Pieces of the People We Love (Part 2)

[ficbyjane]

Adam lasts about a week before he tries to call Tommy only to find that he's changed his number. He calls Monte.

"He said not to give it to you," Monte says, calm as always, even with a screaming baby in the background. "And I have to respect that. And before you ask, so do Cam, Isaac and LP."

"What about the dancers, or doesn't he want to talk to them either?" It's childish and stupid and Adam knows that but it falls out of his mouth anyway.

"Funny," Monte says, his voice dry. Lisa says something in the background that Monte replies to, and Adam half-hears a muffled conversation.

"I need to go. But before you call and ask again, no, I'm not going to give you his number and neither is anyone else. Let him be, Adam, okay? He's working it out."

Working it out turns out to be Tommy carefully cutting Adam off completely. Which is a strange feeling, Adam admits, as he watches Facebook, then Twitter go berserk after Tommy defriends and unfollows him. His feed blows up, Tommy's feed blows up and he's suddenly getting Dms from every single person he's ever followed.

Danielle comes around with wine and Indian food. "Should I say something?"

She frowns as she dips her naan in the rich red sauce in the bottom of the container.

"Would it help?"

Adam picks up his glass and thinks. He sighs and chews at his bottom lip.” No," he says, finally; reluctantly. "I guess it would just make things worse, since the only people who really knew we were together were our friends and family."

"There you go. Let it be. The internet will find something new to focus on in a few days."

"Mmmm," Adam says, non-committal. He seems to have this weirdly long internet life, but he doesn't say that to Danielle who offers a bright smile and kicks his leg under the table, which is her way of saying everything will be okay.

She's right and wrong. The record company, after a few weeks, starts making noises about his second album and Adam's kind of relieved to have something else to focus his attention on, after weeks of complete radio silence from Tommy, fucking insane white noise from the tabloids and interviews where he has to grit his teeth over and over again and say with all sincerity that he wishes Tommy the best for his future.

"That's good," Brad says, hitting the pause button on an E! Interview with Seacrest. "Even I almost believe that."

"Fuck you," Adam says idly, picking at the Thai Brad had brought with him. His friends have developed a strange habit of showing up on his doorstep at critical junctures, armed with food and alcohol, and he makes a mental note to pay Danielle back somehow, because he's pretty sure she's got them on a roster.

Brad rolls his head and gives Adam his best wide-eyed Bambi look, that still twists at Adam deep down. "Honey, that's always on the table."

Adam considers it for 30 seconds before rejecting it. "Too weird?" Brad asks, still apparently able to read Adam's mind. "Too soon?" And suddenly it rears up again, in a way it hasn't since the first week after he'd made the biggest mistake of his life and he's blinking back tears.

"Shit. Adam, I'm sorry, I was just - "

Adam shakes his head and picks up his glass (margueritas this time, Brad's own lethal blend). "It's not your fault. I thought I was, was doing better, but I'm - what am I going to do?"

He's not making any sense, the Neil part of his brain tells him, and Adam mentally rolls his eyes because no fucking kidding.

Brad slides over a little and rubs at Adam's arm, his eyes still wide, but worried now. "You're going to make an album. And you're going to go on a massive, sold-out world tour. You are going to meet someone who, who will love you like you deserve to be loved. But first, you're going to finish that drink, and come out with me."

It's a bad decision waiting to happen, but Adam wipes at his eyes, drinks his drink, and goes out dancing with Brad, Danielle and a couple of other friends. When the pictures of him grinding against Brad and some boy who's name Adam doesn't even remember hit Perez the next day, Adam swears he's never leaving his house again.

"Don't be fucking stupid," Neil says, too blunt and too fucking early but somehow he's managed to make bacon and eggs and oh, sweet Jesus coffee, without burning Adam's house down.

"You're single. You're a rock star. You're allowed to go out with your friends and get hammered. It's not illegal."

Adam rubs at his eyes and sits down at the kitchen island, curling his hands around his coffee. "I'd just like one day, just one fucking day, where I wasn't the one solely keeping the internet running."

Neil snorts at that, and slams a plate of food down in front of him. "Eat. Stop flattering yourself, and start making some decisions about the album. Seriously, Adam, I know that - you're still hurting, but you are not going to derail your career over a boy."

If men with hammers weren't doing home improvements inside his head, Adam would point out to Neil that Tommy's actually older than him, closer to knocking on the door of 30, so boy, not so much. He takes one look at Neil's face and takes a drink of coffee instead.

"Why are you still in LA anyway? I thought you would've had enough of me by now. Hightailed it back to New York. Aren't there ... politicians who need to be harrassed or something?"

Neil snorts at that, and sits beside him, attacking his breakfast like it's a personal insult to him. "Always. But they'll keep. It turns out my stupid big brother did something really stupid. I'm still on the studio payroll and Danielle asked me to stay, and I don't know if you've ever tried to say no to her ..."

"I did once. When we were 17. I'm still hearing about it."

"So that's why I'm still here. Finish your breakfast, and go get dressed. Lane's coming around today, and I think you have meetings and shit."

Adam obediently eats and finishes his coffee, stealing looks at Neil once in a while.

His life took a turn a few months ago that he didn't see coming, that he never wanted to go through again, but he has to admit, he still has a lot to be thankful for.

"I'm glad you're still here," he says, as he slides off his stool.

"Yeah, yeah. Shower. Clothes. Try not to look like you spent last night slobbering all over someone in some filthy Weho club."

"... ew."

"That's what I'm here for."



About a week in to the process, Adam starts to regret trying to make the album so soon. Everything he listens to, or is offered, or writes is about heartache and that's ... not the kind of album he wants.

"I just - don't want it to be all ... dark," he explains to Monte who's brought his guitar and a thick stack of legal pads around. "You know? I mean - I know that's what's ... happening to me right now, but it's - I don't ..." he trails off and spreads his hands out, relying on his friendship with Monte as his words fail him - again.

Monte nods as he picks out a melody on his guitar. It's something they've been working on, and Adam really, really likes it but it's got the same dark thread through it as all of the stuff he's been working on, or that he's been drawn to and it's getting a little frustrating.

"You'll figure it out. And having a little bit of dark in the glitter isn't a bad thing. I think it could be something really interesting. Like a black thread that runs through the whole thing."

Adam collapses back against the sofa. "Black thread. I like that. Could you write that down?"

"Sure, boss."

Adam leans his head against the back of the sofa, shuts his eyes, and gives Monte the finger.

It's the best he's felt in weeks.

After that, the rest of the songs seem to fall into place. He works on most of them with Monte and Cam; gets a couple of tracks from outside again - Sam Sparro sends him something that Adam doesn't even need to think about including on the album.

When they come together to record, finally, he's mostly happy.

Mostly.

Cam, Monte and Isaac are all there, having made room in their schedules to make this happen with him. They all look around, and no one says anything, but Adam shifts his shoulders, feeling the absence as much - or more - than the rest of them.

He'd been tempted to ask the studio to get in touch with Tommy; ask him if he wanted to be on the album, but Monte and Cam had both advised against it. “He’s working on his and Mike’s stuff, and he just met someone. He needs to work through this without you … looming,” Monte says, squeezing Adam’s shoulder to take the sting out of his words.
Cam says something about the vibe and how the inevitable tension wouldn’t serve the album that Adam wants to put out, and - reluctantly - he agrees, though he suddenly misses Tommy in a way he hasn’t since the first few terrible weeks after the break-up.

It hurts, because they had talked about it. On tour, on the long, endless nights on the bus; Tommy curled around him exactly like the kitty-cat Adam called him on stage, Adam stroking a hand down Tommy's spine.

With the night rumbling past outside, they had talked, and dreamed, and planned. And now, here’s the plan, coming together with - for Adam - a key part missing.

He sighs, takes a deep breath, and manages a smile that even feels a little real. Because even with that black thread running through the glitter, he's here - he's in the studio again, ready to make his second album and prove to the world that he's more than just - some kind of novelty act.

He's got good - great - songs, and producers still tripping over themselves to work with him, which still shocks him a little bit sometimes - like somehow he's strayed into the studio and into this life by mistake.

Monte interrupts his reverie, bumping against his shoulder.

"Okay. Let's do this."

Adam swallows, and nods, suddenly nervous. There's a lot more of himself in these songs, and as much as he's not sure if he wants that much of himself laid bare, he knows he's on to something special.

"Let's make a record."

And the thing is, the great and glorious and incredibly fucked-up thing, is that it’s a good record. A really good record. Possibly even a great record, but Adam’s not willing to go that far. Not yet.

He takes delivery of the CD, and grins like a fucking lunatic, before calling everyone he knows for an impromptu listening party. He’s riding such a high that it takes a second to come down when he realises the message he’s sent to Tommy out of habit has pinged back; number unknown.

Adam stares at his phone for a long, frozen second, before he stretches his thumb over the screen, and deletes the number. He takes a long breath, and exhales slowly. It still hurts, even after all these months, but he realises that it doesn’t hurt as much. Time and a busy life have worn at the pain like waves wearing rocks to sand.

He wishes that Tommy could be here somehow to share in the celebration, but if it’s not meant to be …

Blinking rapidly, Adam quickly sends a message to the next number down the list, and absorbs himself fully in the details for the party; determined to make it all about celebrating the album, and not about reliving his past mistake - again …

He had forgotten how much work there was. Not in putting the album together. That fed his soul in the way that only music could - in the studio day after day, immersed in the creative process with a group of like-minded people with the same goal in mind.

No; what he’d forgotten was how much work the promo stuff that came after the album was. How very much the same the interviews become after a while - question after question repeated until Adam thinks he’s going to scream, or go mad. But he puts on what Danielle calls his “public face” and answers them as patiently and politely as he can - again and again.

He pulls what Monte calls the “rock star” card and refuses to answer any questions about Tommy. When one interviewer won’t let it go, Adam puts on his blandest face and says, “We’ve both moved on, and I wish him all the best,” even as Lane materialises from nowhere and lets the reporter know in no uncertain terms that the interview is over.

The process is exhausting, and Adam’s relieved every night when he can go home, shut his door behind him and ignore the world.

Until Monte mentions the magic word: tour. They’ve just come off-set from performing the new single on Ellen, and it’s a throwaway comment; he says something to Cam about how they’re going to have to smooth out a transition for that song when they’re touring, and Adam stops, freezing in the middle of the corridor leading back to their dressing rooms.

Monte glances back at him, his eyebrows raised. “You okay? You look kinda pale.”

Adam shakes his head and digs up a smile that he knows isn’t going to fool Monte for a second. “I’m … fine. I just. I hadn’t really thought about … touring yet.”

Monte claps him on the back and says, “Better start thinking about it, because the label’s gonna come after you about it soon.”

Adam bites his lip and picks at the already-chipped polish on his thumbnail. “I know. I just … I figured …” he stops and frowns. This really isn’t the place for this conversation.

“I figured we’d all be together again,” he says quietly, as they go into the dressing room set aside for them before the show.

Monte doesn’t say anything else, just taps a finger on his lips, frowning.

Adam wants to ask him what he’s cooking up, but he knows all he’ll get in return is cryptic Monte, and he’s not in the mood for riddles.

As though he’s made it happen just by mentioning it, Adam wakes up the next morning to a message from Lane, who’s scheduled a meeting with the higher-ups.

Everything after that seems to speed up and before he knows it, Adam’s auditioning new dancers and idly bickering with Monte over hiring a new bassist.

“Just - wait a couple more days, okay? Let me talk to him again.”

Adam pulls a face as Brooke comes into the rehearsal room and settles in the chair beside him. “I don’t know … I don’t want to force him into it if he doesn’t want to -”

Monte just rolls his eyes and smacks his hand down on the table for emphasis. “Do you or do you not want Tommy back? In the band, I mean. It’s been a year, Adam. I think you can be in the same room together by now.”

Adam spins the takeout coffee Brooke has brought him, aware of her eyes on the back of his neck. “I - yeah. Of course I want him back - in the band. It was hard enough making the album without him, but touring without him …” Adam trails off and scratches his hand through his hair, frustrated. Monte stands up then, having come in just to talk to Adam about the band for the tour.

“I’ll talk to him again. Don’t worry, Adam. We’ll get the band back together!”

Adam and Brooke both laugh at that as Monte’s unfailing optimism never fails to lift his spirits.

“Okay,” Brooke says, all business now, and Adam has to shake his head a little bit to bring himself back to what she’s saying. “We’ve got Terrance, Taylor and Sasha back for this tour. But with it being so much bigger, we’re going to need more dancers. Well. Two more, I think.”

“Just two?” Adam pouts a little at that, having had visions of something much larger than that, but Brooke is giving him the same steely look she had given him before the first tour when he’d tried to mess with her choreography.

“Just two. I know it’s a bigger show and all that, Adam, but two more is all we need. Trust me, okay?”

“Always,” Adam says, automatically, and Brooke smiles, happy.

By the end of the day they have two new dancers, both talented, and both with the kind of energy that Adam wants in his troupe, because it’s not just about the shows, it’s about living on top of people for months at a time, and being able to get along, and that unnameable alchemy that happens on stage when people who are doing what they love can pull together and put that energy out into the world.

Brooke’s happy, which makes Adam happy, Jason and Sally are very happy, and Adam finds himself agreeing to go out for celebratory drinks, even though he doesn’t feel much like socialising.

“You can’t hide forever,” Brooke says. “The album’s done, we’ll be in rehearsals soon enough, so you should get out while you can; before you actually turn into a hermit.”

“I’m not a hermit,” he protests, as Brooke gives Jason and Sally instructions to her favourite bar. “I just … I’ve been working.”

Brooke quirks an eyebrow at him that he knows means “bullshit”, so he takes the road of least resistance: he shuts up.

“It’s just that - until recently, I haven’t had much to celebrate,” he says quietly as he opens the car door for her.

She pats his cheek and sighs. “I know, honey. We all do. It’s just - don’t let one mistake take over your whole life, okay?”

“I haven’t exactly been living like a monk” Adam argues, defensive. “I’ve gone out. I’ve even had sex. I just - I’m not ready for a relationship. That doesn’t make me a hermit.”

“Jason’s cute,” Brooke says then, swerving the topic sideways, which is a habit of hers that Adam will never get used to.

“And don’t say you didn’t notice. I saw you staring at his ass.”

Adam doesn’t bother wasting energy on denial, as he slips into a parking space. “He’s a dancer,” he points out. “He’s bound to have a nice ass. It’s like …. a rule.”

“MMmmhmmm … he seems like a nice guy, too. Sweet.”

The bar is in a quiet corner of LA; tucked away from the flash and drama, and Adam’s thankful for that as Sally and Jason bowl up to them in a flurry of energy, ready to celebrate.

The bar has the smallest dance floor in the universe, and Jason really does have a nice ass …

He congratulates himself when he tears himself away to go home alone after just one drink. Brooke laughs at him and calls him an old man, even as Sally and Jason drag her back on to the dance floor.

Adam waves, sneaks another look at Jason’s ass, and heads home. He’s tired; bone-tired, but excited at the same time. He’s been stationary for so long, and it finally feels like he’s in motion.

Monte calls him the next day, talking about rehearsal schedules and setting up meetings with Lane and the label to organise dates. He feels something flip in his stomach, and knows Monte catches it in his voice when he asks something inane about the arrangement of one of the songs.

“Oh, and I talked to Tommy a couple of times.” He drops it into the conversation casually, like it’s not a ticking bomb waiting to go off. Adam bites his tongue - hard - and waits. “He’s coming back. For the tour. Just need to let him know when rehearsals start, and he’ll be there.”

Adam lets out a long exhale, and waits for his heart to stop triphammering. Monte’s quiet on the other end of the line, humming the odd line of a song as he waits for Adam to speak.

“Okay,” Adam says when he thinks he can trust his voice. “That’s uh, that’s good.”

Monte spares him, and they move on to talking about the logistics of pulling everyone together for the rehearsals.

Despite everything, and his trepidation at the idea of seeing Tommy again for the first time in a year - Adam can’t help it. He’s excited. His first tour was something else - a once in a lifetime experience, but this … it’s so much bigger.

He feels the weight of it when he parks up outside the rehearsal space for the first time - worn-down studio space in an old, obscure corner of the city that Brooke had found - big enough for all of them to be together right from the start of the process.

Getting out of his car, Adam pauses for a moment, closing his eyes. This is … it. The beginning.

Of everything.

Part Three