Chapter Twelve: The Smoke

This, Adam thought, as he watched his children crying over their mother, is ridiculous.

He was devastated, no doubt and of course. He carried his own sadness and guilt for surviving while he saw Clarisse fall to her knees in tears with her boyfriend (whatever his name was) trying every word in the dictionary to comfort her. He saw his youngest son, Luke act like a blubbering baby as they saw Kate's lifeless body and came to realize that never, never would she be coming back. What ever they were feeling, he was feeling ten-fold. After all, she was his wife, or almost-wife. He had loved her like any man to a woman.

It was a strange feeling to Adam, but a very familiar one. He could hardly keep himself from crying, and when he did stop, it started all over again. Then, came the reality. The reality was terrible. It was the worst thing in the world. It was the fact that he was getting used to this type of mourning.

She had been number twelve, and even countless times before her death, he made excuses to say that she was more than a number. They were in love with each other, and cared for each other, and did whatever they could to make each other smile with carrot cakes and laugh with little jokes. She had always supported him no matter what, even if she knew he was wrong, in all of his trials and political adventures. He didn't quite know why, but he blamed it on the power of love and devotion, and tried his best to return the favor with tolerating her obsessions with how the house should look and with having a happy family. He never wanted the kids.

Speaking of them, are they still here? They haven't moved from their spots of mourning for the past half hour. He himself was situated, crying quietly to himself in the corner, although his thoughts continued to be cruel. He never did like children, and although at times they were worth it for practical purposes, this set of kids were especially spoiled. They were little brats, always wanting this and that. Mei was never like that, was she? Mei was always mature and respectable and always did what you asked. Clarisse and Luke wouldn't do anything unless you threatened them. Thank goodness the others were adults now, he'd never have to do anything with them again.

Now that Kate was dead... Well, now Kate was dead. She's gone. Dead, he tried on for size, and looked upon her body. He had seen it coming, of course. They all died sooner or later. They were all mortal, and he reminded himself of this time and time again.

But, she wasn't supposed to die yet. It had been thirty years since Adam was single, and the point was to pick someone young, so that he wouldn't have to go through this devastation stage so often. She was supposed to live for sixty more years, or longer if technology permitted her. Adam wasn't ready for her to die yet. It wasn't her time. She was still so young. Forty-eight years? Why did she have to go now? Why did she have to die? It was his fault, wasn't it? He had been distracting her, if he wasn't such a goddamn idiot and wasn't singing techno, then perhaps she might have lived. How ironic it was that although they put up with all this Kenshi business, she dies by car accident? It definitely wasn't a conspiracy.

God, God, God! Why was I being so stupid?

It was the smell that reminded him of the inevitable. Not the smell of her, it had only been an hour or so after her death. It was the smell, the intoxicating smell of the whole goddamn hospital. Why bring her to a hospital at all? She was already dead by the time she hit the ground, Adam guessed, or hoped rather, as a quick and painless death would be the best one anyone could wish for, as they said. The smell of the hospital. It smelt like clean-- no, sterile things. It didn't smell like death as he knew it, not by definition, like rotting flesh. It smelt... like a hospital. That was enough to describe the horror of it, the way it made Adam's stomach churn and his neck sweat. He hated hospitals. The smell, the look, the paint, the beds, the machines, the people, the point. Hospitals, simply, did not apply to him, and so he hated them. He needed to get out of there.

He rose from his chair.

"I--" he started, but his throat was caught for a moment. His children, Clarisse and Luke, looked upon him with big eyes, and he was surprised at himself that he did feel sorry for them at that moment. He continued on. "I...I'll be needing a m-minute," he said. "A-alone."

They nodded, turning back to their mourning and thinking that they understood. Adam looked them over woefully for a final time, a few seconds before he left the room.

The winter air was fresh compared to inside, though still chilly as it had been all night. The sky was showing faint signs of the morning, but it was still dark enough. Adam stuck his hands in his armpits and rubbed himself together.

Then, he broke down, again.

Couldn't I have just watched the snow with her? If she had to die, then let it be, but if only I wasn't so selfish. If only-- His thoughts wobbled with his face and throat, which were choked with tears. God, he needed to stop. He needed something.

"Smoke?"

To his right, a man was offering him a cigarette from the box, while the stranger himself was shivering and smoking to the sky.

Exactly. God, he hadn't had a smoke in ages. "Th-thank you," he spoke hoarsely, and took one gratefully.

"Mr. Allen, no!"

Adam had enough sense to question why Gareth, following close behind him, would say such a thing, but once her looked, he was gone.

Gone was the hospital parking lot. Gone was the freezing winter air. It was instead replaced with concrete walls. They looked all too familiar.

He suddenly was slammed against one of the concrete walls, and he wriggled uncomfortably to crack his bones back in place. The invisible force held him in place as he snorted and growled, "Fuck, Peter. This really isn't the best time."

Peter put the box of cigarettes in his pocket and threw his coat onto a peg on the wall. "Who says everything has to be on your schedule, Adam?"

He sat himself in a black chair, one of four scattered in one half of the bare concrete room. In the other three black chairs, there was two men and a woman, who all stared at him with blank looks. He didn't recognize them, but could only guess who they were. Since Year Zero, only three mimics (excluding Peter Petrelli) escaped the Empathy Extermination, which was done for the people's own good, of course. To prevent things like this happening.

"Sit," said Peter. He dropped his hand, dropping his hold of Adam and pointed to a single white deskchair in the middle of the room.

Adam swallowed. He looked at the deskchair. "I'd rather--"

"Sit," Peter said in a louder voice, and Adam felt his muscles move on their own, lowering himself down into the seat.

"Know why you're here, Adam?" he asked.

Adam blinked a few times wildly. He found he couldn't move, although it was not clear if it was by his own surprise or Petrelli's ability. How could this be happening all of the sudden? How could this be happening now? This was a dream. It had to be a dream, didn't it? If he was lucky, Kate dying was a dream as well. Never, never would this happen. This wasn't the way he was going to die. At least, not now.

"Adam, you are going to be dead before you leave here," Peter started with some interest. "You know, I have had fun, looking through your past for an appropriate cause for your death. Murderers of eight billion people just don't get shot. You've got a really, very interesting past, Adam."

What? If Peter had been through his past, then through most things he had ever done, Peter was there to see it. Adam found that quite unbelievable, but as he found himself without the ability to speak for whatever reason, he wondered what he finally decided on.

"Believe what you want," he laughed. "I finally decided on what I believe to be the best solution. I'm not going to kill you, and neither are any of my colleagues here." The other mimics had been watching with interest, and looked intensely at Adam.

Peter withdrew a gun from his side and placed it tenderly on the desk in front of Adam.

"You are going to kill yourself," he said.

A/N: Merry Christmas, all! Yeah, I don't give anything for being politically correct. Hey, if some Jewish guy wants to wish me a Happy Hanukkah, yeah man, same to you! I'm just real cheery, and you should be too! Relax, take a breather. It's Christmas. Be happy.

And a nice Christmas present I give to you, the first (well, second) written in Adam's point of view. Let me say this was way too easy to write. It was weird. Anyways, Happy Holiday! Perhaps I shall update early tomorrow. Hm...