Starlight Express, Part 2/10
Chap 2
The creaking of the bunks in the tour bus was quiet, but Adam was having a really shitty time trying to get some sleep. It wasn’t so bad for him because he took the top bunk that Kris very generously acceded to (the media loved the speculation his comment on that generated) and he didn’t have to endlessly watch a swaying bed on top of him, but still.
He flipped over, covering his face with a sheet, groping for his iPod under the blankets if only to soothe himself. He flicked it on, his face lit blue by the screen, and rolled on to play lists. He knew Kris would find this funny, but whenever he couldn’t sleep, Adam would play Kris’ songs over and over again. They lulled him, those sweet vocals of his, and he especially loved the studio recording - no screaming thousands ruining every line.
A groan issued from the bunk beneath his - soft and breathy - but for Adam, it practically blocked out all sound.
Kris was groaning.
Not in a sexy sort of groaning-moaning way (which Adam loved to wake up to, in the middle of the night. He would listen to it, propping himself up on elbows and watching Kris’ sleeping form on the other bed), but in a painful way.
Adam hardly noticed the covers flying before he had scrambled himself down to the bunk where Kris slept, flicking on the tiny night lamp above his head. Kris’ eyes were closed, but his lids were fluttering, his impossibly long eyelashes quivering. Beads of sweat glittered on his forehead, his sheets twisted around him, his mouth half-open. His breath came in gasps, as if he was fighting for air.
For a moment Adam was torn between trying to kiss Kris Allen’s adorable lips (and boy, did a million fantasies of his involve just that) and trying to wake him up. He settled for the latter, mentally kicking himself for even thinking the first thought when it was apparent that Kris was in some distress.
“Hey, Kris. Hey baby. Wake up.” Adam whispered softly, shaking the younger man.
Kris’ eyelids fluttered again, then opened, a hazy look about them. “Huh? Wha?”
“You were groaning, man. And look at you, you’re sweating like anything. I was wondering why ---“ Adam brought his hand to Kris’ forehead, fully intending to wipe his sweat away, but drew his hand away when he felt the stinging heat of fever. “Oh no. Oh shoot. Man, you’re burning up.”
“Am… am I?” Kris fought to keep his lids open, his speech slurred enough to make his Southern twang extra noticeable. “I don’t know man … I’m just wrung out is sure. Tired, man. So tired…”
“Yeah, we all are, baby. I’m zonked out too, but I’m not coming down with anything yet, thankfully. Here --” Adam shook out his bandanna, thanking his lucky stars he remembered to leave them in his back pocket, and wiped Kris’ face. “-this is very nearly clean. You stay there and I’ll go get you something to get that fever down.”
Kris nodded imperceptibly, and Adam stood up, only noticing the cramp he got from crouching down for so long when he tried to tiptoe past all the other bunks. Hissing through the pins and needles as quietly as he could, he looked up to see Danny’s blinking, owl eyes watching him.
“Hey. Adam. ‘Sup, man?” Danny whispered, keeping his voice low.
Adam looked back to where Kris lay, then at Danny. “Kris is burning up. I think he’s so tired his immune system’s down. Poor boy is sweating like crazy, and this freaking bus isn’t the most comfortable of places.”
Danny got up, swinging his pajama-clad legs over the bed. “Man, that’s awful. You going to get some aspirin or something?”
“Yeah. Off to talk to the PAs.”
“’Kay.” Danny scrambled off his bunk, landing lightly on his feet to keep himself from waking up Anoop. “Go get it. I’ll take care of him, get some cold water off the tap and wipe his face down. ‘S what Sophia used to do, it works.”
Adam didn’t know when exactly he got to like Danny Gokey, or when Danny and him started talking to each other (really talking, not just polite conversation) but at that moment, he was utterly glad Danny was awake. “Thanks, man. I’m sure it’ll help.”
---
By the time Adam came back with one of the most anxious, quivery nurses he had ever met (He didn’t know if it was just being tired or if she was knocked out on the idea of tending to Kris), almost every guy on the Idol bus was awake, worriedly watching their sick tour mate. Danny sat right beside his bunk, wiping Kris’ face occasionally with the now-sopping bandanna Adam had left behind. Anoop and Matt looked on from their bunks, rubbing their eyes and shaking their heads. Even Scott had his face turned towards the soft talk, frowning in concern. Only Michael was asleep, as God knew nothing could wake the man up except shouts of “Breakfast!” and “Show time!”.
The guys watched quietly as the nurse took over, taking Kris’ temperature and trying to maneuver him into a more comfortable position.
“Poor boy. He’s so tired I’ve never seen him so haunted.” Matt muttered, eliciting nods from everyone.
“Almost nine sets every show. Solos and duets and group numbers. And having to play an instrument, all the time.” Anoop shook his head. “Sometimes I kind of think they’re purposefully trying to wear him down.”
Silence greeted Anoop’s commentary.
“We-ll,” Scott began after a beat, “I think he knows that. We all know that. From day one.”
“To make him give up,” Danny said, coming to sit beside Matt and nodding.
“And then he comes from behind to take it from Adam,” Scott said, oblivious of Adam’s glare. “Small wonder they’re trying to throw him under the bus some more.”
“Oh hell, guys. Are you conspiracy theorists now?” Adam snapped, his voice oddly louder than he intended it to be. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw Kris flinch, ever so slightly. “Kris won fair and square. And because he won, he’s carrying the rest of the burden of this tour on his shoulders. He’s tired, and he’s gotten sick ‘coz of it. He’s human, after all.”
Matt swiveled slightly, craning his neck around Danny to face Adam. “Hey man. We’re not trying to tell you it’s your fault, cause it isn’t. The producers choose who they want. We’re only calling it as it is.”
Anoop and Scott nodded. Danny shrugged. “And Kris here is just bearing it all, quietly. Always been that way, anyway.”
Any reply Adam could have made was lost when the nurse suddenly piped up. “I need to bring him to the front of the bus where he can be on a single bed, and where I can monitor his temperature. Can someone help me carry him?”
Adam gave the guys one last glare before turning around and bending over to scoop the younger man easily into his arms. Kris groaned softly, his head lolling over to rest on Adam’s chest. “Easy, baby. I got you,” Adam whispered.
Kris gave a shuddering breath, then quieted.
A small, quiet fight ensued between the nurse and Adam on who gets watch duty, but in the end Adam won. He took his place in the chair beside Kris’ bed, smirking.
As if.
---
“Adam?”
Adam’s head snapped up so fast he gave himself a crick in the neck, but no matter: Kris was awake, and his eyes were the clearest Adam had ever since them since - heck, he can’t even remember when Kris’ eyes were this alert, especially after he won the Idol title. A slight twinge of guilt wormed through him as he recalled Scott’s words: and then he comes from behind to take it from Adam … small wonder they’re trying to throw him under the bus some more…
Was it true?
“Hey. Adam.” Lifting his head slightly, Kris freed his hand out from under his sheets to place it on Adam’s arm. “Why am I here?”
Adam forced a smile onto his face. “Here? ‘Cause I carried you, baby,” he drawled.
“I know that,” Kris smiled back. He put his head down onto the pillow again, closing his eyes. “No one else would carry me anywhere but you. But I asked why.”
Adam chuckled. “Ooh, don’t let the press hear you say that, Kris my boy, or we’d be in an even more interesting position than we are in now.” He grinned more genuinely now, heartened to hear Kris laugh. “No pun intended.”
“Won’t,” Kris replied shortly. “So. Why?”
Like a dog with a bone, Adam thought, then sighed. “You were burning up with a fever last night, man. You were groaning and stuff. So I seriously flipped out and brought the nurse while Danny and the rest watched over you a bit. And we … uh, we talked shop while the nurse figured you out some.”
Kris pursed his lips, exhaling in a hiss.
“Look, darling,” Adam said, falsely cheerful, “you better get some more sleep before the nurse throws me out. Seriously, she wanted to get to stay and watch you, which I guess every other girl in America nowadays fantasize to do. But what the hell. Told her no one else aside from your wife gets to do that but me.”
It didn’t surprise Adam that Kris didn’t find that funny. He stood up, making to leave.
“Hey, Adam.” Kris said quietly, making Adam turn around. “I heard some of … your shop talk. It was hazy and all, and you know, I couldn’t really see who was talking. But I heard what y’all said. About the winning.”
Was it him or was everything in this room suddenly stifling? Adam couldn’t remember when he last blushed, but then again, nothing ever really seemed normal in this whole AI experience, more so when he was talking to Kris. “And the throwing-under-the-bus crap?”
“Yeah.”
The silence stretched until Adam sat back down heavily on the small couch he had cramped himself in last night. “Is it true you’ve always known?”
Kris nodded, opening his eyes and turning his face so that he could watch Adam. “How you were supposed to win and all? Heck. As someone said - from day one.”
“But -“ Adam began, protesting, only to have Kris interrupt.
“No man, it isn’t. None of us blames you. Least of all, not me.” His brown eyes were earnest - like they always were - and Adam knew better than to think Kris was lying. Kris never lied. He only said what he meant, and there was no difference between the man in front of the camera and the one behind it. If Kris said he didn’t blame Adam, he was sure he was telling him the truth.
Kris being Kris, Adam thought, squeezing Kris’ hand, relief flooding through him. “Of course. You could never blame anyone. You’re too nice sometimes, you know that?’
“My wife says so,” Kris laughed. “My brother thinks worse. Calls me spineless, sometimes.”
“No.” Adam shook his head. “Never spineless. In fact, you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re still gonna perform tomorrow night even if you just recovered from a fever, right?” Kris is silent, smiling, and Adam spread his hands, as if to say, I told you so.
“Thousands of fans, Adam. They come all the way to see you, and me, and the rest of us. Can’t let them down.” Kris shifted on the mattress, arching his back in a stretch.
Adam watched the line that his neck made from chin to throat, and refused to be distracted. “I know. So.” He stood up, finally. “Get some rest. Your voice started cracking on that freaking No Boundaries the other day - good thing you can transpose your guitar to a lower pitch so effortlessly. Don’t strain.”
“Yes, mom,” Kris mumbled in reply, but he was falling asleep, fast. “Thanks, ‘Dam. You’re best.”
---
The theater was packed, and Kris was shaking. His fever came back with a vengeance this morning, but he refused to stop the performance for his sake. Adam and the rest of the boys bullied him into conceding to just singing No Boundaries instead of the usual number of songs, and he agreed only because he was so wiped out he wasn’t even sure he could finish singing it. He wanted to have all of them, especially Adam, by his side, but the rest of the gang had disappeared when the emcee began his credits. Probably resting, he thought.
The guitar felt heavy in his hands, and he had to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants repeatedly, the wind cold, too cold, on his neck. He began the first chords and pushed, pushed himself to get to the second verse. He was straining and sweating and shaking and all he wanted to do was lie down and curl up.
He could feel an imminent break in his voice just as the song reached the chorus … and Kris prayed, prayed, that he wouldn’t embarrass himself by choking on his own coronation song before a couple of thousand people …
And, like some miracle, another voice came to supplant his own. First one, then two, then three, then nine other voices supported him, cradling him like a baby. He grinned like crazy at the other nine idols who were now singing the last few verses of the song with him, helping him along, hiding his strain-roughened voice with their blended ones. The audience, not knowing this wasn’t routine, whooped it up and cheered.
Then the last line came. Silence rolled as the other nine fell silent to let him bask in his song. He finished it, with a slight gasp that always accompanied his songs, and bowed his head. The audience broke out in pandemonium.
Adam caught his eye and winked.
And then Kris was swept up in a massive group hug, where all he got was an impression of an army of arms and hands and faces as his eyes blurred with grateful tears.
“Thanks, guys,” he whispered fervently.
The creaking of the bunks in the tour bus was quiet, but Adam was having a really shitty time trying to get some sleep. It wasn’t so bad for him because he took the top bunk that Kris very generously acceded to (the media loved the speculation his comment on that generated) and he didn’t have to endlessly watch a swaying bed on top of him, but still.
He flipped over, covering his face with a sheet, groping for his iPod under the blankets if only to soothe himself. He flicked it on, his face lit blue by the screen, and rolled on to play lists. He knew Kris would find this funny, but whenever he couldn’t sleep, Adam would play Kris’ songs over and over again. They lulled him, those sweet vocals of his, and he especially loved the studio recording - no screaming thousands ruining every line.
A groan issued from the bunk beneath his - soft and breathy - but for Adam, it practically blocked out all sound.
Kris was groaning.
Not in a sexy sort of groaning-moaning way (which Adam loved to wake up to, in the middle of the night. He would listen to it, propping himself up on elbows and watching Kris’ sleeping form on the other bed), but in a painful way.
Adam hardly noticed the covers flying before he had scrambled himself down to the bunk where Kris slept, flicking on the tiny night lamp above his head. Kris’ eyes were closed, but his lids were fluttering, his impossibly long eyelashes quivering. Beads of sweat glittered on his forehead, his sheets twisted around him, his mouth half-open. His breath came in gasps, as if he was fighting for air.
For a moment Adam was torn between trying to kiss Kris Allen’s adorable lips (and boy, did a million fantasies of his involve just that) and trying to wake him up. He settled for the latter, mentally kicking himself for even thinking the first thought when it was apparent that Kris was in some distress.
“Hey, Kris. Hey baby. Wake up.” Adam whispered softly, shaking the younger man.
Kris’ eyelids fluttered again, then opened, a hazy look about them. “Huh? Wha?”
“You were groaning, man. And look at you, you’re sweating like anything. I was wondering why ---“ Adam brought his hand to Kris’ forehead, fully intending to wipe his sweat away, but drew his hand away when he felt the stinging heat of fever. “Oh no. Oh shoot. Man, you’re burning up.”
“Am… am I?” Kris fought to keep his lids open, his speech slurred enough to make his Southern twang extra noticeable. “I don’t know man … I’m just wrung out is sure. Tired, man. So tired…”
“Yeah, we all are, baby. I’m zonked out too, but I’m not coming down with anything yet, thankfully. Here --” Adam shook out his bandanna, thanking his lucky stars he remembered to leave them in his back pocket, and wiped Kris’ face. “-this is very nearly clean. You stay there and I’ll go get you something to get that fever down.”
Kris nodded imperceptibly, and Adam stood up, only noticing the cramp he got from crouching down for so long when he tried to tiptoe past all the other bunks. Hissing through the pins and needles as quietly as he could, he looked up to see Danny’s blinking, owl eyes watching him.
“Hey. Adam. ‘Sup, man?” Danny whispered, keeping his voice low.
Adam looked back to where Kris lay, then at Danny. “Kris is burning up. I think he’s so tired his immune system’s down. Poor boy is sweating like crazy, and this freaking bus isn’t the most comfortable of places.”
Danny got up, swinging his pajama-clad legs over the bed. “Man, that’s awful. You going to get some aspirin or something?”
“Yeah. Off to talk to the PAs.”
“’Kay.” Danny scrambled off his bunk, landing lightly on his feet to keep himself from waking up Anoop. “Go get it. I’ll take care of him, get some cold water off the tap and wipe his face down. ‘S what Sophia used to do, it works.”
Adam didn’t know when exactly he got to like Danny Gokey, or when Danny and him started talking to each other (really talking, not just polite conversation) but at that moment, he was utterly glad Danny was awake. “Thanks, man. I’m sure it’ll help.”
---
By the time Adam came back with one of the most anxious, quivery nurses he had ever met (He didn’t know if it was just being tired or if she was knocked out on the idea of tending to Kris), almost every guy on the Idol bus was awake, worriedly watching their sick tour mate. Danny sat right beside his bunk, wiping Kris’ face occasionally with the now-sopping bandanna Adam had left behind. Anoop and Matt looked on from their bunks, rubbing their eyes and shaking their heads. Even Scott had his face turned towards the soft talk, frowning in concern. Only Michael was asleep, as God knew nothing could wake the man up except shouts of “Breakfast!” and “Show time!”.
The guys watched quietly as the nurse took over, taking Kris’ temperature and trying to maneuver him into a more comfortable position.
“Poor boy. He’s so tired I’ve never seen him so haunted.” Matt muttered, eliciting nods from everyone.
“Almost nine sets every show. Solos and duets and group numbers. And having to play an instrument, all the time.” Anoop shook his head. “Sometimes I kind of think they’re purposefully trying to wear him down.”
Silence greeted Anoop’s commentary.
“We-ll,” Scott began after a beat, “I think he knows that. We all know that. From day one.”
“To make him give up,” Danny said, coming to sit beside Matt and nodding.
“And then he comes from behind to take it from Adam,” Scott said, oblivious of Adam’s glare. “Small wonder they’re trying to throw him under the bus some more.”
“Oh hell, guys. Are you conspiracy theorists now?” Adam snapped, his voice oddly louder than he intended it to be. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw Kris flinch, ever so slightly. “Kris won fair and square. And because he won, he’s carrying the rest of the burden of this tour on his shoulders. He’s tired, and he’s gotten sick ‘coz of it. He’s human, after all.”
Matt swiveled slightly, craning his neck around Danny to face Adam. “Hey man. We’re not trying to tell you it’s your fault, cause it isn’t. The producers choose who they want. We’re only calling it as it is.”
Anoop and Scott nodded. Danny shrugged. “And Kris here is just bearing it all, quietly. Always been that way, anyway.”
Any reply Adam could have made was lost when the nurse suddenly piped up. “I need to bring him to the front of the bus where he can be on a single bed, and where I can monitor his temperature. Can someone help me carry him?”
Adam gave the guys one last glare before turning around and bending over to scoop the younger man easily into his arms. Kris groaned softly, his head lolling over to rest on Adam’s chest. “Easy, baby. I got you,” Adam whispered.
Kris gave a shuddering breath, then quieted.
A small, quiet fight ensued between the nurse and Adam on who gets watch duty, but in the end Adam won. He took his place in the chair beside Kris’ bed, smirking.
As if.
---
“Adam?”
Adam’s head snapped up so fast he gave himself a crick in the neck, but no matter: Kris was awake, and his eyes were the clearest Adam had ever since them since - heck, he can’t even remember when Kris’ eyes were this alert, especially after he won the Idol title. A slight twinge of guilt wormed through him as he recalled Scott’s words: and then he comes from behind to take it from Adam … small wonder they’re trying to throw him under the bus some more…
Was it true?
“Hey. Adam.” Lifting his head slightly, Kris freed his hand out from under his sheets to place it on Adam’s arm. “Why am I here?”
Adam forced a smile onto his face. “Here? ‘Cause I carried you, baby,” he drawled.
“I know that,” Kris smiled back. He put his head down onto the pillow again, closing his eyes. “No one else would carry me anywhere but you. But I asked why.”
Adam chuckled. “Ooh, don’t let the press hear you say that, Kris my boy, or we’d be in an even more interesting position than we are in now.” He grinned more genuinely now, heartened to hear Kris laugh. “No pun intended.”
“Won’t,” Kris replied shortly. “So. Why?”
Like a dog with a bone, Adam thought, then sighed. “You were burning up with a fever last night, man. You were groaning and stuff. So I seriously flipped out and brought the nurse while Danny and the rest watched over you a bit. And we … uh, we talked shop while the nurse figured you out some.”
Kris pursed his lips, exhaling in a hiss.
“Look, darling,” Adam said, falsely cheerful, “you better get some more sleep before the nurse throws me out. Seriously, she wanted to get to stay and watch you, which I guess every other girl in America nowadays fantasize to do. But what the hell. Told her no one else aside from your wife gets to do that but me.”
It didn’t surprise Adam that Kris didn’t find that funny. He stood up, making to leave.
“Hey, Adam.” Kris said quietly, making Adam turn around. “I heard some of … your shop talk. It was hazy and all, and you know, I couldn’t really see who was talking. But I heard what y’all said. About the winning.”
Was it him or was everything in this room suddenly stifling? Adam couldn’t remember when he last blushed, but then again, nothing ever really seemed normal in this whole AI experience, more so when he was talking to Kris. “And the throwing-under-the-bus crap?”
“Yeah.”
The silence stretched until Adam sat back down heavily on the small couch he had cramped himself in last night. “Is it true you’ve always known?”
Kris nodded, opening his eyes and turning his face so that he could watch Adam. “How you were supposed to win and all? Heck. As someone said - from day one.”
“But -“ Adam began, protesting, only to have Kris interrupt.
“No man, it isn’t. None of us blames you. Least of all, not me.” His brown eyes were earnest - like they always were - and Adam knew better than to think Kris was lying. Kris never lied. He only said what he meant, and there was no difference between the man in front of the camera and the one behind it. If Kris said he didn’t blame Adam, he was sure he was telling him the truth.
Kris being Kris, Adam thought, squeezing Kris’ hand, relief flooding through him. “Of course. You could never blame anyone. You’re too nice sometimes, you know that?’
“My wife says so,” Kris laughed. “My brother thinks worse. Calls me spineless, sometimes.”
“No.” Adam shook his head. “Never spineless. In fact, you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re still gonna perform tomorrow night even if you just recovered from a fever, right?” Kris is silent, smiling, and Adam spread his hands, as if to say, I told you so.
“Thousands of fans, Adam. They come all the way to see you, and me, and the rest of us. Can’t let them down.” Kris shifted on the mattress, arching his back in a stretch.
Adam watched the line that his neck made from chin to throat, and refused to be distracted. “I know. So.” He stood up, finally. “Get some rest. Your voice started cracking on that freaking No Boundaries the other day - good thing you can transpose your guitar to a lower pitch so effortlessly. Don’t strain.”
“Yes, mom,” Kris mumbled in reply, but he was falling asleep, fast. “Thanks, ‘Dam. You’re best.”
---
The theater was packed, and Kris was shaking. His fever came back with a vengeance this morning, but he refused to stop the performance for his sake. Adam and the rest of the boys bullied him into conceding to just singing No Boundaries instead of the usual number of songs, and he agreed only because he was so wiped out he wasn’t even sure he could finish singing it. He wanted to have all of them, especially Adam, by his side, but the rest of the gang had disappeared when the emcee began his credits. Probably resting, he thought.
The guitar felt heavy in his hands, and he had to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants repeatedly, the wind cold, too cold, on his neck. He began the first chords and pushed, pushed himself to get to the second verse. He was straining and sweating and shaking and all he wanted to do was lie down and curl up.
He could feel an imminent break in his voice just as the song reached the chorus … and Kris prayed, prayed, that he wouldn’t embarrass himself by choking on his own coronation song before a couple of thousand people …
And, like some miracle, another voice came to supplant his own. First one, then two, then three, then nine other voices supported him, cradling him like a baby. He grinned like crazy at the other nine idols who were now singing the last few verses of the song with him, helping him along, hiding his strain-roughened voice with their blended ones. The audience, not knowing this wasn’t routine, whooped it up and cheered.
Then the last line came. Silence rolled as the other nine fell silent to let him bask in his song. He finished it, with a slight gasp that always accompanied his songs, and bowed his head. The audience broke out in pandemonium.
Adam caught his eye and winked.
And then Kris was swept up in a massive group hug, where all he got was an impression of an army of arms and hands and faces as his eyes blurred with grateful tears.
“Thanks, guys,” he whispered fervently.