessly angry; yes. He's all those things. And maybe at one point in his life he hated Adam. But now, now he's far more removed and he's left with the shallow grooves of old emotions that he just wants to stop aching. Because after awhile they've all started to stack up, and all that's left is the pain.

"So you--" His voice starts off sharp, and he sighs, reminding himself that there's no particular reason he needs to insert his own attitude at the moment. Adam's tearing himself enough all on his own, Peter doesn't need to help. So he swallows, starts over again, searching for the right tone to take. And while it might be bordering on aggressive, he's trying to inject it almost parental disappointment, something he used to do to Nathan.

"So you just left sooner rather than later, you mean." Peter's well aware that he's dragging Adam through things he doesn't want to be, but he can't stop, because he's always wanted to know why everyone sought him out to be the human pincushion. Why did he have to have all the emotions if all everyone wanted to do, was make him hurt. "Because, what-- It wasn't worth doing for any reason other than your own?"

He can deal with disappointment; in fact, it was probably the one emotion he was most comfortable with on the entire spectrum, whether on the giving or receiving of it. Even so, it's not easy to take, not with the accusation bubbling just under Peter's voice.

"Please. Sit down." His own voice is broken apart, and he's still crying a little, but he's not bothering to wipe at his eyes anymore, and somehow with Peter towering over him he can't remember himself enough to answer the man's question.

Peter realizes only after Adam asks him to sit, that he's indeed still standing. He hadn't meant to use it as a ploy for some kind of unspoken dominance over the other man. He just so rarely sits down these days, that it's automatic to keep from doing so, practically unnatural to sit down. To take a break. If he wasn't on the move, he was sleeping; even the ambulance rides were getting difficult.

"Sorry." Dropping down into the sand, Peter crosses his legs beneath him, leaning slightly with an elbow on one of his knees. Even now it makes him feel out of sorts, and he pokes idly at the sand, feeling immensely on edge.

The relief is short-lived, but he's still grateful, though his heart pangs from that one simple word. Marriage had always been an escape for him; an escape from coping, an escape from loneliness. And so, at first, Peter's question hadn't made so much sense. Upon reanalysis and coupled with Peter's tone, he gets it. Even now, and even the wrong Peter thinks it's his fault. He thinks there's something wrong with him. However, if Peter had more self-respect in the first place, he wouldn't have helped Adam get out of Primatech, the first or second time.

Adam looks down at his sand-encrusted feet, the cool arm of the sea breeze wiping away his tears before more can fall. He owes Peter this; any Peter. "It tore you and your family apart. Like you fought Hiro for me, you would fight Claire." The words are barely understandable over the ruckus of the weather, the wet sobs of his own. "You would do anything."

That was the most unacceptable to Adam. He could manipulate anyone, and with the best, but when he got a glimpse of that blind faith caked in love eternal; it wasn't an option. Not anymore, not when he was undeniably attached. If Hiro kills him now, he'll welcome it. Though in true he always had - had always been waiting for the mercy of Hiro's blade. If there was an honorable way to die, it would be at the hands of the first man who tried to persuade him to be something more.

Peter will always, and forever more, believe there's something wrong with himself. Starting from the time he nearly took out New York, to the loss of Nathan, if there wasn't something wrong with him, then he'd undeniably be able to do more. Even Adam at one time in his life, told him they had to save Nathan because of what he'd done and Peter always took every word, every thought to heart, no matter how hard he tried not to. So how was he supposed to believe that if Adam left him, it wasn't also entirely his own fault.

But when he asked for an explanation, maybe he should have specified that he didn't want it to be about himself. He didn't want to hear about the reasoning behind his actions untangled, judged, laid out before him as if he needed to look. And the last thing he wants, is to hear that Adam did this out of some misled idea that it was to protect his feelings. Because he's terrified he might actually believe it and he's tired of lies.

Peter feels enough like an idiot on a regular basis because of his own emotions, he doesn't like the reminder from other people. Even from Claire it was hard to take, but from Adam it was a whole other ball game. The other man knew him far too well and it still got under his skin.

Right now, he can't look at Adam anymore, because he doesn't want to be read like a book. "My family does a good enough job tearing itself apart." Peter sounds suddenly bitter, though the emotion is strangely not directed towards Adam. Still poking at the sand, he's pulled far away. "And I don't need someone to start trying to protect my feelings."

With sudden conviction, Adam looks up, breathing louder than his words, "Someone has to." He's slowly getting himself back under control, though he hardly has confidence for it holding. He doesn't care if Peter never understands; he'd actually rather he didn't, but Adam has an equal capacity for love as he'd ever had for evil. Love keeps him going, it would always be there, silent but faithful life support.

There was nothing more he could say, not to get across what he needed to; not to satisfy Peter. He knows the Petrellis aren't the picture of support, he knows they hurt Peter more than even he can. It's easy enough to leave family behind, he would know better than anyone, but once they were gone--they were gone.

"What would have been better?" His hand buries itself in his own hair, back to asking the sand hard questions. "We were already... I couldn't. Not because I'm a noble man, but because I'm a coward. You know that better than anyone else, even Hiro Nakamura."

Going quiet again, he starts praying. Praying to wake up or praying to never; it's all the same in the end.

Quick to drop the subject of who gets to protect his feelings, Peter shakes his head, not wanting to go down that road. If someone was going to start doing it now, he had every doubt in his mind that it would be Adam. Not because he thought Adam incapable of love, but because Adam had dropkicked his feelings before. The same held true for Sylar. Or anyone else for that matter. He wasn't looking for it, any of it, and now that seemingly everyone wanted to offer him pity for the cards they'd in fact dealt to him in the first place, it all seemed just a little meaningless.

"Nothing would have been better." Peter's not sure exactly what he means; if Adam shouldn't have done anything to begin with, or if there's just no way to make something like this any simpler. Maybe he means both.

Rubbing at his eyes as he tries to attempt coherent thought, Peter shifts his weight, curling into himself slightly. Hard as he tries, this somehow still hurts more than it should and instead of ending up angry with Adam, he's still in favor of only directing it inward. Maybe because he's so uninterested in love himself right now, the concept ridiculous at best. It's just one more fresh reason to keep heading down the same road of solitude. "I don't know, Adam. Why'd you do it in the first place? It can't have been because you were actually interested."

His heart constricts and there's not a way to answer that without completely falling apart. He crawls closer to Peter, until he can see the other man's face--he needs him to know the truth, and see it reflected back at him.

"It would be easier for both of us if I weren't, if I could honestly sit here and say you weren't on my radar before that night." Adam shakes his head, throat tightening when he tries to speak again. "But I've lost the right to lie to you." Any version of you, he doesn't manage to say.

Hanging his head, he wipes his face with his sleeve, unable to take the proper breath to say anything more. If he had never found the community, he would be dead. Peter gave him another chance at life and he hadn't hesitated in betraying him again, in turning his back. 400 years of botches and failures and one might think Adam would learn. But a leopard can't change his spots.

And once again, Peter doesn't want to hear the answer to his own question. He doesn't need to hear the words to know what's coming, doesn't think he can take them even if he did. The 'but' is more than enough for him to know he was right when it came to his assumptions.

He can feel himself nearly splitting in two for a moment and then he pulls himself together to the best of his ability. Even though there's barely anything of him left to begin with, it's still harder to keep himself together than he wants it to be. Because the last thing in the world he ever thought he'd be was so simply was seduced. He'd been seduced with words so many times, though, why was it any different to have been seduced with care.

"Don't-- You don't have to say anything else." He hadn't expected it to be that much more painful to know that Adam would still use him at first opportunity, even when attraction was involved. But it takes him a moment to think through all of it and realize that it only made him an easier target. He had never thought like that, it just wasn't how he functioned, and every time he reminded himself that he should, he still always missed something. Considering he'd stopped looking at almost anyone with that particular kind of interest, it would make sense that would be the place it crept in.

Desperate to find a way to disconnect, to think that this isn't him, that he wouldn't do this to himself again, Peter's suddenly scrambling for words that might make him feel less ill. He knows that avoiding the topic makes it all the more obvious that he's hurting, but he just can't face it. Not anymore. There's no one left to save him but himself, and yet he still can't find his way, words an impossibility.

Edited 2011-05-20 07:15 (UTC)

And that was it, just like that. Peter was done with him, and it hurt more than all the words. Since speaking isn't expected anymore, he doesn't try, a truly pathetic sight as he keeps silently sniffling, tears gone as soon as they come. Things had hurt before, but never this much; never this sharp. Even Angelica's death hadn't been as hard on him. He had never hesitated to leave before, so what was this sudden second thought? Is it because of his stint in Hiro's coffin, or just because .. Peter. Peter was truly special; he would have stayed by Adam as long as he thought he was sincere. He hadn't stopped being useful in the least, but he had burned that bridge--twice now, and for what? To break both their hearts.

He had rarely given up on someone before they truly stopped being useful, or at least before he was bored. Here he was in unprecedented territory brought about by unprecedented circumstance. Was next wife to be Twelve? Or Eleven number II? Though in true, Adam surely doubts another marriage is what he needs. Not now, or even close to now. His personal prophecy had proven itself already; Number Eleven had saved him. Even if things were never as they seemed. 400 years and still learning new things. This lesson is much more humbling than most, and he finds himself learning to hate himself, more than anything.

In his, admittedly weak, defense - he had never had the opportunity to see the future, had never seen the world crumble at his leaving. Then again, he had never cared before, and he wasn't sure it would've changed anything. He should go, but Peter wouldn't let him kill himself; wouldn't do it himself. He supposed he would eventually wake up, but it seemed a shame to waste the time he had here. If he ever saw his Peter again, he was sure the man wouldn't hesitate.

Peter needs another few moments to work himself up to a state in which he feels like talking. Granted, that state is hard to come by on any given day, but during a moment like this? It takes at least a few extra long moments. And while he still feels wretched, eventually he lifts his face, watching the tide rolling in.

In a way, Peter's at crossroads, rather like he was with Sylar. He'd forgiven the man, as much as anyone could forgive someone for killing a person they loved, if only so he could move on. And after that, well, things just stopped making nearly as much sense. If he could forgive Sylar, he could forgive anyone. That didn't mean that it stopped hurting, or that he enjoyed it, or that he was alright with what had happened. But it was that, or give up completely. Peter had to learn a method of survival, even if it didn't rid himself of the pain, but he had to keep going.

Dragging his gaze sideways to Adam, he's still disappointed. Still upset, still hurt, still a thousand other things. But he's still not going anywhere, and Adam is still a person, a man -- still allowed to feel pain, just like him. "You gave it a try. Even if your intentions--" Were terrible and manipulative and asking for every problem imaginable. But Peter shrugs to mask the fact that he's bowled over by too many feelings to count. He's confused; there isn't a day that goes by that he isn't lonely, angry, lost. But he's trying, because for some reason he always can. "Look, it's more than I would have expected to begin with. And I don't even... hug people anymore, I should appreciate what I can get."

Adam had never stuck around because he had never wanted this: consequence. He had never truly had to pay; pay penance for his crimes. His stint underground could hardly be counted when it was more like a layer of Peter's deception. How could Peter still wear that guilty face? Still believe he was defective. He couldn't cope with being another person to perpetuate that feeling in him. "Peter..." It was another plea, and possibly more: permission to speak, even.

Peter's forgiveness feels like a sharp blow to his chest, and he had never been such a fan of pain, even the pain he could heal from. There was a piece missing of his heart, could it not regenerate? It was a lie, a joke, a charade; if he couldn't heal from the worst of all pain.

"You shouldn't expect-- that. No one should, but especially not...you." He levels Peter with his tearful gaze, unable to look away a moment longer. "Nothing I did should be appreciated. Nothing I did was the act of an honorable man. Just because your capacity for understanding is boundless. It doesn't mean you have to forgive me." He hadn't killed Peter's brother; he had even saved him once upon a time. But he had crushed Peter's hope, had taken everything from him he himself had loved. As far as he was concerned, that was much worse.

For as long as Adam stares at him, Peter stares back, gaze unblinking, stormy at best. He's trying his best to refuse to let Adam's watery eyes get to him, but at this point, he's starting to think it's next to impossible. Especially with the things Adam's saying, he's finding it harder to keep from falling apart right along with him. Peter has grown so used to throwing himself under the bus that he barely notices when he was doing it anymore. Even his own future self had used him, it wasn't just figurative how much he didn't care about his feelings.

Eyebrows raised, Peter can only look at Adam as if everything he's saying he already knows. It's not as if this is news to him, some sort of revelation. Adam's choosing the obviously logical way of thought and Peter isn't; feelings are never logical, and Peter's ruled by it. Or maybe he's simply grown to dislike himself more than he even knew. Peter already lost his brother, so why can't he just go ahead and loose himself. "I know it doesn't."

But he doesn't want to spend another eternity struggling with anger. It takes too many energy, it hurts too much; he just wants to be done with it. And the very last thing of all that he wants is pity from Adam for the things that he'd done. He didn't need to be saved from himself, and the concept only makes him feel worse. "And I don't know if I do. At least not yet, but I can't-- I don't hate you. Okay? And don't tell me that I should because you-- You can find somebody else to hate you. Or that I shouldn't expect exactly what I get every time." His voice breaks before he can stop it, and he doesn't know where to look anymore, "I just... I don't know anymore."

He can't help the tiny echo of victory in his head, only fueling his own self-hatred. But Peter's had always been greater, had to be for what he'd done for Adam; how easily he'd trusted, how easily he'd been led. It had been why he'd chosen Peter, that beautifully blind optimism. And even now, at the edge of their world, he would even entertain to forgive the one man who put them here. It was near unfathomable.

"All my life, Peter... I've used people. Frequently, after they'd used me. I don't stick around for the aftermath--not that I had the opportunity, in your case." He means the Peter before him, not the one weighing on his heart. He was right about one thing: he didn't have to tear Adam apart. He only had to look at him just that way. "But when I saw? What I'd done." He can barely force the choked breath out to continue. He had guilt, always had. But this may be the first and last chance anyone will ever have to see him act on it.

"I couldn't wake up next to him, every day, knowing. I don't know how to be brave like you--I don't know how to stand something like that."

"Because you force yourself to." Peter's gaze snaps back to Adam, his expression finally broken.

"I was stuck with Sylar for years. And I didn't want to be, I didn't have a choice. I didn't get to take the easy way out. I didn't know how. Just like loosing Nathan wasn't a choice. Or almost exploding in New York. None of it." He doesn't know where the rest of himself is, because everything except the sound of his voice has gone numb. If his fists are clenched, or if his heart has started to pound -- he doesn't know. It's all gone, pulled into some abysmal wave of frustration and misery and all the things he doesn't know. And once again, it's not even completely directed at Adam. It just exists, it's there, and Peter hates that he's even letting part of it froth to the surface.

It could almost be said that Peter's jealous. Not of the things that Adam's done, but because he gets to leave while Peter has to stay. He's run out of options, he's at the end of the line, and he hates that there's nothing left to do but let the emotions pile up. "You- You've always had the choice. Everyone else makes my choices for me. All I ever wanted was to be something. To feel like I had a purpose. That's how I stand it, because I don't have anything else."

Adam doesn't know what to say to that; doesn't think the words exist. But Peter was right, and that's becoming a theme. Sticking around was how to be someone, it seemed. That would explain why Adam couldn't ever accomplish it, despite his best efforts. Admittedly miniscule compared to the things Peter had done in his comparatively short life. "Maybe life doesn't have a purpose. It's only pain .. and healing." It was certainly all Adam had known it to be.

As frustrated as he was with Adam, Peter still wished that his faith, his trust in Adam had never been misplaced to begin with. That Adam was different. And maybe that was for his own good; he was tired of being on the receiving end of Adam's manipulations. But Hiro had already tried that, and Adam was the one responsible for his life, not Peter, and not Hiro. That didn't change the way he felt though, because when he got down to the core of it, Peter still wanted to keep all the good parts of Adam close to him. He just didn't know if those were a lie too.

"Wasn't it, a week ago? Two? I don't know-- But you told me it wasn't hopeless." Even if he'd been the one that had said it, in a roundabout kind of way, it had still been Adam who'd tried to remind him. And now he was returning the favor, or at least trying to. "You believed it when you said it."

Time didn't matter in this place, but he couldn't help being touched by Peter's effort. Even now, when he'd lost everything, when he'd been forced to forgive his brother's murderer--he would give Adam a pep talk. It meant more than words could say. Though, this whole encounter transcended words. Every assignment and application of them only cheapened the experience, but he couldn't help it. Where there was Peter, he would be.

"You're a beacon of hope, Peter. Even now, you--" He almost seems to smile before glancing back to the increasingly angry ocean. "You give me hope, when I deserve to have it ripped from me."

Feeling immeasurably exhausted, Peter leans back slightly, placing his weight behind him on the palms of his hands. Whenever things got too much, even for him, Peter looked back and forced himself to remember what Nathan had said to him. That he's always been everything that's good in the world. And granted, he didn't believe it every day. He couldn't. Not when he felt that he barely made an impact, that he'd done more wrong than right. But Nathan had believed in him, Nathan had believed that he still had enough good left in him to keep going, to keep doing. If there was one thing he had to live up to, it was that, even if the memory alone hurt more than he could take.

Looking off somewhere else, Peter swallows everything back, his expression softening back through grief. "I have to try." Nathan's words were his own to keep though; an exchange between his brother that he would never share. But he could pass along the mentality and use the words to remember there was a time where he'd found it so much easier to find the good in other people, too.

"Yes, you do." It was why he was all that he was to Adam. He knew he would never let that go, that Peter would always be with him no matter how much it hurt. He knows, too, that he'll always be with Peter and the best he can do is hope vainly he hasn't left an entirely bad impression. Even before his latest great betrayal, he had some good memories with Peter--had shared things with him he'd never considered sharing with anyone else. And though, at the time, it had been an easy enough ploy to have Peter falling back into his arms; the ultimate test of trust, it had ended on a much different note. He knows to himself he could've shared much less to achieve the same result. It hadn't mattered though, because Peter had been the first friendly ear in his most current lifetime, maybe even two back.

As cavalier as he played it off, he trusted Peter as steadfastly as the empath had trusted him. And though he can see it clear on this Peter's face, it's his own breakage he feels, his own failure ripping him to shreds. If he had destroyed his own chance--his only chance--to have forever love and to forever love, then Peter was right about one thing: he would have to make it as worthwhile as it was soul-shattering.

"No one will ever measure up, Peter. And I'm not sure I want them to." He goes quiet, the neverending fountain of tears he'd become ending on that decisive note. "There won't be a 12, but as long as I know.. As long as Peter Petrelli and Adam Monroe exist in the same world, I won't give up either. I can't."

Perhaps he wouldn't do with his life what Peter would want, and he knows he certainly can't hold the illusion of doing him proud, but as long as he soldiers on he still has a chance. And maybe that can be enough, for now.

He's not entirely sure whether or not Adam's words are going to end up making him burst into tears, or if he's going to eventually end up smiling. But there's no way he can drag himself back to the land of stoic neutrality, not anymore. Maybe when he's forced to wake up again he'll be able to do so, but right now he's wavering on the edge of too many emotions, too many thoughts hanging like a fog in his mind and he has to wait for the dust to settle before he can think clearly again.

Eventually he manages to tug himself back, to look over Adam, his chest aching even though he doesn't know why. "I'm not going anywhere." There's no bitterness or anger left in his tone, only some form of quiet resolution. And maybe for a brief twitch of a moment, a flicker of a smile reaches his features. "At least here, you're stuck with me."

For a moment, Peter considers the benefits of telling Adam to give his other self some time. Which should be easy, considering he and Adam both have immeasurable quantities of it. But Adam knows him well enough already to know that to be the case. In fact, out of everyone, Peter would have to say that Adam might be one of the few who knows him best of all.

Again, he considers going quiet. Letting the rest of his words, his thoughts, dwindle to silence like he always lets them when they're too hard to let go of. Staring out back at the ocean, it would be easy enough to let the moment split back into solitude with the lines drawn in the sand between them. But he can't, because this is as much of a part of him as it is a part of them. "I missed you- your company, I mean." He pauses for a moment, stopping just short of running a sandy hand through his hair. "But I missed you too. Even after... I missed it. I was stuck with you there for four months, and whether or not any of it was real, doesn't matter- didn't matter. I still wished I had you, what we had, back." And still he doesn't sound sad. Forlorn, maybe, but entirely honest. It's just a fact, an admittance, something he still feels like Adam should know. That even he, though they'd never shared a physical connection, still found humanity in Adam through friendship, at the very least.

He finds himself choking up for a whole new reason, leaning out of the wind and into those beautiful words. Ones without blame or loss, but only expressing what and who they are to each other; what they'll always be. He mirrors Peter with his own fleeting smile, trying to keep his heart from exploding. That would be a difficult one to regenerate, and he wonders, would his new heart feel the same?

"I wished it too," he sounds almost hoarse, run ragged by his paradisal dream gone awry. "Underground." He had found a true companion in Peter, before any of the physical. Only an empath could find sympathy for a cowardly psychopath. He concludes, a new heart would still be his heart, and Peter had unknowingly touched every fibre of his being.

He allows himself a few minutes so he won't start blubbering all over again, even going so far as pulling a deep breath into his chest. Adam finds himself switching his plea, if only to stay here a few moments longer. Watching Peter so earnestly give his testimonial, even after all he'd been through made everything worth it somehow. It wasn't often he'd been given the opportunity in his long life to make another person happy, and when it arose he often would fail. But for all his selfishness, and perhaps it wasn't so far removed from the urge, he couldn't help but want it--for another person to find his presence so warm, so comforting as to actually be moved just by his existence.

"I don't mind so much, being stuck with you," he says after a beat, adding it retroactively as if it hadn't been unspoken enough.

Peter's smiling a little more, even while he's staring out the crashing waves of the sea. And maybe if he was more prone to laughing, he would. After all the words that they've shared in this moment out of time, which amount to a handful in number but a universe full when it comes to emotion, those seemed like the very last few he was prone to hear any time soon. There are so many what-if's, and so many things he should expect, and so many ways he should still be angry, but if he let himself, he'd be consumed by it. He'd no longer be a person, and he'd no longer be Peter.

Eventually he looks back to Adam, his expression the warmest it's been since the other man seemingly summoned him here out of the unconscious. There are times when he dreams, that all he can't wake up soon enough. Abysmal dreams hurt far more than the reality he's left behind, and it's all he can do to suffer through another second. And while this dream might have started off that way, Peter's fairly certain he wouldn't mind falling out of time once again to spend a few more days in this one.

Peter comes up with the only words he has, voice tinged with forgiveness. "Neither do I."

Closing his eyes for only a beat, he can't help the wave of peace he feels sweep over, lips twitching just a little. It's like an elephant had been sitting on his chest, and Peter had shoved it off; he couldn't be more eternally grateful. He knows nothing's all gone away, but if Peter can accept him on this beach in this dream, maybe there really is hope yet. He owes it to him to at least try and believe. Leaning a little closer, he has to ask, knowing their time is running thin, "You won't leave?"

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