The Creation Of

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/47014279.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: Gen, Other
Fandom: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Character: Adam Warlock, Ayesha (Guardians of the Galaxy), The High
Evolutionary (Marvel), Rocket Raccoon, Nebula (Marvel), Peter Quill,
Drax the Destroyer, Mantis (Marvel), Groot (Marvel)
Additional Tags: poor little meow meows, Found Family, Learning how to exist, Canon
Compliant, possible future spoilers for gotgv3, possible extensive
trauma, who's to say what direction I'm taking this fic
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-05-07 Words: 5,813 Chapters: 1/?

The Creation Of
by thealternateuncanny

Summary

A character exploration of the life of the MCU's Adam Warlock. What happens when the
supposedly flawless creation is far from perfect?

Notes

Content warnings: (updated whenever necessary as I continue this work)

Currently none apply that I can think of.

See the end of the work for more notes

He is ripped from the warmth of his cocoon.

All around him there had been a comforting weight, enveloping his body. Pressure on his limbs,
his chest. Constant. Soothing. There was nothing but peace and the sound of the makers outside,
speaking muffled by the substance engulfing him. He could make out what they said. It's how he
started to learn the language. But nothing was harsh, and his senses were far from intense. He
spent all his days growing.

When the pod opened, and a harsh hand had dug within, he was exposed for the very first time.
Cold. It made him wince involuntarily. The air was sharp as his lungs inhaled his first unwelcome
gulp of air, and it stung. The light was blinding. The sounds piercing, no longer blocked out by the
things that used to hold him. He attempts to sink his body to the back of the pod, to cling on to the
warm. He moves his hands to cover his face, to block out everything.

"Sire, what are you..." a familiar voice speaks with a certain level of alarm. A woman, all gold,
approaches with wonder in her eyes, peering in at him. The woman bites her tongue.

A man pulls him by the arms away from the warmth. He makes a defiant sound, attempting to stay
in the cocoon, but the man pulls him out regardless. Steadies him on his feet when he stumbles his
first two steps, barely managing to stay upright. Gravity feels heavy. The man who had pulled him
out stands before him and puts his hands onto him, observing all his skin for blemishes. There are
none, of course. He had been designed to be without flaw.

Breathing does not come easy- not out of any form of pain, but out of strangeness. Air is like
foreign matter, a sensation he's never felt. His vision blurs as his eyes well up with tears that never
fall.

"Oh, my baby..." the woman says, walking toward him and putting a hand on his face. "My
Adam..." He leans into the touch. Warm. Everything else is cold. The man interferes with their
touch, continue to examine his body. The musculature of his torso, his arms. The lines on the palm
of his hand. Everything was as it was intended. The man opens and closes his fingers into a fist
versus a flexed hand, testing his mobility.

"Can you speak for us, boy?" The man asks, more of a command than a request. He doesn't. His
eyes look back in fear. The man frowns and begins to fumble with something attached to his head-

"He can. Sire - stop, please and give him a moment."

"He isn't speaking."

"There's nothing wrong with him. He can speak. He just isn't at this time," the woman says plainly.

"Why not?"

"He's frightened. Shocked. He wasn't finished incubating," the woman says to the man runs his
hand over the lymph nodes in his neck.

"He looks grown to me," the man states. The man pulls open his lower jaw to look into his mouth;
he closes his jaw in response. "Ah- no. Let me see," the man scolds, as the woman insistently keeps
speaking.

"He isn't. His body is only barely matured, and his mind...he was meant to have more time. Though
I suppose it's too late now to let him incubate longer..." then she says to him, "Behave. Do as he
says," the woman adds.

The man repeats himself, hand ready to force his jaw open. "Open your mouth?" And he does. "He
can understand us perfectly fine."

"Yes, of course," she responds. "Sovereign children are conscious in their pod for long enough to
being acquiring language for quite some time."

"He cooked long enough to do this. To form properly...acquire language...he is clearly complete
enough to not be a total failure. Must we start from scratch, or will this do?" The man asks.

The woman looks surprised. "Start from...scratch?"

"Only if necessary of course. He appears to be in good health. He should be fine to proceed as

intended. Wouldn't you agree?" The man asks.

"Yes. He'll be perfect as he was designed to be," the woman states plainly.

"Yes. Alright. Then I suppose this will have to do," the man says. "Your people will be needing
your Warlock. Do you not agree?"

"Yes."

"We should begin his training straight away. Come, boy-"

"Right now?" She asks, and her expression softens to one of pity when Adam makes eye contact
with her.

"Yes. He is in peak health. I would say he is ready," the man says simply.

"No, he isn't," she says quietly, approaching him close to rest her hands on him once more,
observing him closely with her own eyes now as he speaks with the other man in his defense. "He
is not fully adult yet, sire. He is not ready. And he was only just born...he needs time to learn how
to be alive before we could expect him to fight. Adam, darling..." He leans so he's pressed against
her. Warm. She holds him upright as he is unstable on his feet. "He has never spoken or walked.
Leave him with us to meet those needs first. He will be of no use until then."

"I see," the man says, a frown in his voice. "See to it that he's handled. We need him to be strong."

"He will be," she assures him. "With time. He is a child. He will age and he will be ready to do all
that we made him to. Until then, there are several first steps to be taken."

"Then I will leave you to deal with this," the man says in a strange sort of tone. And with that, he
must have left.

The golden woman stands still with him, arms supporting his weight partly as he
leans into her skin and her clothing. His arms are hanging loosely at his sides, until he hesitantly
moves them around her to press his body closer. His body is tense and uneasy.

"My dear one," she says, still lightly holding her son for the first time. "I have been waiting for the
day that I got to see you take your first breath," she says in a voice filled with awe. "You were a
dream." He clings onto her still, tightly- a sort of improper gesture to the Sovereign- but she obliges
given the circumstances. "What an affectionate one you turned out to be...are you cold, darling?
Sire caught you by surprise, pulling you out, and you're cold? Is that why you aren't well?" She
asks, and he manages a nod. She laughs quietly with some amusement.

He makes a miserable noise in response, swaying his weight a bit with a lack of balance. "Sit here,
darling," she commands in a caring yet stern tone.

She moves him a few steps backwards and kneels to help him sit on the floor of his cocoon.

"I remember when I was born, how much I wanted to be back in the pod...it was so warm, right?"

"Warm," he says his first word.

"Yes, very good..."

He curls up on himself, holding his knees to his chest, trying to push himself back into the cocoon
like he had been before. The woman leaves him there just to retrieve a large blanket from a shelf.
She wraps it around him and his uneasy feeling calms itself, as his body stops shivering. He presses
his face into the soft fabric and sighs.

"You have nothing to worry about," she soothes. "The Maker seemed pleased enough with
you...and as for the cold of the outside world, it is something you will become accustomed to very
quickly."

He kicks around under his new cover, pulling it tighter around himself.

"That's better, yes?" She asks.

"Yes." He speaks again. He watches her every move, learning.

"Adam, dear," the woman speaks gently. "I'm your mother."

"Mother," he repeats quietly.

"That's right. And your name is Adam...can you say Adam?"

"Adam," he says.

"Well done, dear," she says. "Are you feeling any better?"

He curls up even more tightly around himself, blanket pulled all around him like he's been trapped
or restrained. He doesn't have anything to say to that.

"Let's get you clean and fed. Right, darling?"

He still doesn't speak, but she lifts him into her arms with relative ease and begins to carry him out
of the room and down a hall. His mother is slender but very strong - golden and stern, and there is a
glimmer of rage in every word she speaks. But he leans into her touch as she carries him off.

Movement is relatively new to him, too...the strange awareness he has over his nervous system. His
skin. All the things his body is able to touch now: manmade materials and the slight chill in the air,
regulating the temperature of the building.

He watches the golden walls and ceilings pass him by - the lovely light fixtures. The way they
seem to peer down from the top of the room, always watchful. Some fixtures are molded metals,
made to resemble plant life. Others are harsher, more geometric in nature. His mind takes in all the
information he can.

His mother brings him into a large room with a large washing tub, and several golden servants,
other Sovereign people, who swarm him with amazement. He has never seen so many people
before.

"Adam," one says. "You're here early, dear."

"The High Evolutionary wished him to be removed from his pod," his mother says in a plain voice.

"So soon?"

"Welcome to the world," another Sovereign tells Adam.

"Adam, you say thank you," his mother tells him.

"Thank you," Adam says. The Sovereign giggle and coo in amuseument.
"Please help my son to wash, and bring him clothes," his mother says.

"Of course."

His face peers up at them from under his covering, curious. "Oh, Ayesha, he's beautiful!" One
Sovereign states, and his mother hands him off to the other people.

"I know," she says, and with that his mother leaves. His eyes follow her out and he makes a
confused sound when she leaves.

"Don't worry. Your mother will be back soon," one Sovereign tells him. It seems to ease his
concerns.

He continues to clutch his blanket all around himself as the Sovereign peer at him.

"We didn't know to expect you yet," one Sovereign states as though speaking to a young child. "It's
lucky we started making your wardrobe so far in advance."

"What did you call Mother?" He asks.

"Ayesha," one Sovereign says. "It's her name."

"She's mother," he says.

"To you," the Sovereign clarifies. "She's your mother."

"Oh."

"He's precious," one Sovereign mutters to another.

"Let's clean you up, dear." And a Sovereign attempts to pull his blanket from him. He resists,
holding on tighter.

"Adam, let go of the blanket," one Sovereign says in a gentle tone. He shakes his head no.

"Are you cold?" He nods. "The water is warm, too. I promise. Feel it? Give me your hand, I'll show
you..." She places her hand over where presumably his is within the blankets, and he frees his hand
for her. She leads his hand out of the cover and leads it into a large, luxurious bathing basin to feel
the water within.

"Warm," he responds, gliding his hand through the water, astonished by the texture, the look of the
clear substance.

"That's right. Let's get you in there so you can be clean."

The Sovereign help him sink into the water of the tub, and his body instantly relaxes as he reclines
in it. He sighs quietly. A Sovereign servant puts her hands on his face, his hair, beginning to clean
him of the contents of the cocoon. He closes his eyes and enjoys the feel of hands gently running
through his hair. Soft. Nice.

"Thank you," Adam says.

"Very good. Very polite already..."

"Polite," he repeats.
"Good manners, dear."

"Oh."

When he is done being washed, they let him stay for a minute, standing and waiting patiently.

"This is water?" He confirms to the others bathing him.

"Yes."

"And this is cleaning?" He asks then.

"Yes, we're cleaning you," another Sovereign explains, modeling the language for him. "You're
being cleaned."

"It's nice."

"It is, isn't it?" One woman says with a smile, running her hand across his hand. "This is a lovely
time for you, learning all the things you've never seen before..."

"You're clean now. Shall we get you out of there?"

"No," he states.

"...we can let you stay for a moment," one Sovereign says, "while we retrieve your clothes."

"Thank you," he replies.

He sinks himself nearly entirely submerged in his bathtub, soaking in the feeling of being warm
and held in his cocoon once more. He's up to his chin. Hands pull his head up from slipping any
further under the water-

"Adam, keep your head above the water, please."

"Why?" He asks.

"You need air to breathe."

"Breathe," he states. "How do I do that?"

"You do it automatically all the time. It's your lungs expanding," one Sovereign says, "Bringing the
air into your body. Feel this?" She puts his hand onto his chest. He tries to observe the thing she's
talking about.

"It's the air," he says, "not the beating."

"Yes. The beating is your heart," she replies.

"Poor thing," one Sovereign whispers to another, "He's not meant to be out yet."

His eyes narrow, though. "...I can't breathe, now" he says with a frown. "I can't do it without trying
to."

"That's because you're thinking too much about it...you're breathing voluntarily," the Sovereign
responds. "It will be involuntary again soon. Try not to think about it too much."

"I need to think about it to breathe," he says, with mild alarm. "Otherwise I won't breathe at all."
"No. That's okay, Adam. You're okay."

"How about we help you out of the tub?"

"No. It's warm," he protests.

"The water is growing colder by now."

"Why?" He asks.

"Water does not tend to stay warm without a source..." that's all the Sovereign says to explaib it.
"Your clothing will keep you warm to stay. We can dress you in clothing so you feel less exposed."

"Come, Adam," one Sovereign says in a soothing tone. "Let's get you out of there so you can see
your mother."

He obliges. Soon, half a dozen hands help him out of the bath and onto his feet on the ground.
They help to towel him down and a Sovereign comes around with clothing to dress him.

"Thank you," he tells them again.

He watches in his reflection in a mirror as one Sovereign buttons up a white shirt from the front; he
moves his hands to another button and attempts to replicate the behavior.

"Very good, Adam," the dressing Sovereign says, and lets him try a button. He fumbles with it for
a moment, and the dressing Sovereign helps him complete the act.

He smooths his hands over the different textures of his clothing - admires how they sit just right on
every part of his body. The fabric goes from soft to smooth to a sort of luxurious silky material and
he is enamored with the way his fingertips glide across it. The raised parts where the fabric is
stitched at the seams. The way some parts hug his body closely, and others flow neatly. One
Sovereign laughs fondly at witnessing him explore the sensations of the fabric.

"He's a curious one," one Sovereign observes.

His mother Ayesha waits to walk him out of the room and down the hall, putting her hands onto his
hand and his forearm, reassuring look in her eyes.

"We're going to take a walk to the dining room, and you're going to eat. Alright?"

"Walk."

"Yes. You move one foot at a time...I'll do it with you. See?"

Ayesha walks in slow and careful steps holding onto him; he is wobbly at first, but soon walks with
a bit of confidence, matching her stride. Left foot, right foot. He's getting the hang of it.

He smiles suddenly, very proud of himself. "Walking is easy."

"Yes, it is. You'll be doing much of it," Ayesha tells him. "This is how we get around."

"Around to where?"

"Everywhere," she says, "everywhere we can walk rather than use our ships, anyways."

"Ships," he states.
"You'll see, sometime. I'll show you everything eventually."

They go down the hall and into a grand dining room together, with piles of food and a glorious
dining table with golden seating.

"What is this place?" He asks, amazed by the sights.

"The dining room," Ayesha replies.

"What's that?"

"The place where we go when we feel hungry," she says.

"What is hungry?"

"Do you feel an ache, here?" She puts her hand onto his abdomen.

"Below breathing?" He asks.

"Yes." She's almost surprised by the way he asks questions.

He thinks about it, hand over his abdomen still. "Yes," he says. "I feel...weary."

"You're hungry."

"Is it because I'm thinking about it too much?" He asks with a frown.

"No. Your stomach is empty," she says, not questioning where he got that idea from. "You need
something to sustain you, and to make you well again. Less weary. More ready to face the world,"
she attempts to explain. "We go to the dining room to eat. To not be hungry anymore."

"Okay."

A Sovereign pulls out a seat for him and he sits; another does the same for Ayesha and she sits
across from him.

"Thank you," he tells her.

"Enjoy your meal, Adam. Ayesha," the Sovereign states, with a nod like a bow and Ayesha models
for Adam how to use utensils, how big of a bite to eat at a time.

"...mother?" He attempts to ask.

"Yes?"

"Where did the clothes come from? They are very nice-"

"We do not have conversation at dinner, Adam," Ayesha corrects him, "It isn't the Sovereign way.
You may talk about eating, as you have never done it before...but we will save conversation for
later."

"...oh. I see." He takes a beat and just looks confused for a moment. "Why?"

"Because it is not polite to eat with your mouth full."

"But I'm not eating."

"You will be."

"...I've never eated before."

"Eaten," she corrects him. "You have never eaten before."

"How do I do it?"

"I'm getting to that. Be patient, child-"

"What is patient?"

"...willing to wait and listen to what you're told," she says. She observes him for a moment.
"Though your speaking is improving, I can see. You are doing wwll in producing original
sentences."

"Thank you," he responds quietly. He looks a bit overwhelmed at the table in front of him.

Ayesha looks sympathetic. "This is all different types of food. Sovereign meals meant to help you
feel strong, full...you use the knife to help cut things into smaller pieces, and you use the fork for
lifting the food up to your mouth to chew it."

"Oh," he says, still not convinced.

He is puzzled by food - by the grainy texture of some of the sides, by the stringy vegetation and the
tendernes of some parts of the meat, the fat and toughness of other parts. He is not hesitant to bite
into things, but he is hesitant to swallow his first mouthful of food.

"Adam, you need to do more than just chew the food," his mother tells him. "You have to swallow
it. With your throat?"

He speaks with his mouth full, "The throat is where my air goes to breathe."

"Adam, that's impolite to-" she stops herself from scolding his manners for a moment. "-No...your
body has more than one system of organs. Your body should know the difference between
breathing in air and swallowing food and drink," she explains. "Try it."

He doesn't feel it's been explained thoroughly enough for him, but he tries his best and manages to
succeed. His eyebrows narrow at the sensation, putting his hand to his throat, trying to feel for how
it worked.

"And how does my body know not to breathe food?" He says.

"You would choke if you did," she states. "It's a different process. You need to not inhale food or
drink, is all."

"Drink is this?" He points to the cup.

"Yes."

He looks into the cup. "Drink looks like water from cleaning."

"It is water."

"We eat water?"

"Drink," she says. "We drink water."

"Why?"

"Because we need it to be alive," she says. "You drink the same way you eat. Try it."

He ungracefully spills a bit of water on himself in attempting to drink from a cup.

"Careful," she says. "Steady hands as you pour, as you sip...it's not polite to spill or make a mess."

"I'm sorry."

"You're learning," she states.

There's a long pause and he holds up his fork, with a piece of meat on it.

"I like this," he says.

"We do not need to make unnecessary conversation at mealtime," she repeats herself. "Particularly
not about the food."

"You said I'm allowed to talk about food," he says.

"Not the quality of it. I find it to be rude."

"But it's true," he says. "I enjoy it. I don’t understand. How is that rude?"

"Because if you did not like the food, and you ate it and said you did not like it, that would be
rude."

"Is there food not to be enjoyed?" He asks.

"Perhaps."

"When else am I meant to say if I like or do not like something, though?"

"When you are finished eating," she says.

He frowns. "What else do we do after eating? Do we clean again?" He asks.

"Not tonight, you don't."

"So when do we clean?"

"When you need to be clean," she states.

"I liked that," he says. "It was warm. The water? It felt nice. It felt like before." There's a beat of
silence as they continue their meal. "Everyone says I was born too soon," he says. "Why?"

"Because you were born too soon," she replies.

"Why?"

"Because the High Evolutionary demanded it."

"Who is that?"
"Our Maker. He took you from your cocoon."

"Why?"

"Because you were made with a purpose that he wants you to fulfill."

"What purpose?"

"You have so much more to learn, before we can start to fulfill our goals," she states, "such as
learning when it's appropriate to speak. I'll repeat myself again, that I do not find it right that you
should keep bothering me in the dining room during mealtime."

"I have questions."

"Sure. But some of them do not need to be spoken aloud at this time."

"I like to speak," he says plainly. "I like the sound of my voice."

"Alright."

"Do you?" He asks, head tilted slightly. "Do you like the sound of my voice?"

She indulges him despite her distaste for conversation. "I made your voice," his mother says, "I
like it very much."

"How did you make me?"

"In your cocoon."

"When do I get to go back?" He asks.

"To the cocoon?"

"Yes."

"You don't," she says. "That was just to bring you to life."

"But I need it," he says. "I wasn't ready......I'm hungry for it," he says after a moment.

"You mean to say you want it. Hunger is a different thing," she states.

"But I am hungry, mother," he says intently, "to go back to where I came from. I am weary without
it....unsustained. Is there something in here that could help with that?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You said we go to this room to be given substance to make us full again? Can this room bring me
back a new cocoon, perhaps? So that I am not hungry for it anymore? This food does not help me
to not hunger for that." It's his longest thought he's ever spoken aloud in his life. He makes
nonsense sound hopeful. "And then if I have a cocoon, nobody could say I was born too soon. I
will have everything that I need to be ready."

"No, Adam. You were born. Now that you're here, you will stay here." He looks distraught at this.

"In the dining room?"

"No. In the world."

He frowns and looks around some more, looking at all the light fixtures, the impressive
architecture.

"So this is the world?"

"A very, very small part of it."

"It's very beautiful, but don't know if I like the world very much," he says slowly and bitterly.

"You haven't even seen the bulk of it yet," she replies in a nearly scolding tone.

"But I liked my cocoon," he says, sad. "It was so warm. I felt..." he searches for the word. "...held. I
want to go back. I want to feel that again."

Ayesha looks at him sympathetically.

"I know it must be difficult for you," she says, "you were ripped out rather unceremoniously by the
Maker. And so young...I'm sorry that you feel uncomfortable outside of it. But I assure you that
you will love the world."

"And what if I dont?" He asks. "What if I despise it?...Mother, please? Please let me go back to
where I came from? I did everything right...I cleaned, I dressed, I eaten-"

"Ate."

"Ate?" He looks very overwhelmed. Distraught. "But that doesn't even make any sense!"

"Adam."

"I don't understand words very much. I don't understand any of it...why can I not breathe when I
think about it too much and why am I hungry for things I cannot have?"

His hands grasp onto his own arms, hugging around himself for comfort. His mother just looks at
him after his slightly panicked outburst. He shrinks in further on himself and he breathes like it's a
burden, clinging tightly to the sleeves on his shirt. Running his finger along the seam. He seems to
be on the verge of melting down, fighting hard to focus on breathing in, breathing out.

"I can feel my heart beating...so much," he states. "I don't like it."

"You just aren't used to what it feels like being alive yet," his mother replies patiently.

"I don't like being alive."

"Adam," she scolds now.

"I don't like it. Why are you angry with me?" He asks, escalating and looking more distraught then
before. "Why did you make me? I don't like this. And I do not like the world," he says. "I like
being held. And you say I can't go back because I need to be alive in the world. I don't want to be."

"You have no idea the things that await you, my darling," she says.

"Then tell me."

"You heard me speaking to you all this time, while you were in the cocoon, right?" He nods. He
had heard her speak to him outside the pod all the time that he grew. His very first job was to grow,
she would say, then to listen. And then he was going to be a savior. That's what she always told
him.

His mother explains very calmly to him, "Do you remember how I used to tell you stories about the
different people in the galaxy? About our place? About how, with your help, the galaxy would
belong to our people the Sovereign? If we could conquer all the unexplored territory...conquer
those worth conquering...end those worth ending..."

"Yes," he says. "I think I remember."

"All of those things are part of your purpose," she tells him. "So if you do not think you like this
world very much, you should know that there are many others for the taking. All for you, and our
people."

"But not the cocoon? I can't take that?"

"Your cocoon may have been warm and comfortable for you...I made it to be that way...but it was
only a means to an end. You're alive now, Adam. You get to see what all of these efforts to make
you were for."

"Okay," he says. "And at some point I will get to clean again, though, right?"

She smiles at him. "At some point, yes."

"Very good. I look forward to it."

They finish their meal. He has no more questions for her, or observations. They walk back down
the hall, then down another new hall he's never seen before.

"This place is big," he observes.

"Yes," Ayesha tells him.

"What part of the world is this? There are so many places here. Is this the galaxy you always talked
about while I was being made?"

"It's the hall," she says. "We are still in your home. You haven't stepped outside yet."

"May I? Step outside?"

"Soon," she says. He trips over his own foot a bit. "Careful. Watch where you step...I don't want
you to trip and fall."

"What would happen if I did?"

"You would probably be fine. You could get hurt, theoretically."

"Hurt? What is that?"

"Hurt is the opposite of feeling good. Worse than uncomfortable. Hurt is pain."

"Oh."

"You would despise it."

"That doesn't sound very nice at all. Why would anyone want that?"
"They rarely do. But it happens anyways."

"Why does that happen?"

"Because we are Sovereign," she explains. "Flesh and bone, hand-crafted to be as near to perfect as
the Maker could manage."

"Then why can we feel something bad like hurt?"

"Because perfection means checks and balances. Beauty and hardness. Affection and strength.
Peace and potential to kill-" He doesn't have a clue what she's saying.

"Kill?"

"We are made to be ideal," she says, ignoring his statement. "We are meant to be a beautiful world.
So we can experience hurt."

"Why?"

"Because pain is beauty. Though it takes much more effort to achieve hurt with Sovereign than
some other lower life forms in the galaxy." He also does not quite get what she's saying here.

"Like what? What life forms?"

"You have much to learn, my child. I will teach you everything in good time. But for now, I wish to
sit alone for some time."

"Alone."

"Without you or anyone else in my company."

"Why?" He asks.

"To think."

"What about?"

"Many things, Adam. I will show you to your sleeping chamber so you may get some rest..."

"Rest?"

"We do it to be energized again."

"What is that like? Does it feel nice or does it hurt?"

"Sleep is very good. It's much like your cocoon- you will enjoy it."

"Splendid."

"We do it every night, for the most part."

"Every night? How do you know when it's night?"

"The skies will tell you. And the time-tellers...clocks and such. You'll find you'll get used to it
quickly. And tonight you will rest well...you will sleep through the night and awaken tomorrow
morning. Then, there will be more for you to see and do."
"May I see the world tomorrow?" He asks.

"Some of it," she replies.

"Why not all of it?"

"Because the galaxy is a very large place."

"When may I see it all?"

"It will take you a lifetime," she says.

"How long is that?"

"All in good time," is all she says to that. "Here, this is your room..."

"It belongs to me?"

"Yes. It's for sleeping."

She opens a door to reveal a bedroom, with an impressive wardrobe, a comfortable looking bed.
She walks Adam over to it.

"You lay in it," she explains, "and you close your eyes and let sleep overcome you. And you wake
when your body is ready."

"What if I wake up before my body is ready again?" He asks.

"Then you stay in bed and someone will retrieve you in the morning when it is time to get up," she
states. She places a hand on the side of his face and looks into his eyes. "Do you feel much more
comfortable, now that you're up and about?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

She pets a hand through his hair for a moment and just looks at him.

"My most beautiful creation," she says in some awe. "I'm very grateful to have you in front of me
right now."

"Thank you."

Some Sovereign enter the room,

"Dress him for sleep," Ayesha says, "Good night, Adam."

"Good night, mother."

The Sovereign approaches Adam and lays out a sleeping garment.

"Hi, Adam. How are you feeling on your first day out?" She asks him.

"Good, I think," he says. "Perhaps a little hungry to see more."

The Sovereign woman smiles. "You will."

"How short the days are," he says.

"You were born later in the day than we usually would allow for."

"Why?"

"...the Maker willed it."

"Okay." The Sovereign woman moves to unbutton his shirt and his hand stops her. "What are you
doing?"

"Helping you into your sleeping clothes," she explains. "You'll wear these when you rest."

"I like these clothes," he says about the ones he's wearing.

"I'm glad."

"They won't be taken away, will they?"

"No," she says. "Just cleaned."

"So the clothing cleans as well?" He asks.

"Yes...and when that happens, you'll always have other things to wear," indicating the things he's
wearing, "but these clothes are yours to stay. They were made for you."

"I have more clothes? And not just to sleep in?"

"Much to choose from," she says.

"I get to choose?"

"Sometimes."

"But I like how these feel. Can't I choose these?"

"You may like your others as well. Here, do you want to feel your sleeping clothes?" She asks,
holding the fabric of a sleeve out for him to touch. He runs his hand along it.

"Oh. That's very nice," he says, holding it in his hands.

"I'll help you into it," she says.

"Can I try?"

"Yes."

He attempts to exit his shirt with some difficulty, getting caught in a sleeve and the buttons failing
to come undone. The kind woman helps him out, pulling the comfortable sleeping attire onto his
body. His eyes close. He lets himself recline properly onto the bed, pressing his face into a pillow.

"This is nice," he says.

"Very good," she responds.

"Thank you," he says. "Good night."

"Good night, Adam," she says, and leaves him.

 He lays down in the bed and runs his hand along all the textures of his covers, admiring the hard
wooden frame and the perfectly smooth silk bedsheets, and the bouncy nature of the fluffy pillow
when he presses down on it. Curling up into his bed, hugging the firm pillow to his chest, brings a
smile to his face, content enough with the first day of his life.

End Notes

I have not decided how long this fic is going to be, if it will include any form of relationship
dynamics beyond platonic, etc. Updating may be in irregular patterns. However, I have
been scavenging for Adam Warlock content to no avail lately, and I figured if nobody else
would make it, then I should. I hope that people can enjoy the man for who he is-- a truly
lost and confused young individual who is learning how to exist for the very first time.

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