Somewhere Waiting For Me
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: PG13/ R for thematic content
Summary: Kris and Adam are in a plane crash ( as if that hasn't been written before)
Warning: not my characters. Ummm I'm not sure why I keep writing character deaths, maybe it is my way of dealing with death, maybe it was a conversation with joey saying I should try my hand at killing off every idol in a fic. I don't know. So just saying, it's kind of sad. Please read it anyway. BTW Talia is Hebrew for Dew of God, female lamb. It will make sense.
title stolen from "Somewhere Beyond the Sea"
so sorry for crying all over this fic
edit: now changed to reflect medical fact.
I stared at the plane, wondering just how much duct tape was holding it together until Kris nudged me onto it, whispering,
"Adam, we gotta go, we'll be late for the concert."
It was my fault, I had made us miss our connecting flight. I often wondered later how different things could have been had we made it, had we flown in the private jet as opposed to the prop job.
I didn't hate flying. Not really. But this wasn't flying. Kris grinned at me, saying he had been on much worse flights during his mission trips. I told him that this was not a mission trip and it wasn't really my fault, that it was unfair to ask me to wake up at o dark early and expect to look fabulous.
"You always look fabulous," Kris winked at me, the familiar flutter in my heart almost under control.
"Well, yes," I batted my eyelashes, "But I wanted to look really fabulous. I've heard sailors are terribly exciting."
Kris shook his head, laughing. "I give up."
"Of course you do."
I wasn't buckled in so my head hit the ceiling, sometime after the pilot began to yell about turbulence,rain. I had barely strapped myself in when the copilot screamed, could only share a brief look with Kris before everything went white, and all I could hear was the roar of the ocean and Kris screaming my name.
*
It was hot and bright when I woke up, though I lay in some shade, a makeshift shelter above me. I was covered in the remnants of a life raft, and the ocean was a few feet away, calm now, waves breaking gently against the beach. In the distance I saw a figure limping my way, leaning against a makeshift crutch. Relief filled me as I made out Kris' familiar figure, worry as I saw the bandage on his leg.
"Hey," he smiled at me, that crooked grin I loved best.
"Hey." my voice was raw, unused, "How many... how long?"
"Three days," he shrugged, his bare shoulders peeling. "I know you aren't supposed to let people with concussions sleep, but I was just trying to you know, get things done."
I nodded. "Your leg."
"Oh, it's nothing bad. I cleaned the wound with, ah, the alcohol I found in one of the bags that washed up. I assume it was yours, since it had a fancy name and probably cost more than a year of rent. But it's gone now. I think I broke something, but I'm not sure. Haven't had a chance to really think about it, taking care of you, Mr. Lambert."
"My hero," I smiled.
He chuckled. "Yeah well, wait til you hear about the severe lack of food and water til you say much more."
It seemed that besides us, one of my suitcases and the emergency kit that was with the raft, we had nothing. Kris had been trying to get water, but it hadn't rained, not since we had gotten here. When I was ready to get up, he led me outside. It was almost one long beach, except for the small rise behind us, covered sparsely by palm like trees.
"Great. No coconuts for a radio."
"Exactly."
We looked at each other, absurdly grinning, laughing like loons. That night we sat on the beach, playing the worst game imaginable: when I get home I would like to eat. When Kris brought up his free cheese dip, I pushed him away.
"When I get home I want a full spa day and then free cheese dip," I cracked.
"When I get home, I want a hotel room with the works, a full spa day and free cheese dip."
"When I get home, I want to go clubbing with my boyfriend, a hotel with the works, a full spa day and free cheese dip."
"When I get home, I want to kiss my wife..." Kris stopped. " I don't want to play this game anymore."
"Me either."
There was just enough room in the shelter for us to lay side by side. Sometime in the night his hand crept into mine, squeezed it hard. It never let go.
*
It finally rained on our seventh day on the island. By then, even spending most of the day in the shade, I was bright red, he was beginning to turn dark, our lips were cracked and dry, and we didn't talk, it took too much water. I had almost broken enough to drink my own urine, but then the clouds formed and we stood in the rain, laughing with our mouths open, the boat inflated to catch what we could.
"Do you know how to start a fire?" I yelled at Kris, who was dancing along the beach, his moves as awkward as ever.
"Not really why?"
"Cause it's gonna get cold tonight and we're soaking wet you moron!"
"Well, guess it's good we collected all that driftwood then, huh?"
He laughed again, dancing away. I shook my head. I knew things were already desperate, that we were both stir crazy, that we had to get out of here. But our big SOS in branches that spread across the island, that had taken the last two days to build, I wondered if it would be enough. I had no idea how to build a better boat, and wasn't sure the life raft would keep us alive either. I sighed, shivering.
It took three tries, but the fire turned out pretty good. We were both shivering, laughing at each other, grinning at our new supply of water. I had ignored completely inappropriate thoughts before, but seeing Kris like this, water beading on his skin, drops tracing lines down his back into his cutoff pants... Get a grip Adam.
I shivered, patiently waiting for my clothes to dry.
"For God's sake Adam stop being such a prude and take your shirt off before you catch pneumonia."
"You have no idea how long I've waited for you to ask me that darling."
Kris shook his head, but I complied. He was right of course. I was drying much faster. I lay down, watched as Kris fed the fire, drowsiness overtaking me. I woke again when Kris lay down next to me, turned in the night, murmuring, wrapped his arm over my chest. I lay there barely breathing, unable to say anything, unable to sleep.
*
"I had a dream about oranges last night"
"Adam, please, not while we're eating measly fish for breakfast."
Kris had caught them, awkwardly spearing them with a rock. He wouldn't look at me this morning, his face red, not entirely from the sun.
"Kris do me a favor, stop acting like an ass, okay? You were cold, you were dreaming, it was nothing."
"Adam, I--"
"Nope. not listening. In fact, I'm checking our SOS sign again, then I'm coming back. When I do, we're going to pretend everything is normal again. If you can't deal with it start swimming."
When I came back he had collected some more wood, just in case, most of it wet, most of it washed up in from the ocean. Of course it wasn't normal. We had been stuck for a week somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle, with little food, hardly any water. I had suffered a mild concussion, and Kris leg was possibly broken, and he had stopped the infection, but what if one of us cut ourselves? What then? We were dehydrated, probably on the edge of sun poisoning, and oh yes, one of us was gay. So it was a problem. Well for him it seemed.
That night he slept as far from me as he could, without actually leaving the shelter.
*
"Help isn't coming, Adam, the raft is better than dying here in the middle of nowhere"
"I know, but there's got to be someway to make it safer, I don't know, to," I sighed. "You're right."
"I'm always right."
I stuck my tongue out at him, and all of a sudden we were normal again. Of course if there is only one other person with you on an island, fights never last long. Ours was three days, although it wasn't really a fight, just awkwardness.
"So when do you want to leave?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Okay."
We lay quietly that night, most of the rest of the next day, resting for what was coming.
"Katy's pregnant."
I turned to him. "What?"
""We're having another baby. I want to see my baby Adam."
"We're going to do just that, Kris. We're going to see both your babies."
He nodded, holding onto my hand again.
*
"I had a dream about oranges again, Kris."
"Is that so?"
We were paddling away from our home, what I affectionately called our honeymoon island, the sky sparkling, the moon a distant thumbnail.
"Yeah, it's probably my subconcious telling me I miss California."
"It's probably your stomach telling you you've been ignoring it for the last ten days."
I cracked a grin, watching as Kris' face fell, paled.
"What?"
I turned as the wave came, turning us over. It was too dark to see in the water, my hands flailing for any purchase. I broke the surface, searching for Kris', frightened when I saw him tangled in the boat. I yelled for him, swam to him, pulled him to shore, breathed as he sputtered.
"Guess that wasn't such a good idea then, huh?"
*
The fever came the next day.
I used most of the water reserve on him, barely sipping my own. He kept moaning he was sorry, I kept whispering that it wasn't his fault, that I would take care of him, just like he had me.
Later I would curse myself for not asking the right questions, for forgetting about everything else but the fever, but by then it was too late.
He was shivering, even though he was burning up. I lay next to him, holding him close, not really caring if I caught something. The shivering began to subside, he slept.
After that, time passed in sequences rather than hours, in momeents of lucidity. I wihs I didn't remember the bad parts, I wish that I had noticed everything Kris had kept hidden bfore. I wish, more than anything...
*
"I had a dream about oranges last night."
I smiled at his whisper. The fever wasn't completely gone, but he was better. "Now we're sharing dreams. Maybe we should make it official Allen and live here forever."
His laugh became a cough, and I gently lifted his head, making him swallow a little water.
"Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"You'd take care of my girls wouldn't you?"
"Kris..."
"The baby too?"
"Kris..."
"Promise me you'll make sure they're all right."
"I will. But you're going to be fine. I mean you survived Ryan Seacrest, so what's a little fever?"
There was that crooked grin.
*
I became attuned to his coughing, rushed to his side the next day.
"Adam."
"Don't start again, Kris. You aren't dying."
He smiled, shook his head. "Stupid leg."
I frowned. He was in pain, had been in pain since the moment we landed. I wondered how much of it he had kept from me."What?"
He closed his eyes, smiled. "Never mind."
"Kris?"
"Adam, do you love me?"
"Of course I do."
He shook his head, his body convulsing in coughs again. "No. Said that wrong. Are you in love with me?"
I swallowed. "Yes."
He smiled, beamed in fact. "Thought so."
"Asshole."
He reached up, pat my cheek. "Will you kiss me?"
"Kris..."
"I want to kiss someone who loves me before I die, Adam."
"Kris..."
"I want to kiss someone I love before I die."
"Kris..."
"Humor me," he coughed again. "If I don't die, then it will make an interesting chapter in the tell all book. The juicy bit," coughing, "in the Barbara Walters interview."
I shook my head. "Kris..."
"Please."
I looked at him, saw the desperation. I leaned down, pressed my lips against his, tasting the salt and skin, heard him sigh. I leaned back.
"Happy now?"
"Could have," cough," used a little tongue."
Crooked grin.
*
He was shaking again and there wasn't enough water. There was never enough damn water. I finally uncovered the leg, a picture I wish I could erase. It had become infected again. Somehow we managed to talk. I was never sure how he mustered the strength
"Guess I know why we've been dreaming of oranges," I muttered to myself.
I picked him up, his frame too small, held him close.
"I think we're going to name the baby Gertrude if it's a girl, and Humphrey if it's a boy," I whispered to him.
"Horrible."
"Okay, how about Kristopher and Kristina?"
"Only if Adam is the middle name. Or Talia."
"Hebrew Kris? You are surprising. Okay, done."
"Adam?"
"Shhh, don't talk, it gets you too tired."
"Adam..."
"What Kris?"
"Cold."
"I know." I held him closer.
"Adam... I love them so much."
"I know."
"Adam..."
"Kris, please, I can't take this."
"Adam..."
I smiled at him, got the cooked grin one last time.
"Love you, Adam."
"Love you too."
I held him close as he smiled at me, watched as he faded away. I gently kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his crooked smile, rocked him and prayed for the fist time in a very long while.I sat like that all night, wasn't even aware when the shadow passed over us.At least that's how I chose to remember it at the time.
"Mr. Lambert?"
I looked up. They tell me it took the better part of the day to get me up, that I thought I was hallucinating. That I thought I had died in the night too. I wish I had.
*
"I'm going to his funeral, I don't care what any fucking doctor says."
My mother looks at me. "Adam, you're still in recovery, You haven't healed--"
"And I'm not going to! He died in my arms mom! The least I can do is go see his wife, tell her, tell her,"
"I know Adam. I know."
Luckily money had been good, and security was excellent. That didn't prevent photographers form circling, from reporters yelling at me. I had released an official statement, had said nothing else. Some said I was waiting for the right interview. Some said I was waiting for the right money. Some said I was too afraid to say what really happened out of respect for his wife. The truth was that I didn't know what to say, that there were no words.
After the service, I took her aside, held her close, whispered in her ear. "I know about the baby."
She smiled sadly at me, nodded. "Haven't quite figured out how to deal with that yet. Not even Addison knows. She looked at her daughter, who was sleeping in her grandma's arms.
I paused. "We, ah, came up with names."
"Really?"
"Well, if that's okay."
"It's perfect." She tilted her head. " You know what Adam?"
"What Katy?" I didn't want her to ask, couldn't tell her yet, couldn't look in her eyes for much longer.
"I'm glad he was with someone who loved him. Glad it was you. Glad he was smiling at the end. He was wasn't he?"
I nodded. "Told me I had to take care of his girls, his baby. That he loved you so much."
We both broke then, holding onto each other ,mourning the love of our life.
*
I never gave an interview, despite my publicist incessant screaming.
It was a full year before I gave another concert, concluding with a song off of Kris's album, dedicating it to the one person who understood me, who had been to hell with me and been lost on the way back. The YouTube video had a million hits in under half an hour, crashing the site for two straight days. I recorded it for my next album.
I wrote down everything in a journal, like my psychologist asked. Except this time I remembered everything I missed. The grimaces of pain, the sheen of sweat as Kris tried to hide the infection. The screams of the last two days. The ones that still woke me up. The feeling of guilt and relief as he finally passed, knowing he wasn't suffering anymore. Every time I thought of that plane, every time I wished we hadn't missed that flight I held that journal close, knowing somewhere deep inside there was nothing I could have done differently, that even if I had discovered the infection, that it was probably too late from the moment the plane hit the water.
They never found the wreckage.
Katy came and visited, towing Addison and Kristopher. I would run along the beach, laughing as they tackled 'Uncle Adam', running them until they fell asleep in their bedrooms, kept especially for them. Katy was still alone. As was I. We both knew why.
I showed her the journal on the five year anniversary. I wanted her to know everything. She smiled at me. "You should publish this. He would want that. I want that."
The book sold out in two hours. The proceeds, the proceeds mostly went to charity, with a little left for his babies, enough to take care of them. As promised.
I never ate an orange again.
Sometimes I would wonder if we would have made it in another life, if it had been just me and him. But then I would remember the babies, and could never wish them away.
Sometimes, when Addison would tilt her head, when Kristopher would sing, his jaw sideways just like his dad's, and he was there, he was there.
Sometimes, when I walked along the beach, I could see him in the distance, limping along on that stupid crutch, a tiny fish wriggling in his hand, that silly beautiful crooked grin on his face.
Sometimes, when it rained, I remembered how he felt leaning into me, his heart beating against my ribs.
Sometimes when I lay alone at night, I would remember his lips against mine, wishing for just one more.
Sometimes I wanted to walk into the ocean, to forget everything, just for the off chance I might see him after. I wanted to believe in after, just so I could see him again, to know he was somewhere waiting for me....