[spn_j2_bigbang fic]: Wings, Rings and Interspecies Flings - NC-17 - 4/6
BACK TO MASTERPOST?
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Chapter Four: Goldilocks Goes Global
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Translations:
1. Thank you for choosing Hermes' Son. Have a nice day.
2. Thank you. You as well.
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Adam smiled tightly at the mustached man behind the hotel counter as he handed back his latest room key.
“*Sas ef̱charistoúme pou epiléxate Gios tou Ermí̱. Kalí̱ sas méra,” the man said, beaming back just as falsely.
“Um, you too,” Adam replied, because the only languages he knew, other than English, were two semesters' worth of Spanish and some Latin in college. Greek was a little out of his league.
Michael, however, added, “*Sas efcharistó. Boreíte epísis,” as if it was no big deal. It actually wasn't, for him, and his tongue rolled the vowels so perfectly that the hotel manager actually clapped.
“You're such a show off,” Adam teased, when they exited the stifling lobby and were welcomed by sweet Mediterranean air. He was used to it by now, since he'd already witnessed Michael working his magic in most of Asia, quite a bit of Europe, some of Africa, and a couple of other places. They'd touched on a few of the major sights in America, too, in Washington and New York and Vegas, but seeing the big cities he'd never thought he would get to visit only made Adam long for the home of the Windom Eagles that much more. With so many to wade through, finding a nice town to settle in was harder than finding a needle in a haystack - a more accurate challenge would be trying to find a specific needle in a pile of needles.
Michael had decided, instead, that if Adam didn't have a particular place in mind, he wanted to show the high points of human culture, and who in their right mind would turn down a trip with a guide who knew the exact coordinates to the ruins of Camelot, Atlantis and Troy? That's right, no one, and especially not Adam, who Michael knew had minored in Classics back at the University of Wisconsin.
Laughing and half-hanging out of a rickshaw as it roller-coastered through the Great Wall of China, getting seasick on a gondola in Italy, or winding through the tombs of pharaohs - it would never be not great, but it might not always be right, especially for Adam. He was a small town boy, through and through.
“You are frustrated,” Michael said simply, glancing at him now out of the corner of one tawny eye.
“I guess so,” Adam replied. “I just thought...it'd be easier, you know? Am I really asking for too much?” In a carry-along bag that was slung over his shoulder, he lugged some clothes and a little notepad. It had some emergency information that he'd already all but memorized, but also featured a neatly penned list on the third page - a list to help him on his search for home sweet home. When he took it out and flipped to the page, it read:
1. A nice place to stay.
2. Decent people.
3. A good college nearby.
Only those three things, nothing more, and it was still impossible to meet the requirements, perhaps because they were too simple. Adam wasn't just frustrated - he was nearly to the point of defeat.
“I'm to blame, aren't I?” Michael mused, which drew a look from his companion.
“Why do you say that?” Adam asked, because it seemed random. Michael had been nothing but kind since they'd left The Lady of Lawrence - since before that - so what gave him the idea that he'd done something wrong?
“Because I enjoy our travels,” the angel explained slowly. “I haven't had the time to see the Earth this way, nor have I wanted to prior to now, but it's somehow better with you, anyway. I like to watch the wonder on your face when you see something new.”
“No,” Adam muttered, feeling oddly warm and fluffy inside, “I don't blame you. It's okay to have fun. And, you know, just because we find permanent residence doesn't mean we can't come back. Air angel does cut the travel time back soundly.”
“Okay,” Michael accepted readily, considering what he'd heard. “That must mean it is your fault.”
“What?” Adam squawked. “How's it my fault?”
Michael blinked at him, then took the notebook from his grasp, frowning down at it. “Because you haven't yet noticed how Lawrence meets your qualifications,” he said. “It isn't comprised of only a hotel on a hill. There are well-structured houses there, you already find the townsfolk 'decent', and the Lawrence campus for the University of Kansas is the largest in their state. If we lived there, you could arrive to your classes in a matter of minutes, and I can perceive no difference between the Universities of Kansas and Wisconsin.”
Adam opened his mouth, then shut it again, sucking in his lips with a pop. What Michael was saying, it actually made sense. Lawrence was a great place, from what he knew of it, and he'd already met a few of his potential future neighbors during runs with Vivian. Also, it wasn't huge - it had that everybody knows everybody level of friendliness - but it wasn't quite as small as Windom. As much as he missed his hometown, he wasn't simply after a replacement.
“I guess you're right,” he begrudgingly admitted, snatching back his notepad and tucking it into the unzipped bag. “Can't believe I didn't realize.”
The archangel shrugged. “You can be rather obtuse. In any case, I had help. Mrs. Weldes asked me what you desired in real-estate. I merely informed her and she said she'd 'tan' you when next she saw you, because you are an idiot.” He spoke plainly, the deduction unsurprising.
“You're such a jerk,” Adam fumed, knocking his shoulder against Michael's. All this resulted in was him slipping slightly in the damp sand and having to be righted by the angel, who carried on without pause.
“Shall I call you a 'bitch' now?” Michael wondered, smiling bemusedly, as if Adam's ineffectual bout of anger had never happened.
The world stopped spinning from his near-tumble and Adam demanded, “Why would you call me that?”
He was thrown for a loop by the sudden insult, unsure whether or not to feel offended, but Michael assuaged him with a quelling glance and a, “Never mind,” wrapping the fingers of one hand fully around Adam's skinny arm. “To make sure you don't hurt yourself,” he rationalized, doing yet another one-eighty.
“Well, okay,” Adam allowed, “but only 'cause you were right this time. Still doesn't mean you can be an ass.”
Michael relented with a nod, observing his pout, and said, “I'm sorry, Adam.” His tone suggested he wasn't finished, and when the blond head turned in his direction, he continued, “Worry not. I would never let anyone harm you - not even Miss Weldes.”
“As if a little old lady could hurt me,” Adam scoffed, laughing, but when the angel's earnest expression fell, he shook off his grip and took his hand. “It's okay, you'll always be my knight in shining armor.”
Michael brightened, then suspiciously inquired, “Was that sarcasm?”
Honestly, it was, but Adam shook his head, giving the archangel's hand a reassuring squeeze before tugging him forward.
“It's our last day here,” he said, at Michael's questioning glance. “Before I call Viv, I am determined to make it the best, so we're definitely heading to the beach.” Sandcastles, seashells and swimming filtered into his vision, making him grin. Heck, if they had time, he wanted to scale Mount Olympus again.
“You are very childish,” Michael commented, but there was only affection, no heat, behind his words.
“You love it,” Adam huffed, unperturbed, to which the archangel smiled indulgently, letting himself be dragged until the gorgeous shoreline closed in, painted by the slowly reddening sun.
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A few hours later, Adam found himself with an armful of squirming old lady.
“You greet all your visitors like that?” he teased, ignoring the giggling maids and other hotel patrons in favor of blinking down at Vivian's head, now with her hair piled artfully on top.
“Hush, you!” she chided, pulling just far enough away to smack his arm a few times. “It took ya this long to mosey on back? Ya dummy!”
Adam rubbed the now sore spot and gave her the evil eye. “Jesus, woman, that smarted,” he complained, sullenly adding, “Not to mention, there was probably a better place for it than the entrance. I know what I'm putting in the suggestion box.”
Vivian snorted. “Don't be such a baby, and certainly don't take the Lord's name in vain.”
“I tell him that all the time,” Michael piped in, breaking his silence. He was taken aback when the old woman offered him a huge, partly toothless grin and latched onto him, somehow rocking his larger frame in a humorous parody of a dance.
“'Cause you're a good boy,” she said, muffled into his shirt, and Adam rolled his eyes, mouthing, 'Kiss ass,' noticeably enough to incite a frown from the angel.
“You gonna leave us poor, jet-lagged souls hanging out here?” he asked, even though they hadn't actually flown in the conventional sense. Just to rile her, he threw in another mumbled comment about the suggestion box.
“Like ya left me hangin' while ya had your little honeymoon, ringin' not a single time,” she returned, before caving and gesturing for them to follow her in, directing them to a new room that was almost exactly like the last one they'd occupied. “Gonna have to tell Luan to set out the things you'll need,” she grumbled. “Now, if you'd called before droppin' in-”
“-You'd have done something insane, I know. I'm so sorry for depriving you of that chance,” Adam finished, rolling his eyes again, then breaking out into a smile. “It's okay, Viv, really. You don't have to go overboard for us, and if all goes well, we won't be here for much longer.”
Her face fell. “Ya'll are leavin' so soon?” she tremulously inquired.
Michael glanced over at Adam, who was fighting to keep a straight face, before setting down their bags at the door. Vivian would only whine if they didn't leave something for the staff to do.
“Yes, very soon, if possible,” he answered, before shooting Adam a confused look when the elderly woman glowered at him.
Adam shook his head at the two and decided to take pity on them. “Only because we're taking your advice,” he informed Vivian. “We're thinking of sticking around for a while.”
The old woman gaped at him for a moment, then jumped up and grabbed him, nearly knocking him to the floor, if not for his hurried grip on the arm of the sofa.
“Oh, ya won't regret it!” she cried. “Lawrence is the best place on the planet and I just know the neighbors are gonna love ya - 'specially if they came outta me or outta someone who did! Gotta a lot of kin here, I do.”
Both men smiled indulgently at her, and when Michael added, “We will go home hunting soon. You may join us, if you wish,” she really did end up bodily dropping Adam.
“You could have waited till she was a little calmer,” he grumbled from the ground, rubbing at his tender diaphragm as Vivian squealed. Michael shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, but retained the smile.
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That night, after Vivian was assured enough that they wouldn't ghost away in the darkness, the two men slept soundly - or, well, Adam did, while his archangel roommate sat at the bedside table - easily falling back into their old routine.
When she knocked on the door at exactly five in the morning, however, even Michael lost his placid attitude, having been thwarted in his usual activity of watching Adam sleep and skimming through his dreams for the first time in weeks.
“Good mornin',” she chirped, when a bedraggled Adam opened the door, as if she hadn't just woken the sleeping dragon.
“It will be,” he replied between yawns, glancing at the wall-mounted clock, “in another five hours.”
“Oh, hush,” she said. “A young man like you should not be bothered by somethin' so trivial - not when he holds it up to gettin' his own place.”
“Viv-ee-an!” Adam whined, stretching each syllable. “We can do this later, can't we? Michael and I were-?”
“Were what?” she replied, face now gleaming like a child's on Christmas morning.
“-Were sleeping,” Adam finished easily, used to her antics by now, though he and the angel in question did share an exasperated look.
“Well, okay,” she said, obviously disappointed, before brightening again. “Now, why don't ya get cleaned up? I'd say your boy, too, but for someone who was sleepin', he sure looks polished.”
“He used to be a model,” Adam explained dryly, slipping in another fake story about the archangel's past for her to report to the maids. “The perfect posture is still there, even if it's no longer his schtick.”
Vivian applauded in delight, beaming at Michael, who smiled back shyly. “If she's already so excited, we may as well go,” he inputted.
Adam sighed and relented with a nod. “You stay with pretty boy while I go get cleaned up,” he directed the elderly hostess, to her immediate agreement.
“If anythin',” he could hear her say, as he ducked into the bathroom, “you're handsome. He's more pretty.”
The whir of the shower stream drowned out their gossip.
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The mansion complexes that Vivian wanted to visit were only a few minutes' walk from the hotel, as both the gated neighborhood and the Lady occupied the hill over Lawrence city.
Adam stumbled to a stop when he saw the row of manors, while the old woman continued without pause, explaining, “A realtor will meet us there. He'll get ya a good deal for sure.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Adam replied, not quite able to pick his jaw off the floor yet. Vivian quirked a patient eyebrow at him. “You seriously want us to buy a freaking mansion?”
“It's not like Michael here can't afford it,” she answered, picking up her pace again.
“I can,” the archangel clarified, waiting for Adam to fall into step beside him, “but only if you want one.”
“Why wouldn't he?” Vivian asked, evidently surprised. “Ya like the hotel, don't ya? It ain't much different.”
Michael recalled what Adam had told him before and said, “Normal people do not live in hotels,” which only served to offend the Lady's mistress.
“You sayin' I'm not normal?” she screeched, wheeling around with her hands on her hips.
Adam held his own out in placation. “Of course not. It's just...I'm kinda small town, Viv, that's all.”
“And these are small town mansions,” she returned, not frazzled in the least. “C'mon, just give 'em a gander. Ya might like 'em,” she added more pleadingly.
“Okay,” Adam agreed with the utmost reluctance. “I guess there's no harm in looking.”
Two hours later, he retracted his statement. The harm laid in the fact that he ended up not liking any of the fancy, pre-furnished places the realtor droned on and on about, and he was dead on his feet from having to tour them, especially since he knew he wouldn't end up picking a single one. At least then the sacrifice might have been worth it.
The first two homes had previously belonged to rich politicians who had either moved or died. This one was different, as the former property of a famous photographer and author whose works were still plastered on the wall.
“He captured street images of disasters around the world,” the real estate agent explained, pointing to a framed picture of a McDonald's that had been ravaged by a storm.
Michael canted his head at it, then said, “I believe we've been there before.”
The agent laughed. “I'm sure it wasn't the same one.”
“All of these seem a little morbid,” Vivian interjected, frowning. “Maybe we should move on to the next one?”
“If you wish,” the realtor replied, turning to Adam expectantly. “What do you think, sir?”
Adam pursed his lips, considering the covered walls. “It's...interesting. How many more are left?”
“Seven,” the agent answered. “Shall we go?”
Adam barely restrained a sigh, watching Vivian nod in his stead. Knowing her, she'd want him to see them all, and what real estate personnel in their right mind would be opposed to more business? He'd get no rescue n that front.
“I...guess,” he muttered unhappily. He was screwed, anyway.
Both the realtor and Vivian smiled, heading for the exit, and Adam hunched after them like a man heading to the gallows. Shopping had never been an activity he'd enjoyed.
Michael blinked at their receding backs, dragging his eyes away from the picture of the decimated eatery, and said, “We should stop.”
Everyone did, simply because the archangel hadn't offered much input previously, and Adam arched an eyebrow at him. “You wanna go to McDonald's or something? I'd rather check out the diner on Sixth Street. Viv's chef thinks it's awesome.”
“No,” Michael answered, “but I would rather not continue with this feral pursuit of fowl. You won't like any of them.”
Adam started to explain that he meant wild goose chase, not whatever it was he'd said, but Vivian set her fists on her hips and grouched, “How do you know? He just might pick one! You might like it.”
“He won't,” the angel declared with an easy shrug. “I can take you to what he will.” As an afterthought, he added, “And I will be fine with whatever Adam wants.”
The old woman scowled, but Adam mouthed a 'thank you' at him. Aloud, he said, “He means he can drive, but you're license isn't valid in this state yet, Mike, remember?”
“I'll drive,” the agent offered. “Just tell me where to go.”
“Well, fine then,” Vivian huffed, crossing her arms. “I suppose it's your place, so whatever ya want goes.”
Mentally, Adam shot another thanks to Michael's dad, if for nothing else but creating his archangel son. Maybe today could be over before blood was shed, after all.
“You're amazing,” he told the angel conspiratorially, gifting him with a grin, as they ducked into the backseat of a bright green VW Bug. Michael smiled back, though his gold eyes flecked from one shut door to the other, discomfited by the constricted area.
“Where to?” the realtor asked, looking politely away from the fidgeting warrior of the Lord.
Michael settled back into his seat at Adam's behest, allowing him to reach over and click his seat-belt shut, even though most supernatural creatures were invulnerable to such things as car wrecks, because the position allowed him to murmur right into Adam's ear. “There is a street called Minnesota with an unsold house. It isn't the same, but...perhaps you'd like to see it, anyway?”
Adam's hand tightened on the strap of the belt, but after a moment he glanced up, shot his angel a quick, meaningful smile, and said, “Minnesota Street. Can you take us there?” to the agent, who immediately nodded and started up the car, choosing not to comment on the slight hitch in his voice.
“Ya lived in Minnesota, didn't you?” Vivian inquired, breaking the silence with uncharacteristic tact.
Adam nodded and murmured, “Yeah...before.”
He could see her face fall in the rear-view, weathered and lively all at once, but she didn't broach the subject any further and the tiny Bug fell into an amicable quiet until they reached the row of homes on the small street. The one Michael had mentioned stood out like a sore thumb.
The windows were boarded up, the door was bolted shut, its white paint was peeling gray and the lawn was overgrown, as opposed to the perfect cookie-cutter houses on either side of it, which had trimmed yards full of prize-winning rose bushes, toys for children and creepy lawn ornaments that probably passed for classy.
“It used to belong to a Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” the realtor explained. “The husband relocated his business to China last year, however, and my firm hasn't been able to find new occupants.”
“Maybe it'd be easier if ya kept it in shape,” Vivian muttered snidely, but Adam cocked his head at it, taking in the small house from all angles. Wouldn't it be epic if it belonged to assassins?
“I like it,” he finally decided, ignoring two pairs of dubious looks sent his way.
“It does come furnished,” the agent said hesitantly. “If you're certain you want it, I'm sure the firm will pitch in for the upkeep we previously failed to do, after purchasing it from the Smiths.”
“Nah, it's cool. Michael can fix it,” Adam replied, bumping shoulders with the archangel, who seemed pleased.
Vivian lowered her sunglasses and squinted over her shoulder at them. “You're a model and a handyman, huh?” To the realtor, she said, “Ya better not think you'll be rippin' them off today.”
“Don't listen to her,” Adam broke in, glaring at the back of the old woman's seat because she was too short for more than a few wisps of white hair to reach over it. “Look, Viv, the place has character. Broken things can be fixed and that's how you make them your own.” The Milligan house in Windom had experienced quite a lot in its forty years of life. By the time a young mother and her little boy moved in, it was already pretty banged up, though it was hard to recall a time before Kate had decided green was a bad look for her enough to tackle it with Spackle and tough love. Who said this had to be any different? More firmly, Adam insisted, “We'll take it.”
Vivian practically melted into the Bug's leather interior, a foiled sulk in place, but the real estate agent nodded, likely relieved that the roller-coaster ride this day had become was almost over.
“Okay,” he said, unlocking all the doors from a switch on the dashboard. “Now that that's decided, shall we go take the grand tour?”
And thus the process began again, but with a more recognizable end result. By the end of the day, Adam and Michael - despite the angel's maintaining that it wasn't necessary - were the co-owners of the little house on Minnesota Street, number four-nineteen.
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Unfortunately, Casa de Milligan was falling apart at the seams, so it took a lot of work before it tangibly became anything more than a scrapheap.
“But what if people are here and there's a blackout?” Adam inquired worriedly, craning his neck to watch Michael as he drew a brush over the ceiling, like he'd done in the last three rooms of their new house. Only two more to go. “What will they think of this honking, glowing, devil-worshiping symbol?”
Michael frowned down at him disapprovingly. “They are not devil-worshiping symbols. They are devil's traps, which are quite the opposite. You are lucky we found this phosphorescent paint in the crafts store. It's bad enough where I have to put the banishing sigils.” That was to say, behind their wallpaper, which would have to be peeled back if they were needed to activate the marks.
“They're made of blood!” Adam exclaimed, not admitting how watching Michael cut into his own palm had made him squirmy. That wasn't the best thing to spread around, being pre-med and all. “The neighbors are gonna think we're serial killers. Just a pair of Dahmers, since we're gay, to boot.”
Michael added a final stroke to the devil's trap and jumped off the ladder, defeating its purpose entirely, only to land, catlike, on his feet. That would be a perfect ten, if judges were around to gauge him for it.
“You're only upset because all the visiting ladies talked about how cute a couple we make and how perfectly comfortable they are in our presence,” he said, smirking wanly.
Adam glowered at him, then answered, “Yeah, well, at least we have enough home-cooked meals to last a while, now. What do you want tonight: Miss Baker's potluck surprise or Mrs. Sullivan's macaroni salad? I'm always partial to mac-n-cheese, myself.”
“I don't like surprises,” the angel replied, in full agreement, before going onto the next room.
Adam trailed after him and said, “Maybe I should get started on heating that up? You gonna be okay on your own? Not gonna splatter gore on the walls, will you?”
“No,” Michael muttered. “I'm not a child and, as such, do not require constant supervision. If anything, I am worried you will drench our food in ketchup in my absence, as you are wont to.”
“Will not!” Adam stuck his tongue out immaturely, but the archangel zapped his ladder into the room to begin working again, so he backed out. “I mean it, though, Michael,” he added, in a tone that brooked no argument, “I don't care if they're better on exits and entrances, absolutely none of those angel banning things where people can see them!”
When the archangel replied with a quiet, sarcastic, “Yes, dear,” he hid a smile behind his palm and ducked into the kitchen. That backtalk only meant, truce or not, there would definitely be ketchup on the salad.
Not an hour later, Michael joined him and, as expected, grimaced down at their dinner. Adam cackled at his disgusted expression and most of the meal was spent flicking spoonfuls of excess tomato sauce at each other. After that, the supernatural touches were crossed off their renovation list, which left only the normal ones. That leaky roof wouldn't patch itself up, after all, and Michael's efforts would be in vain if stray water somehow washed his sigils away.
-
They didn't want to make the repairs seem too fast, lest anyone get suspicious, but Adam figured it would be okay to invite Vivian over three days later. She had been calling him to probe for information every day, ever since he told her that she couldn't visit until after the renovations were done, and he'd been plying her with news of his school application status to appease her.
The University of Kansas was happy to have him and made the process nice and simple. He couldn't help but worry, all the same, that they would discover how most of his documentation was fake. Half the time, Adam almost wanted to quit while he was ahead, before they could investigate, or start school from scratch, rather than with all of his previous credits transferred.
Whenever he brought that up, though, usually when wild-eyed after a night of insomnia, Michael would patiently say, “You are merely nervous, which is silly because you're the smartest human I know.” Every time, with interchangeable kindness and vexation, Michael comforted him, and now it was too late for Adam to back out - not if Vivian already had it in her head that this was his returning to school party, meaning she'd happily join Michael and get on his back about the issue.
“I don't know what them college kids are readin' nowadays,” she began, as soon as he let her in, her head already turning to survey the room, “but I gotcha a present.”
Adam blinked down at the object she thrust into his arms, a newish copy of The Catcher in the Rye, and immediately replied, “You really didn't have to, Viv,” while mentally adding that Michael also didn't have to fly over to China when he said he'd wanted Chinese food. There was a perfectly good restaurant about two blocks away, but of course Adam was stuck with melodramatics. Secretly, he thought both gestures were sweet.
“'Course I did,” she huffed predictably, patting him on the arm and continuing with the tour. “I remember when my kids read that book. Heard the boy in it's a real snarky brat, just like you.”
“Then he will enjoy it,” Michael added, entering the living room with a tiny smirk.
Adam glowered at the two of them, wondering why they always had to gang up on him, before setting the book down carefully on top of their coffee table and asking, “So, what do you think, Mrs. Snob? It meet your approval?”
“Hey, I ain't a snob!” Vivian rebuffed, before reluctantly adding, “But the place does look...decent. Ya fixed everything so quick.”
Adam puffed out his chest, eyes sweeping over the room. The couches were plush and new, he'd polished the hardwood floor himself, and fresh new wallpaper adorned the walls. It was comfy and cozy without going overboard. It reminded him of home - it was home.
“I did everything,” Michael said, raising his hand slowly, then leaning back to avoid Adam's fist.
Adam pursed his lips to keep from grumbling about how, while the archangel had done the handy work, usually via mojo, he'd been the one to clean up all the paint splotches and residual wood-chips left behind, with no powers whatsoever.
Instead, he ignored Michael and offered Vivian his arm. “C'mon, I'm starving. And, uh, before you ask, Zen Zero changed their recipe. That's why the food might taste a little different. No other reason.”
“Well, okay, 's'long as it ain't too spicy. That's no good for me no more,” she replied, beaming up at him when he pulled a chair open for her. She spent the rest of the night admiring the furniture and the meal, drawing Michael into the conversation by asking about the wallpaper he'd picked for each of the rooms - some with cartoon images, some with raining feathers that Adam found amusing, and some solid layers of color.
Adam sat back and watched the two, occasionally joining in to poke fun at one or the other, taking pleasure in their reactions. Mostly, he thought about how they must look to anyone watching through the windows - how they could pass for a family, if a slightly unconventional one.
Time passed and the hands on the wall-clock, a creepy cuckoo bird with huge, roving eyes that Michael had carefully picked out from the kid's section of a furniture store, which he claimed reminded him of his youngest archangel brother, migrated closer to the midnight hour.
Vivian, her sunglasses currently unnecessary and thus tucked into her huge purse, squinted at it and sighed, her chair scraping back along the tiled floor. “I should be headin' home, baby boy. Ya have school tomorrow, and Lord knows it's just as important at your age to get a good night's sleep as it is for my little ones.”
Adam blinked, then sheepishly admitted, “I sorta forgot.”
“Shame on ya!” Vivian said, wagging her finger, but she was smiling.
Adam smiled back, pushing away his finished plate. “Shall I walk you to the door, milady?” he asked, offering her his elbow coquettishly and throwing in a wink.
He pouted when she replied, “I'd rather have him do it,” and pulled Michael to his feet. The archangel blinked, but allowed her to drag him. “Don't ya keep him up with all that funky stuff tonight, ya hear?” she advised, when they reached the door, and Adam groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
“Keep it up and you won't be invited back, lady,” he warned her.
“I won't,” Michael promised solemnly. “Would you like me to escort you home?”
Vivian giggled like a schoolgirl, stepping up onto her toes to pat his cheek. “That would be nice, but I can drive, dear.” She smirked over her shoulder at Adam, who was still sulking, and added, “Goodnight, both of ya.”
Adam waved as the door shut behind her, then dropped his head back to hit the wall, emitting a sigh.
“You're still nervous,” Michael observed. After accepting that no answer was forthcoming, he nodded sagely. “I can escort you to the bedroom, if you'd like? Putting you to a dreamless sleep shouldn't be difficult.”
“Okay,” Adam said, not having to think about it long at all. It was something Michael did often enough, and while it sometimes made Adam uncomfortable to have someone playing around in his brain, he knew he'd shared himself with the archangel too long for him to suddenly become prudish. “Just don't try anything 'funky', man.”
Michael made a face, before reaching out with two fingers to brush against his human's forehead and transport him out of the room.
That night, Adam dreamed in wild swirls of colors and, unsurprisingly, bright archangel grace. Michael almost always reverted to his true form in dreamland, and that was probably why the crisp, pungent smell of smoke didn't initially set off any mental alarm bells, so evocative of Michael's own scent.
Their literal alarms, however, blared loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood, and Adam shot up off his bed in a panic, running out to look for Michael even if he rationally knew a fire wouldn't do him much damage. For all the knowledge he had about supernatural creatures, it just might.
His bedroom, the bathroom, the free rooms and living room were empty, but in the kitchen, he was met with the sight of Michael's back as the archangel stood over the stove, a thick line of smoke building from whatever pot he was stirring.
He heard Adam's heavy breathing and turned. “Oh, hello.”
Adam stared at him incredulously. “You're burning down our new house and that's all you have to say? Hello? How about, hey, the last two times you died were kinda boring. This time, I'm gonna fry you to a crisp, and won't that be fun?”
“Your witticism astounds me,” Michael returned dryly. “I am not plotting to murder you. If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't have to waste time with useless schemes.”
“Okay, tough guy,” Adam said, rolling his eyes, “I get it, you can pack it back into your pants. If you're not doing that, what are you doing?”
Michael turned away again, his back stiffening, and said something illegible. When Adam prodded him further, he muttered, “I am cooking for you,” in an almost bashful way.
Adam scrutinized his discomfort, then smiled. “Aw, Michael, you're adorable,” he finally replied, in a teasing tone.
“On second thought, I may attempt to be rid of you, after all,” the archangel grouched.
Adam laughed, only to intake some billowing smoke and choke on it. “I-I believe you,” he said between coughs. “Why else would you be brewing poisons?”
Michael frowned from Adam to the concoction, then said, “It isn't poison. I made eggs - scrambled - but they didn't come out quite as planned.”
“Oh really?” Adam inquired, after clearing his throat and wiping away the tears that leaked from his stinging eyes. He moved to peer over the angel's shoulder and regarded the blackened, charred eggs with his bottom lip between his teeth, to keep from both laughing or inhaling more smoke. “It doesn't look...that bad,” he lied.
“So you'll eat it?” Michael asked, his eyes brightening in that hopeful, golden way that made Adam want to agree.
Instead, he shook his head, choosing a bit more longevity over imminent death. “Not even on your long life, buddy, but I'll tell you what, I'll bring home some of that ice cream you like after class. What do you say?” He added the last bit appealingly, to spare Michael's feelings, and blew out a sigh of relief when Heaven's Sword accepted his terms. If he hadn't, Adam might have chickened out and tried his burnt cooking, anyway.
“I like vanilla,” Michael reminded him, shooting one last disappointed look at the pan-full of eggs, before dumping them out. They'd have the luck to be amassed into a nuclear reactor someday.
“I know,” Adam said, grinning and squeezing his angel's bicep. “I think I'll get to school myself. It's only about half an hour, so if I run, I can count it as my morning exercise. Two birds with one stone.”
Michael eyed him for a moment, then began to put his now empty pan into the pantry, that hard set to his back again. “You don't wish for me to take you.” It wasn't a question.
“No, it isn't that,” Adam protested, then paused. “I just... I'm sorry, Mike. You can take me if you want? Or I could stay, if that's better?” he offered.
“No,” the archangel returned. “I didn't intend to get testy. I suppose I will simply miss you. I don't like being alone.”
“Oh,” Adam murmured, feeling awful now. He had spent a lot of time worrying about how his going back to school would affect him, not Michael. “Well...maybe you can go where you go when you're mad at me? Hang out with other rebel angels?”
“There are no other 'rebel angels,'” Michael spat out, but when he saw Adam's wide eyes, all the air deflated out of him. “I cannot see any of my brethren - not ever. When you aren't with me, I-I fly around, take in the sights, but I don't really do anything. Nothing meaningful, and it's still very lonely.”
Adam swallowed, then repeated his apology, closing in the distance between them till he was inches away from being chest to back with the angel. “When I get out of class, we can do whatever you want - together - and the great thing about college is, I'll only be gone a few hours. I'll be back before you know it.”
“All right,” Michael said, nodding curtly. He turned halfway and touched Adam's cheek. “Goodbye.”
“For now,” Adam replied with determination, lifting his own hand, but not making contact with Michael's fingers. He almost regretted it when they fell away from his face, but a quick glance at the clock alerted him of the time, and he was already too late. “See you.”
“Yes,” the archangel murmured, golden eyes concentrated intensely on him as he left the room, picking up his new bag from where he'd left it leaning against the coat-rack last night. Even after the door shut behind him, Adam felt as if his soul was being dissected by that heady gaze.
Damn it.
“Mr. Milligan!” a little voice piped in, followed by an older girl's cry, and he rotated till he caught sight of the Holmes' children, Sari and Ritchie. Their mother, Jenny, a pretty blond woman who was looking a bit raddled, followed after them, her arms busy with a tray.
“Oh, hello, Adam,” she said, slightly out of breath, as she pitched her hip to rearrange the platter so she could tuck a long strand of hair behind her ear. Catching his curious gaze, she explained, “The kids have a scouting mission. We're handing out muffins and fliers.”
“Here,” Ritchie chirped, handing him the aforementioned piece of paper, which advertised a charity pet adoption event that would take place in the Holmes' yard later that night. Sari batted her eyes at him, her fingers interlaced over her plaid skirt. She and her younger brother were both decked out fully in boy and girl scout uniforms.
Adam smiled at them fondly, despite the situation, and accepted the flier. “I used to be a boy scout, you know?”
“Really?” both children inquired, eyes round as saucers. Ritchie rounded on his sister. “And you said being one wasn't cool!”
“I guess it is, if Mr. Milligan's doing it,” Sari admitted, blushing and staring down at her Mary-Jane shoes.
“Oh yeah, totally,” Adam agreed, with exaggerated gravity, as he shot Jenny a wink. “I was even an Eagle Scout. That's the highest you can get.” He was actually quite proud of that feat, and could easily recall the day when the scout leader had promoted him during a national ceremony, pinning his last merit badge onto his already full sash.
“Whoa,” the kids breathed, but their mother only laughed, handing him a still warm, chocolate muffin.
“For the great Eagle Scout, then,” she joked, bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
Adam's smile wavered for a moment. Jenny was all alone, raising Ritchie and Sari by herself, and she reminded him of Kate so much.
He plastered his grin back on, slightly forced, and moaned when he bit into the treat. “It's good,” he said through a mouthful, “and I'll definitely go to this event thing if you're gonna bake some more. Plus, baby animals.”
“You can never go wrong with baby animals,” she laughed, before picking up her pace when the kids bounded off. “See you later, Adam.”
He nodded at the receding trio and took off in a trot, mood uplifted. Having an actually edible breakfast had that affect on him. It was the most important meal of the day, after all.
(cut off awkwardly at this point because LJ was being mean to me)
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PREVIOUS (CHAP 3) ♥ MASTERPOST ♥ NEXT (CHAP 5)
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Chapter Four: Goldilocks Goes Global
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Translations:
1. Thank you for choosing Hermes' Son. Have a nice day.
2. Thank you. You as well.
-
Adam smiled tightly at the mustached man behind the hotel counter as he handed back his latest room key.
“*Sas ef̱charistoúme pou epiléxate Gios tou Ermí̱. Kalí̱ sas méra,” the man said, beaming back just as falsely.
“Um, you too,” Adam replied, because the only languages he knew, other than English, were two semesters' worth of Spanish and some Latin in college. Greek was a little out of his league.
Michael, however, added, “*Sas efcharistó. Boreíte epísis,” as if it was no big deal. It actually wasn't, for him, and his tongue rolled the vowels so perfectly that the hotel manager actually clapped.
“You're such a show off,” Adam teased, when they exited the stifling lobby and were welcomed by sweet Mediterranean air. He was used to it by now, since he'd already witnessed Michael working his magic in most of Asia, quite a bit of Europe, some of Africa, and a couple of other places. They'd touched on a few of the major sights in America, too, in Washington and New York and Vegas, but seeing the big cities he'd never thought he would get to visit only made Adam long for the home of the Windom Eagles that much more. With so many to wade through, finding a nice town to settle in was harder than finding a needle in a haystack - a more accurate challenge would be trying to find a specific needle in a pile of needles.
Michael had decided, instead, that if Adam didn't have a particular place in mind, he wanted to show the high points of human culture, and who in their right mind would turn down a trip with a guide who knew the exact coordinates to the ruins of Camelot, Atlantis and Troy? That's right, no one, and especially not Adam, who Michael knew had minored in Classics back at the University of Wisconsin.
Laughing and half-hanging out of a rickshaw as it roller-coastered through the Great Wall of China, getting seasick on a gondola in Italy, or winding through the tombs of pharaohs - it would never be not great, but it might not always be right, especially for Adam. He was a small town boy, through and through.
“You are frustrated,” Michael said simply, glancing at him now out of the corner of one tawny eye.
“I guess so,” Adam replied. “I just thought...it'd be easier, you know? Am I really asking for too much?” In a carry-along bag that was slung over his shoulder, he lugged some clothes and a little notepad. It had some emergency information that he'd already all but memorized, but also featured a neatly penned list on the third page - a list to help him on his search for home sweet home. When he took it out and flipped to the page, it read:
1. A nice place to stay.
2. Decent people.
3. A good college nearby.
Only those three things, nothing more, and it was still impossible to meet the requirements, perhaps because they were too simple. Adam wasn't just frustrated - he was nearly to the point of defeat.
“I'm to blame, aren't I?” Michael mused, which drew a look from his companion.
“Why do you say that?” Adam asked, because it seemed random. Michael had been nothing but kind since they'd left The Lady of Lawrence - since before that - so what gave him the idea that he'd done something wrong?
“Because I enjoy our travels,” the angel explained slowly. “I haven't had the time to see the Earth this way, nor have I wanted to prior to now, but it's somehow better with you, anyway. I like to watch the wonder on your face when you see something new.”
“No,” Adam muttered, feeling oddly warm and fluffy inside, “I don't blame you. It's okay to have fun. And, you know, just because we find permanent residence doesn't mean we can't come back. Air angel does cut the travel time back soundly.”
“Okay,” Michael accepted readily, considering what he'd heard. “That must mean it is your fault.”
“What?” Adam squawked. “How's it my fault?”
Michael blinked at him, then took the notebook from his grasp, frowning down at it. “Because you haven't yet noticed how Lawrence meets your qualifications,” he said. “It isn't comprised of only a hotel on a hill. There are well-structured houses there, you already find the townsfolk 'decent', and the Lawrence campus for the University of Kansas is the largest in their state. If we lived there, you could arrive to your classes in a matter of minutes, and I can perceive no difference between the Universities of Kansas and Wisconsin.”
Adam opened his mouth, then shut it again, sucking in his lips with a pop. What Michael was saying, it actually made sense. Lawrence was a great place, from what he knew of it, and he'd already met a few of his potential future neighbors during runs with Vivian. Also, it wasn't huge - it had that everybody knows everybody level of friendliness - but it wasn't quite as small as Windom. As much as he missed his hometown, he wasn't simply after a replacement.
“I guess you're right,” he begrudgingly admitted, snatching back his notepad and tucking it into the unzipped bag. “Can't believe I didn't realize.”
The archangel shrugged. “You can be rather obtuse. In any case, I had help. Mrs. Weldes asked me what you desired in real-estate. I merely informed her and she said she'd 'tan' you when next she saw you, because you are an idiot.” He spoke plainly, the deduction unsurprising.
“You're such a jerk,” Adam fumed, knocking his shoulder against Michael's. All this resulted in was him slipping slightly in the damp sand and having to be righted by the angel, who carried on without pause.
“Shall I call you a 'bitch' now?” Michael wondered, smiling bemusedly, as if Adam's ineffectual bout of anger had never happened.
The world stopped spinning from his near-tumble and Adam demanded, “Why would you call me that?”
He was thrown for a loop by the sudden insult, unsure whether or not to feel offended, but Michael assuaged him with a quelling glance and a, “Never mind,” wrapping the fingers of one hand fully around Adam's skinny arm. “To make sure you don't hurt yourself,” he rationalized, doing yet another one-eighty.
“Well, okay,” Adam allowed, “but only 'cause you were right this time. Still doesn't mean you can be an ass.”
Michael relented with a nod, observing his pout, and said, “I'm sorry, Adam.” His tone suggested he wasn't finished, and when the blond head turned in his direction, he continued, “Worry not. I would never let anyone harm you - not even Miss Weldes.”
“As if a little old lady could hurt me,” Adam scoffed, laughing, but when the angel's earnest expression fell, he shook off his grip and took his hand. “It's okay, you'll always be my knight in shining armor.”
Michael brightened, then suspiciously inquired, “Was that sarcasm?”
Honestly, it was, but Adam shook his head, giving the archangel's hand a reassuring squeeze before tugging him forward.
“It's our last day here,” he said, at Michael's questioning glance. “Before I call Viv, I am determined to make it the best, so we're definitely heading to the beach.” Sandcastles, seashells and swimming filtered into his vision, making him grin. Heck, if they had time, he wanted to scale Mount Olympus again.
“You are very childish,” Michael commented, but there was only affection, no heat, behind his words.
“You love it,” Adam huffed, unperturbed, to which the archangel smiled indulgently, letting himself be dragged until the gorgeous shoreline closed in, painted by the slowly reddening sun.
-
A few hours later, Adam found himself with an armful of squirming old lady.
“You greet all your visitors like that?” he teased, ignoring the giggling maids and other hotel patrons in favor of blinking down at Vivian's head, now with her hair piled artfully on top.
“Hush, you!” she chided, pulling just far enough away to smack his arm a few times. “It took ya this long to mosey on back? Ya dummy!”
Adam rubbed the now sore spot and gave her the evil eye. “Jesus, woman, that smarted,” he complained, sullenly adding, “Not to mention, there was probably a better place for it than the entrance. I know what I'm putting in the suggestion box.”
Vivian snorted. “Don't be such a baby, and certainly don't take the Lord's name in vain.”
“I tell him that all the time,” Michael piped in, breaking his silence. He was taken aback when the old woman offered him a huge, partly toothless grin and latched onto him, somehow rocking his larger frame in a humorous parody of a dance.
“'Cause you're a good boy,” she said, muffled into his shirt, and Adam rolled his eyes, mouthing, 'Kiss ass,' noticeably enough to incite a frown from the angel.
“You gonna leave us poor, jet-lagged souls hanging out here?” he asked, even though they hadn't actually flown in the conventional sense. Just to rile her, he threw in another mumbled comment about the suggestion box.
“Like ya left me hangin' while ya had your little honeymoon, ringin' not a single time,” she returned, before caving and gesturing for them to follow her in, directing them to a new room that was almost exactly like the last one they'd occupied. “Gonna have to tell Luan to set out the things you'll need,” she grumbled. “Now, if you'd called before droppin' in-”
“-You'd have done something insane, I know. I'm so sorry for depriving you of that chance,” Adam finished, rolling his eyes again, then breaking out into a smile. “It's okay, Viv, really. You don't have to go overboard for us, and if all goes well, we won't be here for much longer.”
Her face fell. “Ya'll are leavin' so soon?” she tremulously inquired.
Michael glanced over at Adam, who was fighting to keep a straight face, before setting down their bags at the door. Vivian would only whine if they didn't leave something for the staff to do.
“Yes, very soon, if possible,” he answered, before shooting Adam a confused look when the elderly woman glowered at him.
Adam shook his head at the two and decided to take pity on them. “Only because we're taking your advice,” he informed Vivian. “We're thinking of sticking around for a while.”
The old woman gaped at him for a moment, then jumped up and grabbed him, nearly knocking him to the floor, if not for his hurried grip on the arm of the sofa.
“Oh, ya won't regret it!” she cried. “Lawrence is the best place on the planet and I just know the neighbors are gonna love ya - 'specially if they came outta me or outta someone who did! Gotta a lot of kin here, I do.”
Both men smiled indulgently at her, and when Michael added, “We will go home hunting soon. You may join us, if you wish,” she really did end up bodily dropping Adam.
“You could have waited till she was a little calmer,” he grumbled from the ground, rubbing at his tender diaphragm as Vivian squealed. Michael shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, but retained the smile.
-
That night, after Vivian was assured enough that they wouldn't ghost away in the darkness, the two men slept soundly - or, well, Adam did, while his archangel roommate sat at the bedside table - easily falling back into their old routine.
When she knocked on the door at exactly five in the morning, however, even Michael lost his placid attitude, having been thwarted in his usual activity of watching Adam sleep and skimming through his dreams for the first time in weeks.
“Good mornin',” she chirped, when a bedraggled Adam opened the door, as if she hadn't just woken the sleeping dragon.
“It will be,” he replied between yawns, glancing at the wall-mounted clock, “in another five hours.”
“Oh, hush,” she said. “A young man like you should not be bothered by somethin' so trivial - not when he holds it up to gettin' his own place.”
“Viv-ee-an!” Adam whined, stretching each syllable. “We can do this later, can't we? Michael and I were-?”
“Were what?” she replied, face now gleaming like a child's on Christmas morning.
“-Were sleeping,” Adam finished easily, used to her antics by now, though he and the angel in question did share an exasperated look.
“Well, okay,” she said, obviously disappointed, before brightening again. “Now, why don't ya get cleaned up? I'd say your boy, too, but for someone who was sleepin', he sure looks polished.”
“He used to be a model,” Adam explained dryly, slipping in another fake story about the archangel's past for her to report to the maids. “The perfect posture is still there, even if it's no longer his schtick.”
Vivian applauded in delight, beaming at Michael, who smiled back shyly. “If she's already so excited, we may as well go,” he inputted.
Adam sighed and relented with a nod. “You stay with pretty boy while I go get cleaned up,” he directed the elderly hostess, to her immediate agreement.
“If anythin',” he could hear her say, as he ducked into the bathroom, “you're handsome. He's more pretty.”
The whir of the shower stream drowned out their gossip.
-
The mansion complexes that Vivian wanted to visit were only a few minutes' walk from the hotel, as both the gated neighborhood and the Lady occupied the hill over Lawrence city.
Adam stumbled to a stop when he saw the row of manors, while the old woman continued without pause, explaining, “A realtor will meet us there. He'll get ya a good deal for sure.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Adam replied, not quite able to pick his jaw off the floor yet. Vivian quirked a patient eyebrow at him. “You seriously want us to buy a freaking mansion?”
“It's not like Michael here can't afford it,” she answered, picking up her pace again.
“I can,” the archangel clarified, waiting for Adam to fall into step beside him, “but only if you want one.”
“Why wouldn't he?” Vivian asked, evidently surprised. “Ya like the hotel, don't ya? It ain't much different.”
Michael recalled what Adam had told him before and said, “Normal people do not live in hotels,” which only served to offend the Lady's mistress.
“You sayin' I'm not normal?” she screeched, wheeling around with her hands on her hips.
Adam held his own out in placation. “Of course not. It's just...I'm kinda small town, Viv, that's all.”
“And these are small town mansions,” she returned, not frazzled in the least. “C'mon, just give 'em a gander. Ya might like 'em,” she added more pleadingly.
“Okay,” Adam agreed with the utmost reluctance. “I guess there's no harm in looking.”
Two hours later, he retracted his statement. The harm laid in the fact that he ended up not liking any of the fancy, pre-furnished places the realtor droned on and on about, and he was dead on his feet from having to tour them, especially since he knew he wouldn't end up picking a single one. At least then the sacrifice might have been worth it.
The first two homes had previously belonged to rich politicians who had either moved or died. This one was different, as the former property of a famous photographer and author whose works were still plastered on the wall.
“He captured street images of disasters around the world,” the real estate agent explained, pointing to a framed picture of a McDonald's that had been ravaged by a storm.
Michael canted his head at it, then said, “I believe we've been there before.”
The agent laughed. “I'm sure it wasn't the same one.”
“All of these seem a little morbid,” Vivian interjected, frowning. “Maybe we should move on to the next one?”
“If you wish,” the realtor replied, turning to Adam expectantly. “What do you think, sir?”
Adam pursed his lips, considering the covered walls. “It's...interesting. How many more are left?”
“Seven,” the agent answered. “Shall we go?”
Adam barely restrained a sigh, watching Vivian nod in his stead. Knowing her, she'd want him to see them all, and what real estate personnel in their right mind would be opposed to more business? He'd get no rescue n that front.
“I...guess,” he muttered unhappily. He was screwed, anyway.
Both the realtor and Vivian smiled, heading for the exit, and Adam hunched after them like a man heading to the gallows. Shopping had never been an activity he'd enjoyed.
Michael blinked at their receding backs, dragging his eyes away from the picture of the decimated eatery, and said, “We should stop.”
Everyone did, simply because the archangel hadn't offered much input previously, and Adam arched an eyebrow at him. “You wanna go to McDonald's or something? I'd rather check out the diner on Sixth Street. Viv's chef thinks it's awesome.”
“No,” Michael answered, “but I would rather not continue with this feral pursuit of fowl. You won't like any of them.”
Adam started to explain that he meant wild goose chase, not whatever it was he'd said, but Vivian set her fists on her hips and grouched, “How do you know? He just might pick one! You might like it.”
“He won't,” the angel declared with an easy shrug. “I can take you to what he will.” As an afterthought, he added, “And I will be fine with whatever Adam wants.”
The old woman scowled, but Adam mouthed a 'thank you' at him. Aloud, he said, “He means he can drive, but you're license isn't valid in this state yet, Mike, remember?”
“I'll drive,” the agent offered. “Just tell me where to go.”
“Well, fine then,” Vivian huffed, crossing her arms. “I suppose it's your place, so whatever ya want goes.”
Mentally, Adam shot another thanks to Michael's dad, if for nothing else but creating his archangel son. Maybe today could be over before blood was shed, after all.
“You're amazing,” he told the angel conspiratorially, gifting him with a grin, as they ducked into the backseat of a bright green VW Bug. Michael smiled back, though his gold eyes flecked from one shut door to the other, discomfited by the constricted area.
“Where to?” the realtor asked, looking politely away from the fidgeting warrior of the Lord.
Michael settled back into his seat at Adam's behest, allowing him to reach over and click his seat-belt shut, even though most supernatural creatures were invulnerable to such things as car wrecks, because the position allowed him to murmur right into Adam's ear. “There is a street called Minnesota with an unsold house. It isn't the same, but...perhaps you'd like to see it, anyway?”
Adam's hand tightened on the strap of the belt, but after a moment he glanced up, shot his angel a quick, meaningful smile, and said, “Minnesota Street. Can you take us there?” to the agent, who immediately nodded and started up the car, choosing not to comment on the slight hitch in his voice.
“Ya lived in Minnesota, didn't you?” Vivian inquired, breaking the silence with uncharacteristic tact.
Adam nodded and murmured, “Yeah...before.”
He could see her face fall in the rear-view, weathered and lively all at once, but she didn't broach the subject any further and the tiny Bug fell into an amicable quiet until they reached the row of homes on the small street. The one Michael had mentioned stood out like a sore thumb.
The windows were boarded up, the door was bolted shut, its white paint was peeling gray and the lawn was overgrown, as opposed to the perfect cookie-cutter houses on either side of it, which had trimmed yards full of prize-winning rose bushes, toys for children and creepy lawn ornaments that probably passed for classy.
“It used to belong to a Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” the realtor explained. “The husband relocated his business to China last year, however, and my firm hasn't been able to find new occupants.”
“Maybe it'd be easier if ya kept it in shape,” Vivian muttered snidely, but Adam cocked his head at it, taking in the small house from all angles. Wouldn't it be epic if it belonged to assassins?
“I like it,” he finally decided, ignoring two pairs of dubious looks sent his way.
“It does come furnished,” the agent said hesitantly. “If you're certain you want it, I'm sure the firm will pitch in for the upkeep we previously failed to do, after purchasing it from the Smiths.”
“Nah, it's cool. Michael can fix it,” Adam replied, bumping shoulders with the archangel, who seemed pleased.
Vivian lowered her sunglasses and squinted over her shoulder at them. “You're a model and a handyman, huh?” To the realtor, she said, “Ya better not think you'll be rippin' them off today.”
“Don't listen to her,” Adam broke in, glaring at the back of the old woman's seat because she was too short for more than a few wisps of white hair to reach over it. “Look, Viv, the place has character. Broken things can be fixed and that's how you make them your own.” The Milligan house in Windom had experienced quite a lot in its forty years of life. By the time a young mother and her little boy moved in, it was already pretty banged up, though it was hard to recall a time before Kate had decided green was a bad look for her enough to tackle it with Spackle and tough love. Who said this had to be any different? More firmly, Adam insisted, “We'll take it.”
Vivian practically melted into the Bug's leather interior, a foiled sulk in place, but the real estate agent nodded, likely relieved that the roller-coaster ride this day had become was almost over.
“Okay,” he said, unlocking all the doors from a switch on the dashboard. “Now that that's decided, shall we go take the grand tour?”
And thus the process began again, but with a more recognizable end result. By the end of the day, Adam and Michael - despite the angel's maintaining that it wasn't necessary - were the co-owners of the little house on Minnesota Street, number four-nineteen.
-
Unfortunately, Casa de Milligan was falling apart at the seams, so it took a lot of work before it tangibly became anything more than a scrapheap.
“But what if people are here and there's a blackout?” Adam inquired worriedly, craning his neck to watch Michael as he drew a brush over the ceiling, like he'd done in the last three rooms of their new house. Only two more to go. “What will they think of this honking, glowing, devil-worshiping symbol?”
Michael frowned down at him disapprovingly. “They are not devil-worshiping symbols. They are devil's traps, which are quite the opposite. You are lucky we found this phosphorescent paint in the crafts store. It's bad enough where I have to put the banishing sigils.” That was to say, behind their wallpaper, which would have to be peeled back if they were needed to activate the marks.
“They're made of blood!” Adam exclaimed, not admitting how watching Michael cut into his own palm had made him squirmy. That wasn't the best thing to spread around, being pre-med and all. “The neighbors are gonna think we're serial killers. Just a pair of Dahmers, since we're gay, to boot.”
Michael added a final stroke to the devil's trap and jumped off the ladder, defeating its purpose entirely, only to land, catlike, on his feet. That would be a perfect ten, if judges were around to gauge him for it.
“You're only upset because all the visiting ladies talked about how cute a couple we make and how perfectly comfortable they are in our presence,” he said, smirking wanly.
Adam glowered at him, then answered, “Yeah, well, at least we have enough home-cooked meals to last a while, now. What do you want tonight: Miss Baker's potluck surprise or Mrs. Sullivan's macaroni salad? I'm always partial to mac-n-cheese, myself.”
“I don't like surprises,” the angel replied, in full agreement, before going onto the next room.
Adam trailed after him and said, “Maybe I should get started on heating that up? You gonna be okay on your own? Not gonna splatter gore on the walls, will you?”
“No,” Michael muttered. “I'm not a child and, as such, do not require constant supervision. If anything, I am worried you will drench our food in ketchup in my absence, as you are wont to.”
“Will not!” Adam stuck his tongue out immaturely, but the archangel zapped his ladder into the room to begin working again, so he backed out. “I mean it, though, Michael,” he added, in a tone that brooked no argument, “I don't care if they're better on exits and entrances, absolutely none of those angel banning things where people can see them!”
When the archangel replied with a quiet, sarcastic, “Yes, dear,” he hid a smile behind his palm and ducked into the kitchen. That backtalk only meant, truce or not, there would definitely be ketchup on the salad.
Not an hour later, Michael joined him and, as expected, grimaced down at their dinner. Adam cackled at his disgusted expression and most of the meal was spent flicking spoonfuls of excess tomato sauce at each other. After that, the supernatural touches were crossed off their renovation list, which left only the normal ones. That leaky roof wouldn't patch itself up, after all, and Michael's efforts would be in vain if stray water somehow washed his sigils away.
-
They didn't want to make the repairs seem too fast, lest anyone get suspicious, but Adam figured it would be okay to invite Vivian over three days later. She had been calling him to probe for information every day, ever since he told her that she couldn't visit until after the renovations were done, and he'd been plying her with news of his school application status to appease her.
The University of Kansas was happy to have him and made the process nice and simple. He couldn't help but worry, all the same, that they would discover how most of his documentation was fake. Half the time, Adam almost wanted to quit while he was ahead, before they could investigate, or start school from scratch, rather than with all of his previous credits transferred.
Whenever he brought that up, though, usually when wild-eyed after a night of insomnia, Michael would patiently say, “You are merely nervous, which is silly because you're the smartest human I know.” Every time, with interchangeable kindness and vexation, Michael comforted him, and now it was too late for Adam to back out - not if Vivian already had it in her head that this was his returning to school party, meaning she'd happily join Michael and get on his back about the issue.
“I don't know what them college kids are readin' nowadays,” she began, as soon as he let her in, her head already turning to survey the room, “but I gotcha a present.”
Adam blinked down at the object she thrust into his arms, a newish copy of The Catcher in the Rye, and immediately replied, “You really didn't have to, Viv,” while mentally adding that Michael also didn't have to fly over to China when he said he'd wanted Chinese food. There was a perfectly good restaurant about two blocks away, but of course Adam was stuck with melodramatics. Secretly, he thought both gestures were sweet.
“'Course I did,” she huffed predictably, patting him on the arm and continuing with the tour. “I remember when my kids read that book. Heard the boy in it's a real snarky brat, just like you.”
“Then he will enjoy it,” Michael added, entering the living room with a tiny smirk.
Adam glowered at the two of them, wondering why they always had to gang up on him, before setting the book down carefully on top of their coffee table and asking, “So, what do you think, Mrs. Snob? It meet your approval?”
“Hey, I ain't a snob!” Vivian rebuffed, before reluctantly adding, “But the place does look...decent. Ya fixed everything so quick.”
Adam puffed out his chest, eyes sweeping over the room. The couches were plush and new, he'd polished the hardwood floor himself, and fresh new wallpaper adorned the walls. It was comfy and cozy without going overboard. It reminded him of home - it was home.
“I did everything,” Michael said, raising his hand slowly, then leaning back to avoid Adam's fist.
Adam pursed his lips to keep from grumbling about how, while the archangel had done the handy work, usually via mojo, he'd been the one to clean up all the paint splotches and residual wood-chips left behind, with no powers whatsoever.
Instead, he ignored Michael and offered Vivian his arm. “C'mon, I'm starving. And, uh, before you ask, Zen Zero changed their recipe. That's why the food might taste a little different. No other reason.”
“Well, okay, 's'long as it ain't too spicy. That's no good for me no more,” she replied, beaming up at him when he pulled a chair open for her. She spent the rest of the night admiring the furniture and the meal, drawing Michael into the conversation by asking about the wallpaper he'd picked for each of the rooms - some with cartoon images, some with raining feathers that Adam found amusing, and some solid layers of color.
Adam sat back and watched the two, occasionally joining in to poke fun at one or the other, taking pleasure in their reactions. Mostly, he thought about how they must look to anyone watching through the windows - how they could pass for a family, if a slightly unconventional one.
Time passed and the hands on the wall-clock, a creepy cuckoo bird with huge, roving eyes that Michael had carefully picked out from the kid's section of a furniture store, which he claimed reminded him of his youngest archangel brother, migrated closer to the midnight hour.
Vivian, her sunglasses currently unnecessary and thus tucked into her huge purse, squinted at it and sighed, her chair scraping back along the tiled floor. “I should be headin' home, baby boy. Ya have school tomorrow, and Lord knows it's just as important at your age to get a good night's sleep as it is for my little ones.”
Adam blinked, then sheepishly admitted, “I sorta forgot.”
“Shame on ya!” Vivian said, wagging her finger, but she was smiling.
Adam smiled back, pushing away his finished plate. “Shall I walk you to the door, milady?” he asked, offering her his elbow coquettishly and throwing in a wink.
He pouted when she replied, “I'd rather have him do it,” and pulled Michael to his feet. The archangel blinked, but allowed her to drag him. “Don't ya keep him up with all that funky stuff tonight, ya hear?” she advised, when they reached the door, and Adam groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
“Keep it up and you won't be invited back, lady,” he warned her.
“I won't,” Michael promised solemnly. “Would you like me to escort you home?”
Vivian giggled like a schoolgirl, stepping up onto her toes to pat his cheek. “That would be nice, but I can drive, dear.” She smirked over her shoulder at Adam, who was still sulking, and added, “Goodnight, both of ya.”
Adam waved as the door shut behind her, then dropped his head back to hit the wall, emitting a sigh.
“You're still nervous,” Michael observed. After accepting that no answer was forthcoming, he nodded sagely. “I can escort you to the bedroom, if you'd like? Putting you to a dreamless sleep shouldn't be difficult.”
“Okay,” Adam said, not having to think about it long at all. It was something Michael did often enough, and while it sometimes made Adam uncomfortable to have someone playing around in his brain, he knew he'd shared himself with the archangel too long for him to suddenly become prudish. “Just don't try anything 'funky', man.”
Michael made a face, before reaching out with two fingers to brush against his human's forehead and transport him out of the room.
That night, Adam dreamed in wild swirls of colors and, unsurprisingly, bright archangel grace. Michael almost always reverted to his true form in dreamland, and that was probably why the crisp, pungent smell of smoke didn't initially set off any mental alarm bells, so evocative of Michael's own scent.
Their literal alarms, however, blared loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood, and Adam shot up off his bed in a panic, running out to look for Michael even if he rationally knew a fire wouldn't do him much damage. For all the knowledge he had about supernatural creatures, it just might.
His bedroom, the bathroom, the free rooms and living room were empty, but in the kitchen, he was met with the sight of Michael's back as the archangel stood over the stove, a thick line of smoke building from whatever pot he was stirring.
He heard Adam's heavy breathing and turned. “Oh, hello.”
Adam stared at him incredulously. “You're burning down our new house and that's all you have to say? Hello? How about, hey, the last two times you died were kinda boring. This time, I'm gonna fry you to a crisp, and won't that be fun?”
“Your witticism astounds me,” Michael returned dryly. “I am not plotting to murder you. If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't have to waste time with useless schemes.”
“Okay, tough guy,” Adam said, rolling his eyes, “I get it, you can pack it back into your pants. If you're not doing that, what are you doing?”
Michael turned away again, his back stiffening, and said something illegible. When Adam prodded him further, he muttered, “I am cooking for you,” in an almost bashful way.
Adam scrutinized his discomfort, then smiled. “Aw, Michael, you're adorable,” he finally replied, in a teasing tone.
“On second thought, I may attempt to be rid of you, after all,” the archangel grouched.
Adam laughed, only to intake some billowing smoke and choke on it. “I-I believe you,” he said between coughs. “Why else would you be brewing poisons?”
Michael frowned from Adam to the concoction, then said, “It isn't poison. I made eggs - scrambled - but they didn't come out quite as planned.”
“Oh really?” Adam inquired, after clearing his throat and wiping away the tears that leaked from his stinging eyes. He moved to peer over the angel's shoulder and regarded the blackened, charred eggs with his bottom lip between his teeth, to keep from both laughing or inhaling more smoke. “It doesn't look...that bad,” he lied.
“So you'll eat it?” Michael asked, his eyes brightening in that hopeful, golden way that made Adam want to agree.
Instead, he shook his head, choosing a bit more longevity over imminent death. “Not even on your long life, buddy, but I'll tell you what, I'll bring home some of that ice cream you like after class. What do you say?” He added the last bit appealingly, to spare Michael's feelings, and blew out a sigh of relief when Heaven's Sword accepted his terms. If he hadn't, Adam might have chickened out and tried his burnt cooking, anyway.
“I like vanilla,” Michael reminded him, shooting one last disappointed look at the pan-full of eggs, before dumping them out. They'd have the luck to be amassed into a nuclear reactor someday.
“I know,” Adam said, grinning and squeezing his angel's bicep. “I think I'll get to school myself. It's only about half an hour, so if I run, I can count it as my morning exercise. Two birds with one stone.”
Michael eyed him for a moment, then began to put his now empty pan into the pantry, that hard set to his back again. “You don't wish for me to take you.” It wasn't a question.
“No, it isn't that,” Adam protested, then paused. “I just... I'm sorry, Mike. You can take me if you want? Or I could stay, if that's better?” he offered.
“No,” the archangel returned. “I didn't intend to get testy. I suppose I will simply miss you. I don't like being alone.”
“Oh,” Adam murmured, feeling awful now. He had spent a lot of time worrying about how his going back to school would affect him, not Michael. “Well...maybe you can go where you go when you're mad at me? Hang out with other rebel angels?”
“There are no other 'rebel angels,'” Michael spat out, but when he saw Adam's wide eyes, all the air deflated out of him. “I cannot see any of my brethren - not ever. When you aren't with me, I-I fly around, take in the sights, but I don't really do anything. Nothing meaningful, and it's still very lonely.”
Adam swallowed, then repeated his apology, closing in the distance between them till he was inches away from being chest to back with the angel. “When I get out of class, we can do whatever you want - together - and the great thing about college is, I'll only be gone a few hours. I'll be back before you know it.”
“All right,” Michael said, nodding curtly. He turned halfway and touched Adam's cheek. “Goodbye.”
“For now,” Adam replied with determination, lifting his own hand, but not making contact with Michael's fingers. He almost regretted it when they fell away from his face, but a quick glance at the clock alerted him of the time, and he was already too late. “See you.”
“Yes,” the archangel murmured, golden eyes concentrated intensely on him as he left the room, picking up his new bag from where he'd left it leaning against the coat-rack last night. Even after the door shut behind him, Adam felt as if his soul was being dissected by that heady gaze.
Damn it.
“Mr. Milligan!” a little voice piped in, followed by an older girl's cry, and he rotated till he caught sight of the Holmes' children, Sari and Ritchie. Their mother, Jenny, a pretty blond woman who was looking a bit raddled, followed after them, her arms busy with a tray.
“Oh, hello, Adam,” she said, slightly out of breath, as she pitched her hip to rearrange the platter so she could tuck a long strand of hair behind her ear. Catching his curious gaze, she explained, “The kids have a scouting mission. We're handing out muffins and fliers.”
“Here,” Ritchie chirped, handing him the aforementioned piece of paper, which advertised a charity pet adoption event that would take place in the Holmes' yard later that night. Sari batted her eyes at him, her fingers interlaced over her plaid skirt. She and her younger brother were both decked out fully in boy and girl scout uniforms.
Adam smiled at them fondly, despite the situation, and accepted the flier. “I used to be a boy scout, you know?”
“Really?” both children inquired, eyes round as saucers. Ritchie rounded on his sister. “And you said being one wasn't cool!”
“I guess it is, if Mr. Milligan's doing it,” Sari admitted, blushing and staring down at her Mary-Jane shoes.
“Oh yeah, totally,” Adam agreed, with exaggerated gravity, as he shot Jenny a wink. “I was even an Eagle Scout. That's the highest you can get.” He was actually quite proud of that feat, and could easily recall the day when the scout leader had promoted him during a national ceremony, pinning his last merit badge onto his already full sash.
“Whoa,” the kids breathed, but their mother only laughed, handing him a still warm, chocolate muffin.
“For the great Eagle Scout, then,” she joked, bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
Adam's smile wavered for a moment. Jenny was all alone, raising Ritchie and Sari by herself, and she reminded him of Kate so much.
He plastered his grin back on, slightly forced, and moaned when he bit into the treat. “It's good,” he said through a mouthful, “and I'll definitely go to this event thing if you're gonna bake some more. Plus, baby animals.”
“You can never go wrong with baby animals,” she laughed, before picking up her pace when the kids bounded off. “See you later, Adam.”
He nodded at the receding trio and took off in a trot, mood uplifted. Having an actually edible breakfast had that affect on him. It was the most important meal of the day, after all.
(cut off awkwardly at this point because LJ was being mean to me)
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