AI8 fic: Colliding with Reality, Part 2
Series Title: Colliding with Reality
Chapter Title: How Could You Be So...
Author: dark_orion
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: G, again
Summary: It’s the first time since elimination night, since the awful fight with Katy, since Adam’s tantalizing not-quite-offer, that Kris has actually had a free moment to process it all, to try and fit these desperate pieces of his life into a whole that makes some kind of sense.
Author's Notes: Okay, now here's the real thing, full Chapter 2. And yeah, chapters now. Darn you all for luring me into a multi-part series. I tried to move this along faster to get to some sexin', but the boys were busy being angsty and cute and wouldn't cooperate. Oh, yeah, if ever I decide to write any fic by hand again, someone shoot me because transcribing is such a pain in the ass. And yeah, not mine, no infringement intended, blah, blah, blah. Dude, tired.
Previous Part:
Colliding with Reality, Part 1
Colliding with Reality, Part 2
How Could You Be So…
dark_orion
Kris hadn’t thought that his life could get more chaotic, more rushed, more compressed than it already is, thanks to the Idol machine, but the days following Allison’s elimination make the previous weeks of the competition seem like grade-school arithmetic in comparison to the calculus his days have become-simple equations like 1 performance + 2 shoots + 7 interviews + 0 hours free time = 1 exhausted contestant transforming into a confusing, crowded mass of obscure symbols and operations where everything Kris sings sounds derivative, and Kris is quickly approaching his limit.
So it is with unexpected relief that Kris boards the private jet that will whisk him to Arkansas for his hometown visit. Kris has never particularly cared for flying-after all, despite knowing the basic physics of lift, it is still a little difficult to trust that a couple of engines and the shape of a wing will keep him airborne-but since Katy had taken an earlier flight back to Conway, embracing the excuse provided by the Idol producers that a “reunion” back home would be better TV, despite the fact that anyone paying attention during broadcasts would have realized that Katy had attended every show, leaving a reunion between the two of them holding all the emotional import of a Coke ad-and not even the “I’d like to teach the world to sing” one-after a few shots onboard taped for his homecoming package on Wednesday, Kris has six whole hours to himself to do with as he wishes.
After the plane is underway, he can hear the cameramen lamenting to each other about how dull Kris is being, meaning that any incidental shots of him they may want to take will be dull as well, and Kris can only smile wryly, because if those two could see inside his head to what Kris is thinking, they’d find more material than they’d know what to do with.
It’s the first time since elimination night, since the awful fight with Katy, since Adam’s tantalizing not-quite-offer, that Kris has actually had a free moment to process it all, to try and fit these desperate pieces of his life into a whole that makes some kind of sense, a difficult task considering the pieces come from two completely different puzzles, Katy’s from some kind of Thomas Kinkade, white picket fence type picture, with inoffensive colors, all the pieces traditionally shaped and identical, familiar, and Adam’s from one of those holographic masterpieces, pieces cut into abstract shapes, unique to themselves, with every change of angle a different image appearing, confusing sometimes, but all the more beautiful for it. The more he thinks about it, though, the surer he grows that there’s no way these two types of pieces can fit together, one to the other.
He and Katy have known each other for over a decade, have been a couple so long that even when Kris thinks about his life before they were together, it’s like there’s an empty space where she should be. She is a constant, a representation of a contented future, a family, kids that will fulfill his parents’ desire for grandchildren, but more than that, she’s been his support, encouraging him in his music, even when he was ready to give up, beaten down by dead end after dead end. She should be everything that he could want.
If only he could reconcile that Katy with the Katy of the past Wednesday. He just… He can’t understand how she could have supported him so long, trusted him so long, only to have one inconsequential thing-and not even a “thing,” really, more an abstract idea-seemingly tear that all down in the space of a few hours.
Though, he knows that’s not true. Something like this doesn’t just happen overnight, and if Kris thinks hard enough, he can recall certain instances that months ago had meant nothing, but now he sees how much they’d foreshadowed this outcome.
On his return home after the Hollywood trial by fire, Katy had been more than willing to listen to his war stories regarding the judges, the vocal coaches, the producers, but she’d been strangely uninterested when he’d spoken of the people he’d met, his fellow contestants, and God, had be been bringing up Adam in conversation that long? But it could hardly be considered Kris’ fault if he sensed even then that Adam was a fucking force of nature.
When he’d been packing for what he’d hoped would be an extended stay in California, after he’d been put through to the Top 36, Katy had tucked a Bible into his luggage-not his, with all his handwritten notes and questions clogging the margins, but Katy’s, the one she’d received for Confirmation, white and pristine, save for a handful of passages blazing yellow from highlighter. He’d thought maybe she’d just wanted him to have a part of her with him always, but thinking about it now, Kris wonders if it was to serve less as a reminder of Katy and more of a reminder of Kris to himself, or at least the Kris she thought he should be.
Katy had never been much for public displays of affection, which had occasionally upset the balance of Kris’ tactile proclivities, but after he’d brought her backstage to meet his fellow group members after their semi-final performances, Katy had taken Kris’ hand in hers and had not let go until they’d been forced to go their separate ways that evening. Around the female contestants, she’d been her usual sweet self, and she’d taken a particular shine to the youngest of the group, Jasmine and Allison; however, around the men, her grip had tightened on his hand, and she’d withdrawn a bit, still polite, but cooler, more standoffish. It’d been the most noticeable around Adam, Katy nearly silent except for the introductory “hello,” grip on Kris’ hand tightening until it threatened injury. He’d chalked it up to shyness, maybe nervousness, because yes, he could see where Adam might come off a little intimidating, his extreme look and his bearing that made his six feet look like ten lending to an aura of untouchableness-that was, until you spoke with the man once and discovered that he was a lamb in wolf’s clothing.
Now that he shines this new light over the past several months, so many, many little things tumble out of the darkness: countless subject changes during their almost nightly telephone calls, pointed reminders he didn’t need of their six-month anniversary, her lack of interest in his life at the mansion and those living with him, things he’d initially thought were innocent expressions of how much she missed him, but were actually tells that her trust in him, which he’d taken for granted was as strong as that he had in her, was waning-or maybe, her trust had always been that fragile, shattering to pieces at the first sign that Kris might, might be tempted away from her.
The worst part, though, about this whole ugly mess is that he knows, her anger, her paranoia, her fear, it’s all because she loves him, or at least most of him, the parts she will acknowledge. He knows that Katy’s version of God will damn him for eternity for simply being who he is, and Katy, she hasn’t just been fighting to keep her place with Kris; she’s been fighting for his soul.
Kris appreciates it, really he does, but he’s never particularly felt like his soul needed saving, because Kris has never understood blind acceptance of dogma, or of anything really, and his version of God is a lot less uptight, more accepting of the foibles of humankind, which is only fair, Kris thinks, considering it was His creation, a little less Old Testament “smite thy enemy” and a little more New Testament “love thy neighbor.” Because if Kris is shit out of luck getting into heaven because of his un-acted upon interest in a handful of men, then someone like Adam, who’d give you the shirt off his back if asked-literally, Kris has seen him do it-who’s a completely unrepentant homosexual, would probably find himself in the fast lane towards hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200, and Kris is pretty sure that a heaven that wouldn’t admit someone as, well, just plain good as Adam is a heaven of which Kris wants no part.
And God, it would be so easy to blame Adam for all of this. Kris had been interested in other men before, but none had ever drawn and held his attention like Adam, and time and constant association, which had always killed Kris’ attraction before, only deepened what he felt for Adam. Kris isn’t so good a person himself that he hasn’t, at least fleetingly, considered trying to lay some blame that direction, but it’s an urge squelched in a split-second because Adam is just…
That night, he’d laid his weakness bare before Adam, and Adam hadn’t flinched, had held him through all of it, lending strength when Kris had none. He’d urged Kris to bed when he’d wrung himself out with emotional release, easing him to sleep with a large, warm hand soothing on the small of Kris’ back, singing a soft, nonsensical melody that played on a loop in Kris’ dreams.
On waking that next morning, the previous night had rushed in on Kris, but before it could settle in to suffocate him, he’d heard the soft sounds of sleep coming from elsewhere in the room and had turned to find Adam sound asleep in the armchair next to Kris’ bed, long body folded almost double into a space intended for someone perhaps half his size, arms wrapped around upraised knees and head flung back to rest against the chair back, bending his neck at so awkward an angle that Kris was certain he’d have a crick there for the rest of the day.
And Kris…Kris isn’t sure what he would have done if Adam hadn’t woken up then, and he can only be glad that Adam did, because he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t have been a good idea, and he’d had enough of making bad choices the night before.
Adam creeped into consciousness as he always did, eyes opening slowly, the only part of him moving, blinking away sleep haze. When Adam’s clearing gaze had focused on Kris, caught him watching, Adam had frozen, staring intently back, and for one awful moment, Kris had been certain that things were going to be awkward between them. Then Adam had attempted to straighten his neck from the seat back, yelping an “Ow!” loudly enough that Kris knew it was at least half put-on, hand flying to his neck. Kris had laughed; Adam had pretended to pout, and everything was suddenly back to normal.
Kris hadn’t seen much of Katy or Adam after that due to the new math of this week’s tighter schedule, so he is left to puzzle through his emotions on his own, and although he knows it isn’t fair, or even accurate, he can’t help couching the argument in terms of Katy versus Adam. Katy, who he’s known for almost half his life, who’s been with him for the ups and downs during those years, who represents safety and acceptance and familiarity, who offers love…but with strings attached, trust…but only to a certain point, who believes in the Word of God, but not in her husband’s word.
Then there’s Adam, who he’s known for only just over four months, but who already knows more about him than most family members, who’s been one of the few things lightening the stresses of this competition, who’s supported him unquestioningly, who represents excitement and freedom, but conversely also further secrecy, relationships he might never be able to reveal, who represents the possibility of new beginnings, but also of endings, his own personal alpha and omega, because Kris still has trouble believing that his parents are just going to accept this of him, represents possible intolerance from complete strangers, but total acceptance from the person closest to him.
In the end, the decision isn’t so difficult after all.
~~~~
After Kris touches down in Arkansas, when Kris pulls Katy into a hug at the airport, it’s genuine, but by the look of surprise on Katy’s face when he does so, he’s got a feeling that just axed it from the homecoming package.
They walk hand in hand to the limo that will take them to his hotel for the night, her fingers slightly stiff in his as if she doesn’t know what to make of the contact.
The ride to the hotel isn’t anywhere near silent, not with the rest of Kris’ immediate family present as well, but he and Katy barely speak to one another during the thirty-minute drive, though she keeps glancing at him out of the corner of her eye when she thinks he’s not looking, confusion written there plain as day.
The entire group follows him up to his hotel room, where they all settle in wherever they can find somewhere semi-horizontal to sit, and although Kris is tired after his plane ride, he doesn’t even think about asking them to leave, because, God, how he’s missed this, just sitting around with these people and simply catching up with one another. They don’t stay long, however; though Kris’ mother looks like she’s ready to set up camp for the night in the hotel room, Kris’ dad points out that Kris needs sleep if he’s going to be able to make his 5:00 wake-up call, and besides, they’ll see him tomorrow.
One by one they leave, each demanding a hug, or kiss, or handshake from him, and Kris notices gradually that Katy is lingering behind.
Of course she would. Katy has never been one to make public scenes, and certainly none of his family would expect that Katy wouldn’t be staying the night with him. He can’t help being a little surprised, though, but when he finally turns to face her after saying a last goodbye to his parents and sees the confused curiosity on her face, he understands.
He drops down onto the sofa, not a comfortable as any in the mansion, but nice, tucking into the join of back and armrest and drawing up one leg to fold in front of him, turning himself sideways to face Katy, who’s still watching him from across the room like he’s some dangerous, half-wild animal that might pounce at any provocation. Kris props an elbow on the couch back, running a hand over his eyes and down his face before emerging with a warm smile.
“You look good, Kate,” he ways, nodding towards the opposite end of the couch, pleased when she takes his invitation, not so much when she settles just at the edge of the cushion, as far away from him as possible.
It’s heartening, though, when she half turns to him, and Kris can see her smile, small but there.
“You’re a horrible liar. I look awful, and you know it,” she shoots back, surprising a bark of laughter out of Kris.
The thing is, she really doesn’t: she looks tired, yes, dark circles under her eyes not quite concealed by her makeup, the lines between her eyebrows a bit deeper; she’s worn around the edges from worry, lack of sleep, but still, she is as beautiful now as the day he met her.
He smiles back at her. “I guess we’re going to have to agree to disagree about that.” And he can feel the sadness touching the upturned corners of his lips. “Kate…about that night…”
Katy finally turns to face him fully, eyes wide and bright, and Kris is thankful when she doesn’t make a move to speak.
“I just want you to know that I love you…”
And her eyes widen farther, something like hope rising in them.
“…but I am what I am, and that’s not going to change. I don’t want it to change, because I’m pretty happy with how I was put together. I don’t think it makes me a bad person or any less...loved by God. And I need…I need to be loved for all of me, who I am right now, not what anyone else thinks I could or should be. I don’t…expect you to like it, but I would hope you could accept it, accept me not just as a…” Kris takes a breath, because it’s the first time he’s said the exact words out loud. “…bisexual man, but as ‘Kris.’”
Moisture starts to fill Katy’s eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks quicker than she can wipe it away. Her voice is shaky when she replies, looking away from him, “I can’t, Kris. I can’t accept it. I wish I could, but…”
Kris slides across the couch until he’s next to her, close enough to reach out and clasp her hand in his, immeasurably grateful when she lets him, and he squeezes it gently. “I know you do…and I understand why you can’t.”
Katy tightens her grip on Kris’ hand, using her other hand to cover her eyes, but it doesn’t stop Kris from seeing the tears that spill out from underneath. With his free arm, he pulls her in to the shelter of his body, and she leans into him heavily, body shaking from her crying.
He barely hears her whisper, “We’re over, aren’t we?”
He tucks his face into her hair, trying to hold back his own tears and not succeeding in the slightest. His voice comes out slightly choked as he answers, “Yeah, I guess so.” The breath he releases as he says it contains sadness, regret, but also relief, that there’s some kind of conclusion to this mess, that they’re not just going to keep attaching illusion after illusion to their relationship until it resembles a Christmas tree, so covered in tinsel and lights, ornaments and symbols of faith that it dies from the inside out with no one ever noticing.
Katy lets go of his hand to turn in to him, arms circling him almost desperately, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, and Kris can feel her tears soaking into the fabric of his t-shirt. With an obvious effort to keep her voice steady, she whispers, “I’m afraid for you. I don’t want you to be…to be damned for this.”
Kris lays a kiss to the top of her head, light and reassuring, as he smiles, pulling her from him slightly so that she can see his face. “Kate, the things that have happened to me in the past year, my whole life, even…my family, friends, what I’ve gotten to do and see, making it as far as I have on Idol… I don’t feel damned… I feel blessed.”
The smile Katy gives him through her tears is weak, but Kris appreciates the effort. “I’ll pray that you’re right.”
Kris pulls her back into his embrace, holding her tightly to him. “Thank you.”
~~~~
The rest of Kris’ hometown visit goes by in a blur. All he really remembers is that everywhere he goes, thousands of faces are looking back at him, cheering for him, waving handmade signs and throwing well-meaning gifts at every opportunity.
Working within the Idol bubble, it is easy to forget that anything exists outside of it, but Kris would have never believed he could have touched the lives of this many people, that they would do so much and go so far out of their way to support him, and it humbles him.
Katy is at his side through all of it, and there is an ease between them that has been lacking for the past few months. It seems that even though she can’t accept his bisexuality, she has accepted that she’s not going to change him, and having that kind of resolution between them has acted like a release valve to the tension that has been building in their relationship.
They’d stayed up until the early morning hours, hammering out the details of their imminent divorce, because they are both mature enough to realize that this new understanding that has risen between them does not translate into a new lease on their marriage. There is still love there, yes, and even desire, but hoping for anything more than friendship at this point is tantamount to hanging the Sword of Damocles right above their heads.
Kris had been willing to start proceedings now, if that’s what Katy had wanted, but she’d preferred to wait until after Idol ended, because she didn’t want something that should be a private matter between the two of them to affect his chances on the show, which Kris thinks might be more consideration than he deserves, but he is grateful for it just the same. They will both continue to wear their wedding bands, again to prevent unwanted speculation, and Katy will continue to come to the shows.
Both Katy and his parents accompany him back to California on the Idol-provided private jet, and by unspoken agreement, neither Kris nor Katy mentions what has transpired between them. Nothing is going to go forward for a few weeks yet, so why spoil this rare time together with such things. Instead the jet is filled with anecdotes being caught up on, joking, idle talk, and intent, animated discussion, and when Kris hears those two cameramen talking again, this time complaining about how loud and too gosh darn cheerful he is being, Kris can’t help laughing.
~~~~
Once back in Idolland, Kris isn’t even given a chance to breathe before he’s tossed back into the grind of interviews and photo shoots and studio sessions and rehearsals.
Kris has a brief pang of conscience over his personal song choice, which had come to him on the plane ride to Arkansas, because while it had seemed apropos at the time, given what has occurred and what he is feeling now, it is hardly so at the moment. However, the moment quickly passes because, regardless of the song’s content, “Heartless,” is exactly what he needs to do at this point, something unexpected and out there that will make people focus on him and not on whatever the judges might say.
The day isn’t really unusually long, but after two hours-long plane trips in as many days, added to the adrenaline high of visiting back home, Kris is crashing sooner than expected. Dropped off at the mansion, Kris stumbles directly towards the staircase that will take him to his room-more importantly, to his bed-and it is only when he hears voices coming from behind the door next to his that he realizes he hasn’t even seen Adam yet, the older man already having been asleep when Kris got in Friday evening (technically Saturday morning) and was already awake and gone before Kris woke in the morning.
Kris doesn’t want to interrupt the conversation going on in Adam’s room, but he’s missed Adam to a degree he hadn’t comprehended until this moment. So he slumps against the wall next to Adam’s closed door, not intending so much to eavesdrop, but simply to listen to the cadence of Adam’s voice as he speaks.
He lets the words of the conversation blur together, a meaningless and soothing jumble, until the sound of his name leaps out at him. His eyes snap open-he hadn’t realized he’d closed them-and he looks around to see who’s addressed him, seeing no one, and realizes that his name came up in the conversation.
He listens a little harder, recognizing at last the other voice as that of Adam’s mother, Leila.
“…sure he’s feeling alright?” she is saying. “He wasn’t looking too good the last time I saw him.”
“He’s okay,” Adam replies, and Kris hears him pause, hears him sigh. “He’s just…going through something right now-something personal,” Adam adds, and Kris is grateful for his discretion-not that he minds if Leila knows about him, not really, but he’s already got enough going on in his head with Katy and Adam that he doesn’t really want to add anyone to the mix at the moment. “I’m trying to help him through it as much as I can, but I don’t think there’s very much I can do. I feel pretty useless.”
“Oh, honey.” Kris can hear shifting and the sound of the bed creaking inside the room, and he can imagine Leila sitting down next to Adam on the bed. “I’m sure he appreciates that you’re trying.”
And Kris does; he really, really does, and he’d thought that Adam knew that.
Leila continues, “Is there anything that Dad or I could do to help?” and Kris feels a sudden rush of affection for Adam’s mother because she’s always been so wonderful, welcoming and warm, occasionally acting as a mother stand-in for Kris when Kris’ mom was back in Arkansas.
“Not right now, I don’t think.” Adam pauses again. “Maybe later, though? Yeah. Maybe after he’s sorted some things out for himself, I’ll send him your way.”
Adam’s face must be expressing something his voice isn’t because Leila says next, “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”
Adam’s silent for a moment before he responds, voice quieter than Kris is used to hearing, and he has to strain to catch Adam’s words. “Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, I know he can work this thing out-no doubts there-but I’m afraid it won’t be soon enough to keep from affecting his performance and… God, he can’t go home, not yet, not after he’s worked so hard. He deserves to be here, probably more than I do, and that he might be at risk now, it’s just…” Adam trails off, or else his voice has dropped so low that Kris can no longer hear it.
He is touched by Adam’s concern for him, by how strongly Adam apparently believes in him and in his talent, though he doubts very much he deserves to be in the Top 2 more than Adam, because, well, damn, but that Adam would say so makes him feel like there’s a balloon expanding behind his ribcage, making his chest feel tight as it presses on his heart, but also making him feel light, free.
“Adam?” Kris hears Leila question, and there’s enough concern in her voice that Kris straightens abruptly from his slump against the wall, hand on the doorknob, ready to burst inside at the slightest indication his presence is needed, thoughts rushing through his head ranging from the most banal to the most bizarre, mostly wondering if Adam has suddenly become sick or injured, and how could he have done so without Kris’ hearing anything, dammit?
After a pause that feels like an hour but that can’t have been more than a few seconds, Leila continues, “Oh…oh, honey,” and her voice is filled with the bittersweet warmth that indicates sympathy, “are you in love with him?”
Kris reels away from the door before he can hear Adam’s response to the question, his back making contact with the wall across from Adam’s door, the thudding impact thankfully muffled by the fabric of his multiple layers of clothing. His breathing is staggered, harsh through his nose, and he alternates between blinking rapidly and staring wide-eyed back at the door, fighting against the urge to go back and push his ear against it to hear Adam’s reply, but as much of him wants to hear it, just as much, maybe more, of him really kind of doesn’t, because one, Kris isn’t sure he’s ready to know either way, and two, whatever Adam’s response, he deserves the chance to tell Kris face-to-face, not have Kris find out by listening in uninvited to a private conversation.
Kris slips down the wall as the thoughts tumble end over end in a chaotic riot inside his head, tossing up “what if” after “what if” until his brain, already overtaxed from the past several days, admits defeat, and right there in the hallway, Kris drops off into sleep.
~~~~
Kris wakes to the brutal, bleating cacophony that is his alarm clock. He blinks balefully at it, willing it to stop on its own.
No such luck, and it’s only as Kris reaches out to slap it off that he sees that he’s still wearing last night’s clothing, and yeah, he hadn’t set his alarm to go off this morning, so it must have been-
“It’s your friendly morning wake-up call!” Adam announces as he deliberately slams the door open, sounding excessively cheerful and just much, much too awake for any normal human being to be at, God, 6:06 in the morning. Adam sits down hard on the edge of the bed nearest Kris, causing Kris to roll towards him as the bed dips. Great. Now he’s dizzy, too. “Time to get up, sunshine,” Adam urges in his best Donald Duck voice. “It’s Ford day!”
Kris glares up at Adam, throwing an arm over his face, burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow, catching sight as he does of his sleeve, which reminds him… “Did you…? Uh, last night…did you…?”
“Pick you up and carry you to bed?” Adam’s voice goes innocent, and Kris knows he’s in trouble.
He mumbles into his arm, “Yeah.”
“Like a blushing bride to her wedding suite.”
Kris groans and buries his face farther into the bend of his elbow. “Oh, God, you didn’t.”
Kris can hear Adam raise his eyebrow. “You’d rather I told you I dragged you across the floor and into the bed like you were a bag of dirty laundry?”
Kris lowers his arm to glare over it. “Did you?”
Adam smirks. “No.”
Huffing back into the cover of his arm, Kris mutters, “You suck.”
“You betcha.”
Kris gifts Adam with his most scandalized expression, hoping to distract from the quite real blush at the mental picture those two and a half words bring to mind. “Hussy.”
Rising and offering his hand to help Kris out of bed, as he pulls Kris up, Adam shoots back, “Prude,” and it’s all so blessedly normal that Kris has to laugh.
Kris’ feet hit the floor, and he realizes his feet are shoeless; also his watch and wedding ring are somewhere-ah, on the bedside table-and hadn’t he been wearing a jacket? Kris looks pointedly at his socked feet, then his bare arms, and raises an eyebrow in Adam’s direction. At Adam’s wicked smile, Kris snorts a laugh and turns to undress to grab a shower. It doesn’t occur to Kris to ask Adam to leave or turn his back because they were roommates for over two months-Adam has already seen Kris in the altogether. Also, Adam had just called him a prude, and though it had only been in jest, Kris isn’t about to do anything to earn that moniker.
Adam lets out a wolf whistle as Kris strips off his shirt, but then turns his attention to the small stack of books Kris keeps tucked in a corner of the room. Kris had read them all weeks ago, and Adam has already borrowed and returned almost three-quarters of them, so there is nothing for him to look at, but Kris takes the gesture for what it is, Adam accepting Kris’ unspoken invitation to stay, but also allowing him a measure of privacy.
After Kris has showered and redressed in clean clothes, he collects Adam, and the two of them head down to the kitchen, where Adam bemoans the lack of a chef for breakfast because all he can ever manage to cook for himself is eggs, and even with those, he runs a fifty-fifty chance of burning the mansion down. Kris takes pity on him and kicks the eggs up to omelets, relegating Adam to the chopping of vegetables. Adam teases him for being domestic, Kris threatens to renege on the omelet, and they try to figure out how long they should let Danny oversleep before one of them goes to play roustabout.
As they settle at the kitchen table, with still no indication that Danny’s even out of bed yet, Kris finally says, eyes glued to the rocking of his fork as he cuts into his omelet. “So…I talked to Katy a couple nights ago.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kris can see Adam pause for a fraction of a second before studiously resuming eating. He takes a bite, swallows. “When you were in Arkansas?
“Yeah.” And wow, those eggs are really…yellow. And why can’t they have paper napkins, because using cloth ones always makes Kris feel like he’s wiping his hands on the tablecloth.
And this is ridiculous. Why can’t he just spit this out?
“Yeah,” he says again, this time working for a little more conviction. “We’re, uh…” So much for conviction. “Uh, Katy and I, we’re getting, um, a divorce.”
Adam’s fork drops from suddenly frozen fingers, landing with a clatter-thud as it hits porcelain and egg. He recovers quickly, hand going to Kris’ left wrist, stopping the shaking in his hand that Kris hadn’t noticed till then. Adam’s grip is light, though Kris can see from the white his knuckles are turning that Adam’s struggling not to clamp down. “Are you okay with that?”
Kris smiles, reassuring himself as much as Adam. “Surprisingly, yes. I mean, I love her, and I guess a part of me is always going to love her. But I need to be with someone who loves all of me-Katy… She loves me piecemeal, like she can keep the parts she wants and throw away what she doesn’t, and I-I mean, anybody deserves more than that, right?” Reaching the end of the sentence, Kris finds that it is less rhetorical than he’d intended, that he does in fact need reassurance, because he suddenly feels like a selfish bastard, and he’s relieved when Adam nods emphatically.
“Absolutely.” Adam tightens his grip on Kris’ wrist, and Kris can’t help leaning into the touch just a little, a sort of physical representation of the buttress Adam already is for his peace of mind. “Everybody deserves to be loved and accepted for all that they are-especially you.”
Kris’ smile is decidedly shaky, and of course, tears are threatening again, but Kris cuts himself some slack because as much as he thinks it’s the right thing for them, divorce was never in his list of future plans. When he’d said, “Till death do us part,” he’d meant it, and rendering that null and void, despite being the lesser evil, still hurts.
He turns his hand under Adam’s grip, clasping his upturned hand around the underside of Adam’s wrist, giving it a brief, thankful squeeze before urging Adam back to his breakfast. “Hey, silver lining,” he continues, forced cheer gradually becoming something like the real thing, “we’re not getting the divorce right away, not until after the show’s over, so I’ve got some time for it to sink in, for me to get used to the idea.”
Adam’s movements turn careful again, and Kris wonders how people can think Adam performs his way through life, mask always in place, because these little things that he does are so easy for Kris to read. “It’s good that you’re giving it time.” His eyes are intently focused on his plate. “Going ahead with it now… It would turn into a media free-for-all.” Several bits of omelet cut, none of them eaten. “And who knows? In a month, you guys might be able to work-”
“No.” Kris cuts into that line of nonsense, because this is his pity party, dammit, and he’s the only one who gets to blow out the candles. “Katy, she… She’s never going to be able to accept that I’m bisexual. I know that. She’s spent too many years too willing not to question what she’s been taught in church.” Kris sighs. “But I do think she accepts that I’m not going to change.” He breathes out a laugh. “Still thinks I’m going to hell, but since she’s promised to pray for my soul, I think we can part as friends.”
Adam ducks his head, hiding a grin, but when he looks back up, his expression is the type of disdainful that could be read by an audience member thirty rows back. “Please,” he says, shoveling-gracefully, but shoveling nevertheless-omelet into his mouth, “if you can’t get into heaven, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”
The rest of breakfast-all three minutes of it-is spent in comfortable silence. They clean up after themselves, as much as they have to with the full cleaning staff provided them, gather up what they’ll need being out all day, go in to poke Danny awake, then settle on the foyer steps to wait for the car to take them to the Ford shoot.
Kris still can’t figure out, as involved as Adam’s routine is to get him ready for the day, how Adam can get through said day with so little. He’s got his wallet in his back pocket and a bottle of water in his hand, and that’s it. Kris, on the other hand, can barely contain all the crap he might need in a day in the messenger bag that goes with him everywhere. However, since the jokes about Kris’ “man purse” have already all been made (“Wait, I thought I was the one who was gay in this relationship,” Adam had said upon first seeing it, all smirk and raised eyebrows, and Kris had proceeded to show Adam how macho his “man purse” really was and had whacked him upside the head with it. Gently. Mostly.), it goes unremarked on, and the two sit, staring into the middle distance, laughing occasionally as they hear Danny’s panicked, “trying to get ready” noises drifting from upstairs.
Still staring across the foyer, and wow, aren’t those walls beige-no, not that again-Kris says, as casually as possible, “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about Wednesday night.”
Adams thumb stutters over the plastic water bottle where he’s been methodically peeling away the label. His eyes dart to Kris before copying his thousand-yard stare. “Really?” He pauses for a moment, and Kris can hear Adam’s throat click as he starts to say something, then stops. “Reached any conclusions?”
Kris holds back a smile, because while a nervous Adam is still a novelty, he doesn’t want to make those nerves worse by introducing an expressional non sequitur. “Not yet,” he says, bumping Adam’s knee with his own and leaving it there. “But I am thinking about it. Really hard.”
Adam’s smile is bright and hopeful, and Kris consciously doesn’t think about the conversation he overheard last night, because he might blurt out something he’s not ready to say yet, and that wouldn’t be fair to Adam.
“Awesome,” Adam says simply, leaning his knee back into Kris’.
It’s how they stay until Danny comes barreling down the stairs between them, practically hurdling them, muttering a constant refrain of, “Late, late, so late,” as he rushes through to the kitchen, rustling sounds indicating a foraging for food. He emerges seconds later with a handful of Froot Loops, muttering a new refrain of, “Keys, watch, keys, wallet,” as he bounds back up the stairs.
Adam and Kris are still laughing when the car comes.
Next Part
~~~~
And oh, yeah, before I forget, how much did the the boys rock the final performance night. Best Top 2 EVAR! Also the reason why I didn't get this done earlier tonight--busy voting my fingers off for four hours straight.
Chapter Title: How Could You Be So...
Author: dark_orion
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: G, again
Summary: It’s the first time since elimination night, since the awful fight with Katy, since Adam’s tantalizing not-quite-offer, that Kris has actually had a free moment to process it all, to try and fit these desperate pieces of his life into a whole that makes some kind of sense.
Author's Notes: Okay, now here's the real thing, full Chapter 2. And yeah, chapters now. Darn you all for luring me into a multi-part series. I tried to move this along faster to get to some sexin', but the boys were busy being angsty and cute and wouldn't cooperate. Oh, yeah, if ever I decide to write any fic by hand again, someone shoot me because transcribing is such a pain in the ass. And yeah, not mine, no infringement intended, blah, blah, blah. Dude, tired.
Previous Part:
Colliding with Reality, Part 1
Colliding with Reality, Part 2
How Could You Be So…
dark_orion
Kris hadn’t thought that his life could get more chaotic, more rushed, more compressed than it already is, thanks to the Idol machine, but the days following Allison’s elimination make the previous weeks of the competition seem like grade-school arithmetic in comparison to the calculus his days have become-simple equations like 1 performance + 2 shoots + 7 interviews + 0 hours free time = 1 exhausted contestant transforming into a confusing, crowded mass of obscure symbols and operations where everything Kris sings sounds derivative, and Kris is quickly approaching his limit.
So it is with unexpected relief that Kris boards the private jet that will whisk him to Arkansas for his hometown visit. Kris has never particularly cared for flying-after all, despite knowing the basic physics of lift, it is still a little difficult to trust that a couple of engines and the shape of a wing will keep him airborne-but since Katy had taken an earlier flight back to Conway, embracing the excuse provided by the Idol producers that a “reunion” back home would be better TV, despite the fact that anyone paying attention during broadcasts would have realized that Katy had attended every show, leaving a reunion between the two of them holding all the emotional import of a Coke ad-and not even the “I’d like to teach the world to sing” one-after a few shots onboard taped for his homecoming package on Wednesday, Kris has six whole hours to himself to do with as he wishes.
After the plane is underway, he can hear the cameramen lamenting to each other about how dull Kris is being, meaning that any incidental shots of him they may want to take will be dull as well, and Kris can only smile wryly, because if those two could see inside his head to what Kris is thinking, they’d find more material than they’d know what to do with.
It’s the first time since elimination night, since the awful fight with Katy, since Adam’s tantalizing not-quite-offer, that Kris has actually had a free moment to process it all, to try and fit these desperate pieces of his life into a whole that makes some kind of sense, a difficult task considering the pieces come from two completely different puzzles, Katy’s from some kind of Thomas Kinkade, white picket fence type picture, with inoffensive colors, all the pieces traditionally shaped and identical, familiar, and Adam’s from one of those holographic masterpieces, pieces cut into abstract shapes, unique to themselves, with every change of angle a different image appearing, confusing sometimes, but all the more beautiful for it. The more he thinks about it, though, the surer he grows that there’s no way these two types of pieces can fit together, one to the other.
He and Katy have known each other for over a decade, have been a couple so long that even when Kris thinks about his life before they were together, it’s like there’s an empty space where she should be. She is a constant, a representation of a contented future, a family, kids that will fulfill his parents’ desire for grandchildren, but more than that, she’s been his support, encouraging him in his music, even when he was ready to give up, beaten down by dead end after dead end. She should be everything that he could want.
If only he could reconcile that Katy with the Katy of the past Wednesday. He just… He can’t understand how she could have supported him so long, trusted him so long, only to have one inconsequential thing-and not even a “thing,” really, more an abstract idea-seemingly tear that all down in the space of a few hours.
Though, he knows that’s not true. Something like this doesn’t just happen overnight, and if Kris thinks hard enough, he can recall certain instances that months ago had meant nothing, but now he sees how much they’d foreshadowed this outcome.
On his return home after the Hollywood trial by fire, Katy had been more than willing to listen to his war stories regarding the judges, the vocal coaches, the producers, but she’d been strangely uninterested when he’d spoken of the people he’d met, his fellow contestants, and God, had be been bringing up Adam in conversation that long? But it could hardly be considered Kris’ fault if he sensed even then that Adam was a fucking force of nature.
When he’d been packing for what he’d hoped would be an extended stay in California, after he’d been put through to the Top 36, Katy had tucked a Bible into his luggage-not his, with all his handwritten notes and questions clogging the margins, but Katy’s, the one she’d received for Confirmation, white and pristine, save for a handful of passages blazing yellow from highlighter. He’d thought maybe she’d just wanted him to have a part of her with him always, but thinking about it now, Kris wonders if it was to serve less as a reminder of Katy and more of a reminder of Kris to himself, or at least the Kris she thought he should be.
Katy had never been much for public displays of affection, which had occasionally upset the balance of Kris’ tactile proclivities, but after he’d brought her backstage to meet his fellow group members after their semi-final performances, Katy had taken Kris’ hand in hers and had not let go until they’d been forced to go their separate ways that evening. Around the female contestants, she’d been her usual sweet self, and she’d taken a particular shine to the youngest of the group, Jasmine and Allison; however, around the men, her grip had tightened on his hand, and she’d withdrawn a bit, still polite, but cooler, more standoffish. It’d been the most noticeable around Adam, Katy nearly silent except for the introductory “hello,” grip on Kris’ hand tightening until it threatened injury. He’d chalked it up to shyness, maybe nervousness, because yes, he could see where Adam might come off a little intimidating, his extreme look and his bearing that made his six feet look like ten lending to an aura of untouchableness-that was, until you spoke with the man once and discovered that he was a lamb in wolf’s clothing.
Now that he shines this new light over the past several months, so many, many little things tumble out of the darkness: countless subject changes during their almost nightly telephone calls, pointed reminders he didn’t need of their six-month anniversary, her lack of interest in his life at the mansion and those living with him, things he’d initially thought were innocent expressions of how much she missed him, but were actually tells that her trust in him, which he’d taken for granted was as strong as that he had in her, was waning-or maybe, her trust had always been that fragile, shattering to pieces at the first sign that Kris might, might be tempted away from her.
The worst part, though, about this whole ugly mess is that he knows, her anger, her paranoia, her fear, it’s all because she loves him, or at least most of him, the parts she will acknowledge. He knows that Katy’s version of God will damn him for eternity for simply being who he is, and Katy, she hasn’t just been fighting to keep her place with Kris; she’s been fighting for his soul.
Kris appreciates it, really he does, but he’s never particularly felt like his soul needed saving, because Kris has never understood blind acceptance of dogma, or of anything really, and his version of God is a lot less uptight, more accepting of the foibles of humankind, which is only fair, Kris thinks, considering it was His creation, a little less Old Testament “smite thy enemy” and a little more New Testament “love thy neighbor.” Because if Kris is shit out of luck getting into heaven because of his un-acted upon interest in a handful of men, then someone like Adam, who’d give you the shirt off his back if asked-literally, Kris has seen him do it-who’s a completely unrepentant homosexual, would probably find himself in the fast lane towards hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200, and Kris is pretty sure that a heaven that wouldn’t admit someone as, well, just plain good as Adam is a heaven of which Kris wants no part.
And God, it would be so easy to blame Adam for all of this. Kris had been interested in other men before, but none had ever drawn and held his attention like Adam, and time and constant association, which had always killed Kris’ attraction before, only deepened what he felt for Adam. Kris isn’t so good a person himself that he hasn’t, at least fleetingly, considered trying to lay some blame that direction, but it’s an urge squelched in a split-second because Adam is just…
That night, he’d laid his weakness bare before Adam, and Adam hadn’t flinched, had held him through all of it, lending strength when Kris had none. He’d urged Kris to bed when he’d wrung himself out with emotional release, easing him to sleep with a large, warm hand soothing on the small of Kris’ back, singing a soft, nonsensical melody that played on a loop in Kris’ dreams.
On waking that next morning, the previous night had rushed in on Kris, but before it could settle in to suffocate him, he’d heard the soft sounds of sleep coming from elsewhere in the room and had turned to find Adam sound asleep in the armchair next to Kris’ bed, long body folded almost double into a space intended for someone perhaps half his size, arms wrapped around upraised knees and head flung back to rest against the chair back, bending his neck at so awkward an angle that Kris was certain he’d have a crick there for the rest of the day.
And Kris…Kris isn’t sure what he would have done if Adam hadn’t woken up then, and he can only be glad that Adam did, because he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t have been a good idea, and he’d had enough of making bad choices the night before.
Adam creeped into consciousness as he always did, eyes opening slowly, the only part of him moving, blinking away sleep haze. When Adam’s clearing gaze had focused on Kris, caught him watching, Adam had frozen, staring intently back, and for one awful moment, Kris had been certain that things were going to be awkward between them. Then Adam had attempted to straighten his neck from the seat back, yelping an “Ow!” loudly enough that Kris knew it was at least half put-on, hand flying to his neck. Kris had laughed; Adam had pretended to pout, and everything was suddenly back to normal.
Kris hadn’t seen much of Katy or Adam after that due to the new math of this week’s tighter schedule, so he is left to puzzle through his emotions on his own, and although he knows it isn’t fair, or even accurate, he can’t help couching the argument in terms of Katy versus Adam. Katy, who he’s known for almost half his life, who’s been with him for the ups and downs during those years, who represents safety and acceptance and familiarity, who offers love…but with strings attached, trust…but only to a certain point, who believes in the Word of God, but not in her husband’s word.
Then there’s Adam, who he’s known for only just over four months, but who already knows more about him than most family members, who’s been one of the few things lightening the stresses of this competition, who’s supported him unquestioningly, who represents excitement and freedom, but conversely also further secrecy, relationships he might never be able to reveal, who represents the possibility of new beginnings, but also of endings, his own personal alpha and omega, because Kris still has trouble believing that his parents are just going to accept this of him, represents possible intolerance from complete strangers, but total acceptance from the person closest to him.
In the end, the decision isn’t so difficult after all.
~~~~
After Kris touches down in Arkansas, when Kris pulls Katy into a hug at the airport, it’s genuine, but by the look of surprise on Katy’s face when he does so, he’s got a feeling that just axed it from the homecoming package.
They walk hand in hand to the limo that will take them to his hotel for the night, her fingers slightly stiff in his as if she doesn’t know what to make of the contact.
The ride to the hotel isn’t anywhere near silent, not with the rest of Kris’ immediate family present as well, but he and Katy barely speak to one another during the thirty-minute drive, though she keeps glancing at him out of the corner of her eye when she thinks he’s not looking, confusion written there plain as day.
The entire group follows him up to his hotel room, where they all settle in wherever they can find somewhere semi-horizontal to sit, and although Kris is tired after his plane ride, he doesn’t even think about asking them to leave, because, God, how he’s missed this, just sitting around with these people and simply catching up with one another. They don’t stay long, however; though Kris’ mother looks like she’s ready to set up camp for the night in the hotel room, Kris’ dad points out that Kris needs sleep if he’s going to be able to make his 5:00 wake-up call, and besides, they’ll see him tomorrow.
One by one they leave, each demanding a hug, or kiss, or handshake from him, and Kris notices gradually that Katy is lingering behind.
Of course she would. Katy has never been one to make public scenes, and certainly none of his family would expect that Katy wouldn’t be staying the night with him. He can’t help being a little surprised, though, but when he finally turns to face her after saying a last goodbye to his parents and sees the confused curiosity on her face, he understands.
He drops down onto the sofa, not a comfortable as any in the mansion, but nice, tucking into the join of back and armrest and drawing up one leg to fold in front of him, turning himself sideways to face Katy, who’s still watching him from across the room like he’s some dangerous, half-wild animal that might pounce at any provocation. Kris props an elbow on the couch back, running a hand over his eyes and down his face before emerging with a warm smile.
“You look good, Kate,” he ways, nodding towards the opposite end of the couch, pleased when she takes his invitation, not so much when she settles just at the edge of the cushion, as far away from him as possible.
It’s heartening, though, when she half turns to him, and Kris can see her smile, small but there.
“You’re a horrible liar. I look awful, and you know it,” she shoots back, surprising a bark of laughter out of Kris.
The thing is, she really doesn’t: she looks tired, yes, dark circles under her eyes not quite concealed by her makeup, the lines between her eyebrows a bit deeper; she’s worn around the edges from worry, lack of sleep, but still, she is as beautiful now as the day he met her.
He smiles back at her. “I guess we’re going to have to agree to disagree about that.” And he can feel the sadness touching the upturned corners of his lips. “Kate…about that night…”
Katy finally turns to face him fully, eyes wide and bright, and Kris is thankful when she doesn’t make a move to speak.
“I just want you to know that I love you…”
And her eyes widen farther, something like hope rising in them.
“…but I am what I am, and that’s not going to change. I don’t want it to change, because I’m pretty happy with how I was put together. I don’t think it makes me a bad person or any less...loved by God. And I need…I need to be loved for all of me, who I am right now, not what anyone else thinks I could or should be. I don’t…expect you to like it, but I would hope you could accept it, accept me not just as a…” Kris takes a breath, because it’s the first time he’s said the exact words out loud. “…bisexual man, but as ‘Kris.’”
Moisture starts to fill Katy’s eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks quicker than she can wipe it away. Her voice is shaky when she replies, looking away from him, “I can’t, Kris. I can’t accept it. I wish I could, but…”
Kris slides across the couch until he’s next to her, close enough to reach out and clasp her hand in his, immeasurably grateful when she lets him, and he squeezes it gently. “I know you do…and I understand why you can’t.”
Katy tightens her grip on Kris’ hand, using her other hand to cover her eyes, but it doesn’t stop Kris from seeing the tears that spill out from underneath. With his free arm, he pulls her in to the shelter of his body, and she leans into him heavily, body shaking from her crying.
He barely hears her whisper, “We’re over, aren’t we?”
He tucks his face into her hair, trying to hold back his own tears and not succeeding in the slightest. His voice comes out slightly choked as he answers, “Yeah, I guess so.” The breath he releases as he says it contains sadness, regret, but also relief, that there’s some kind of conclusion to this mess, that they’re not just going to keep attaching illusion after illusion to their relationship until it resembles a Christmas tree, so covered in tinsel and lights, ornaments and symbols of faith that it dies from the inside out with no one ever noticing.
Katy lets go of his hand to turn in to him, arms circling him almost desperately, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, and Kris can feel her tears soaking into the fabric of his t-shirt. With an obvious effort to keep her voice steady, she whispers, “I’m afraid for you. I don’t want you to be…to be damned for this.”
Kris lays a kiss to the top of her head, light and reassuring, as he smiles, pulling her from him slightly so that she can see his face. “Kate, the things that have happened to me in the past year, my whole life, even…my family, friends, what I’ve gotten to do and see, making it as far as I have on Idol… I don’t feel damned… I feel blessed.”
The smile Katy gives him through her tears is weak, but Kris appreciates the effort. “I’ll pray that you’re right.”
Kris pulls her back into his embrace, holding her tightly to him. “Thank you.”
~~~~
The rest of Kris’ hometown visit goes by in a blur. All he really remembers is that everywhere he goes, thousands of faces are looking back at him, cheering for him, waving handmade signs and throwing well-meaning gifts at every opportunity.
Working within the Idol bubble, it is easy to forget that anything exists outside of it, but Kris would have never believed he could have touched the lives of this many people, that they would do so much and go so far out of their way to support him, and it humbles him.
Katy is at his side through all of it, and there is an ease between them that has been lacking for the past few months. It seems that even though she can’t accept his bisexuality, she has accepted that she’s not going to change him, and having that kind of resolution between them has acted like a release valve to the tension that has been building in their relationship.
They’d stayed up until the early morning hours, hammering out the details of their imminent divorce, because they are both mature enough to realize that this new understanding that has risen between them does not translate into a new lease on their marriage. There is still love there, yes, and even desire, but hoping for anything more than friendship at this point is tantamount to hanging the Sword of Damocles right above their heads.
Kris had been willing to start proceedings now, if that’s what Katy had wanted, but she’d preferred to wait until after Idol ended, because she didn’t want something that should be a private matter between the two of them to affect his chances on the show, which Kris thinks might be more consideration than he deserves, but he is grateful for it just the same. They will both continue to wear their wedding bands, again to prevent unwanted speculation, and Katy will continue to come to the shows.
Both Katy and his parents accompany him back to California on the Idol-provided private jet, and by unspoken agreement, neither Kris nor Katy mentions what has transpired between them. Nothing is going to go forward for a few weeks yet, so why spoil this rare time together with such things. Instead the jet is filled with anecdotes being caught up on, joking, idle talk, and intent, animated discussion, and when Kris hears those two cameramen talking again, this time complaining about how loud and too gosh darn cheerful he is being, Kris can’t help laughing.
~~~~
Once back in Idolland, Kris isn’t even given a chance to breathe before he’s tossed back into the grind of interviews and photo shoots and studio sessions and rehearsals.
Kris has a brief pang of conscience over his personal song choice, which had come to him on the plane ride to Arkansas, because while it had seemed apropos at the time, given what has occurred and what he is feeling now, it is hardly so at the moment. However, the moment quickly passes because, regardless of the song’s content, “Heartless,” is exactly what he needs to do at this point, something unexpected and out there that will make people focus on him and not on whatever the judges might say.
The day isn’t really unusually long, but after two hours-long plane trips in as many days, added to the adrenaline high of visiting back home, Kris is crashing sooner than expected. Dropped off at the mansion, Kris stumbles directly towards the staircase that will take him to his room-more importantly, to his bed-and it is only when he hears voices coming from behind the door next to his that he realizes he hasn’t even seen Adam yet, the older man already having been asleep when Kris got in Friday evening (technically Saturday morning) and was already awake and gone before Kris woke in the morning.
Kris doesn’t want to interrupt the conversation going on in Adam’s room, but he’s missed Adam to a degree he hadn’t comprehended until this moment. So he slumps against the wall next to Adam’s closed door, not intending so much to eavesdrop, but simply to listen to the cadence of Adam’s voice as he speaks.
He lets the words of the conversation blur together, a meaningless and soothing jumble, until the sound of his name leaps out at him. His eyes snap open-he hadn’t realized he’d closed them-and he looks around to see who’s addressed him, seeing no one, and realizes that his name came up in the conversation.
He listens a little harder, recognizing at last the other voice as that of Adam’s mother, Leila.
“…sure he’s feeling alright?” she is saying. “He wasn’t looking too good the last time I saw him.”
“He’s okay,” Adam replies, and Kris hears him pause, hears him sigh. “He’s just…going through something right now-something personal,” Adam adds, and Kris is grateful for his discretion-not that he minds if Leila knows about him, not really, but he’s already got enough going on in his head with Katy and Adam that he doesn’t really want to add anyone to the mix at the moment. “I’m trying to help him through it as much as I can, but I don’t think there’s very much I can do. I feel pretty useless.”
“Oh, honey.” Kris can hear shifting and the sound of the bed creaking inside the room, and he can imagine Leila sitting down next to Adam on the bed. “I’m sure he appreciates that you’re trying.”
And Kris does; he really, really does, and he’d thought that Adam knew that.
Leila continues, “Is there anything that Dad or I could do to help?” and Kris feels a sudden rush of affection for Adam’s mother because she’s always been so wonderful, welcoming and warm, occasionally acting as a mother stand-in for Kris when Kris’ mom was back in Arkansas.
“Not right now, I don’t think.” Adam pauses again. “Maybe later, though? Yeah. Maybe after he’s sorted some things out for himself, I’ll send him your way.”
Adam’s face must be expressing something his voice isn’t because Leila says next, “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”
Adam’s silent for a moment before he responds, voice quieter than Kris is used to hearing, and he has to strain to catch Adam’s words. “Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, I know he can work this thing out-no doubts there-but I’m afraid it won’t be soon enough to keep from affecting his performance and… God, he can’t go home, not yet, not after he’s worked so hard. He deserves to be here, probably more than I do, and that he might be at risk now, it’s just…” Adam trails off, or else his voice has dropped so low that Kris can no longer hear it.
He is touched by Adam’s concern for him, by how strongly Adam apparently believes in him and in his talent, though he doubts very much he deserves to be in the Top 2 more than Adam, because, well, damn, but that Adam would say so makes him feel like there’s a balloon expanding behind his ribcage, making his chest feel tight as it presses on his heart, but also making him feel light, free.
“Adam?” Kris hears Leila question, and there’s enough concern in her voice that Kris straightens abruptly from his slump against the wall, hand on the doorknob, ready to burst inside at the slightest indication his presence is needed, thoughts rushing through his head ranging from the most banal to the most bizarre, mostly wondering if Adam has suddenly become sick or injured, and how could he have done so without Kris’ hearing anything, dammit?
After a pause that feels like an hour but that can’t have been more than a few seconds, Leila continues, “Oh…oh, honey,” and her voice is filled with the bittersweet warmth that indicates sympathy, “are you in love with him?”
Kris reels away from the door before he can hear Adam’s response to the question, his back making contact with the wall across from Adam’s door, the thudding impact thankfully muffled by the fabric of his multiple layers of clothing. His breathing is staggered, harsh through his nose, and he alternates between blinking rapidly and staring wide-eyed back at the door, fighting against the urge to go back and push his ear against it to hear Adam’s reply, but as much of him wants to hear it, just as much, maybe more, of him really kind of doesn’t, because one, Kris isn’t sure he’s ready to know either way, and two, whatever Adam’s response, he deserves the chance to tell Kris face-to-face, not have Kris find out by listening in uninvited to a private conversation.
Kris slips down the wall as the thoughts tumble end over end in a chaotic riot inside his head, tossing up “what if” after “what if” until his brain, already overtaxed from the past several days, admits defeat, and right there in the hallway, Kris drops off into sleep.
~~~~
Kris wakes to the brutal, bleating cacophony that is his alarm clock. He blinks balefully at it, willing it to stop on its own.
No such luck, and it’s only as Kris reaches out to slap it off that he sees that he’s still wearing last night’s clothing, and yeah, he hadn’t set his alarm to go off this morning, so it must have been-
“It’s your friendly morning wake-up call!” Adam announces as he deliberately slams the door open, sounding excessively cheerful and just much, much too awake for any normal human being to be at, God, 6:06 in the morning. Adam sits down hard on the edge of the bed nearest Kris, causing Kris to roll towards him as the bed dips. Great. Now he’s dizzy, too. “Time to get up, sunshine,” Adam urges in his best Donald Duck voice. “It’s Ford day!”
Kris glares up at Adam, throwing an arm over his face, burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow, catching sight as he does of his sleeve, which reminds him… “Did you…? Uh, last night…did you…?”
“Pick you up and carry you to bed?” Adam’s voice goes innocent, and Kris knows he’s in trouble.
He mumbles into his arm, “Yeah.”
“Like a blushing bride to her wedding suite.”
Kris groans and buries his face farther into the bend of his elbow. “Oh, God, you didn’t.”
Kris can hear Adam raise his eyebrow. “You’d rather I told you I dragged you across the floor and into the bed like you were a bag of dirty laundry?”
Kris lowers his arm to glare over it. “Did you?”
Adam smirks. “No.”
Huffing back into the cover of his arm, Kris mutters, “You suck.”
“You betcha.”
Kris gifts Adam with his most scandalized expression, hoping to distract from the quite real blush at the mental picture those two and a half words bring to mind. “Hussy.”
Rising and offering his hand to help Kris out of bed, as he pulls Kris up, Adam shoots back, “Prude,” and it’s all so blessedly normal that Kris has to laugh.
Kris’ feet hit the floor, and he realizes his feet are shoeless; also his watch and wedding ring are somewhere-ah, on the bedside table-and hadn’t he been wearing a jacket? Kris looks pointedly at his socked feet, then his bare arms, and raises an eyebrow in Adam’s direction. At Adam’s wicked smile, Kris snorts a laugh and turns to undress to grab a shower. It doesn’t occur to Kris to ask Adam to leave or turn his back because they were roommates for over two months-Adam has already seen Kris in the altogether. Also, Adam had just called him a prude, and though it had only been in jest, Kris isn’t about to do anything to earn that moniker.
Adam lets out a wolf whistle as Kris strips off his shirt, but then turns his attention to the small stack of books Kris keeps tucked in a corner of the room. Kris had read them all weeks ago, and Adam has already borrowed and returned almost three-quarters of them, so there is nothing for him to look at, but Kris takes the gesture for what it is, Adam accepting Kris’ unspoken invitation to stay, but also allowing him a measure of privacy.
After Kris has showered and redressed in clean clothes, he collects Adam, and the two of them head down to the kitchen, where Adam bemoans the lack of a chef for breakfast because all he can ever manage to cook for himself is eggs, and even with those, he runs a fifty-fifty chance of burning the mansion down. Kris takes pity on him and kicks the eggs up to omelets, relegating Adam to the chopping of vegetables. Adam teases him for being domestic, Kris threatens to renege on the omelet, and they try to figure out how long they should let Danny oversleep before one of them goes to play roustabout.
As they settle at the kitchen table, with still no indication that Danny’s even out of bed yet, Kris finally says, eyes glued to the rocking of his fork as he cuts into his omelet. “So…I talked to Katy a couple nights ago.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kris can see Adam pause for a fraction of a second before studiously resuming eating. He takes a bite, swallows. “When you were in Arkansas?
“Yeah.” And wow, those eggs are really…yellow. And why can’t they have paper napkins, because using cloth ones always makes Kris feel like he’s wiping his hands on the tablecloth.
And this is ridiculous. Why can’t he just spit this out?
“Yeah,” he says again, this time working for a little more conviction. “We’re, uh…” So much for conviction. “Uh, Katy and I, we’re getting, um, a divorce.”
Adam’s fork drops from suddenly frozen fingers, landing with a clatter-thud as it hits porcelain and egg. He recovers quickly, hand going to Kris’ left wrist, stopping the shaking in his hand that Kris hadn’t noticed till then. Adam’s grip is light, though Kris can see from the white his knuckles are turning that Adam’s struggling not to clamp down. “Are you okay with that?”
Kris smiles, reassuring himself as much as Adam. “Surprisingly, yes. I mean, I love her, and I guess a part of me is always going to love her. But I need to be with someone who loves all of me-Katy… She loves me piecemeal, like she can keep the parts she wants and throw away what she doesn’t, and I-I mean, anybody deserves more than that, right?” Reaching the end of the sentence, Kris finds that it is less rhetorical than he’d intended, that he does in fact need reassurance, because he suddenly feels like a selfish bastard, and he’s relieved when Adam nods emphatically.
“Absolutely.” Adam tightens his grip on Kris’ wrist, and Kris can’t help leaning into the touch just a little, a sort of physical representation of the buttress Adam already is for his peace of mind. “Everybody deserves to be loved and accepted for all that they are-especially you.”
Kris’ smile is decidedly shaky, and of course, tears are threatening again, but Kris cuts himself some slack because as much as he thinks it’s the right thing for them, divorce was never in his list of future plans. When he’d said, “Till death do us part,” he’d meant it, and rendering that null and void, despite being the lesser evil, still hurts.
He turns his hand under Adam’s grip, clasping his upturned hand around the underside of Adam’s wrist, giving it a brief, thankful squeeze before urging Adam back to his breakfast. “Hey, silver lining,” he continues, forced cheer gradually becoming something like the real thing, “we’re not getting the divorce right away, not until after the show’s over, so I’ve got some time for it to sink in, for me to get used to the idea.”
Adam’s movements turn careful again, and Kris wonders how people can think Adam performs his way through life, mask always in place, because these little things that he does are so easy for Kris to read. “It’s good that you’re giving it time.” His eyes are intently focused on his plate. “Going ahead with it now… It would turn into a media free-for-all.” Several bits of omelet cut, none of them eaten. “And who knows? In a month, you guys might be able to work-”
“No.” Kris cuts into that line of nonsense, because this is his pity party, dammit, and he’s the only one who gets to blow out the candles. “Katy, she… She’s never going to be able to accept that I’m bisexual. I know that. She’s spent too many years too willing not to question what she’s been taught in church.” Kris sighs. “But I do think she accepts that I’m not going to change.” He breathes out a laugh. “Still thinks I’m going to hell, but since she’s promised to pray for my soul, I think we can part as friends.”
Adam ducks his head, hiding a grin, but when he looks back up, his expression is the type of disdainful that could be read by an audience member thirty rows back. “Please,” he says, shoveling-gracefully, but shoveling nevertheless-omelet into his mouth, “if you can’t get into heaven, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”
The rest of breakfast-all three minutes of it-is spent in comfortable silence. They clean up after themselves, as much as they have to with the full cleaning staff provided them, gather up what they’ll need being out all day, go in to poke Danny awake, then settle on the foyer steps to wait for the car to take them to the Ford shoot.
Kris still can’t figure out, as involved as Adam’s routine is to get him ready for the day, how Adam can get through said day with so little. He’s got his wallet in his back pocket and a bottle of water in his hand, and that’s it. Kris, on the other hand, can barely contain all the crap he might need in a day in the messenger bag that goes with him everywhere. However, since the jokes about Kris’ “man purse” have already all been made (“Wait, I thought I was the one who was gay in this relationship,” Adam had said upon first seeing it, all smirk and raised eyebrows, and Kris had proceeded to show Adam how macho his “man purse” really was and had whacked him upside the head with it. Gently. Mostly.), it goes unremarked on, and the two sit, staring into the middle distance, laughing occasionally as they hear Danny’s panicked, “trying to get ready” noises drifting from upstairs.
Still staring across the foyer, and wow, aren’t those walls beige-no, not that again-Kris says, as casually as possible, “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about Wednesday night.”
Adams thumb stutters over the plastic water bottle where he’s been methodically peeling away the label. His eyes dart to Kris before copying his thousand-yard stare. “Really?” He pauses for a moment, and Kris can hear Adam’s throat click as he starts to say something, then stops. “Reached any conclusions?”
Kris holds back a smile, because while a nervous Adam is still a novelty, he doesn’t want to make those nerves worse by introducing an expressional non sequitur. “Not yet,” he says, bumping Adam’s knee with his own and leaving it there. “But I am thinking about it. Really hard.”
Adam’s smile is bright and hopeful, and Kris consciously doesn’t think about the conversation he overheard last night, because he might blurt out something he’s not ready to say yet, and that wouldn’t be fair to Adam.
“Awesome,” Adam says simply, leaning his knee back into Kris’.
It’s how they stay until Danny comes barreling down the stairs between them, practically hurdling them, muttering a constant refrain of, “Late, late, so late,” as he rushes through to the kitchen, rustling sounds indicating a foraging for food. He emerges seconds later with a handful of Froot Loops, muttering a new refrain of, “Keys, watch, keys, wallet,” as he bounds back up the stairs.
Adam and Kris are still laughing when the car comes.
Next Part
~~~~
And oh, yeah, before I forget, how much did the the boys rock the final performance night. Best Top 2 EVAR! Also the reason why I didn't get this done earlier tonight--busy voting my fingers off for four hours straight.