You And I: Retracing
Title: You And I: Retracing
Author: Ninalyn/technicolornina
Fandom: Adam Lambert
Pairing/Characters: Adam Lambert, Kris Allen, Katy Allen (past), Brad Bell, various and sundry OCs
Word Count: 8728
Story Rating: R
Chapter Rating: R. Adam likes to swear. Angel likes to swear even more.
Story Summary: Seven years after Idol, Adam and Kris and their lives have both drastically changed. Now they have to rebuild to get back to the people they once were--if that's really what they want.
Disclaimer: If you happen to be one of the people in this story, thanks for letting me play in your sandbox (and sorry for making your fictitious avatars go through such horrible shit). I'd recommend you read no further. You know, mental scarring and all that. If you're anyone else and you link one of said people to this story and I find out, yea, The Wrath Of Nina will fall on your head, and I'm short but I hit really hard for a girl.
Notes: Let me make this very clear: THERE IS DEATH IN THIS STORY!!! If you are one of those silly people who does not read the author's notes, don't bitch to me when you find out someone died in the backstory and you are bothered by it. I will refer you back to my BOLDED UNDERLINED ITALICIZED BRIGHT RED NOTE. And to those who go "DDD: HOW COULD YOU KILL X," it's nothing against X. It's just that all characters must be equally dispensable as plot fodder. I hope everyone in this story actually goes on to live a long, happy, healthy life. (And for those who will only care if it's Adam, Brad, or Kris, because I know y'all are out there: no, it's none of them.)
Feedback: I really do appreciate it when I get it, so if you care to make an author happy, please do.
Special Thanks/Dedications: For m_lasha, who requested Kradam in return for her generous donation to help_japan!
I, I wish that I could dance on a single prayer.
I, I wish I could be strong without somebody there.
I, I wish that I could dance on a single prayer.
I, I wish I could be strong without the scheiße, yeah.
--"Scheiße, Lady Gaga
Kris wakes up with a hand that isn't Adam's on his shoulder.
At some point during the night Adam rolled over and now Kris is the big spoon, which means the fingers resting just above his neck have to belong to a third person who wasn't in the bed when he fell asleep. He weighs his options before peeking over Adam's shoulder just enough to see a single dark eye looking at him from beneath a wild tangle of black hair.
The night before crashes back into Kris' mind, and he wonders if he can babble an explanation fast enough to keep Angel from killing him. Or castrating him, which in spite of his lately-celibate lifestyle really isn't something he wants to deal with. He's in the middle of taking a breath deep enough to hopefully get out the whole story when Angel stretches-and now Kris knows who makes that little catlike sound he hears sometimes through the air ducts-and yawns and curls back up against Adam's chest.
"We're not exclusive," he says, and after a pause, "Never thought I'd say that to a Jesus freak."
Kris considers pointing out he's a Christian, not a fanatic, thanks, and then decides that even if the pair of them have chosen to not commit to monogamy there's something else that bothers him more. "Nothing happened. I mean, I kissed him, but I didn't-"
"You still being fully dressed didn't give me a single clue," Angel interrupts. "And I really seriously don't give a shit. Kiss him, fuck him, get him to give you blowjob lessons, whatever."
Kris wants to reply with something snappy, but his brain stalls out on a mental image of Adam in librarian glasses and a button-down very seriously saying "Now, unzip your partner's fly" and he has to choke back laughter before he can wake Adam, still sleeping peacefully caught between their arms. Angel raises his eyebrows, and Kris calms down before he can disturb Adam. Instead he whispers "When did you get here?"
"About six-thirty. I picked up Brad." Another of those little pauses. "He's in the other spare room."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. As far as I know. His boyfriend's totally drugged out and Brad was freaking so they gave him a sedative. I brought him back here because he was too out of it to give me his address. I don't think they gave him the right dose."
Kris raises his own eyebrows. "He's not going to need the hospital, is he?"
"For OD? Nah. I think it's just 'cause he's so little." Angel settles further into Adam's arms. "Anyway. They said he should be awake by like noon and then Brad can see him. He's still in ICU. I convinced one of the nurses to tell me what was going on so I could fill him in when he wakes up and I guess he needs, like, surgery to fix his aorta or something. You know, to keep it from happening again. But he's okay for now. Long's nothing else goes wrong."
Angel yawns widely, and Kris is reminded of sitting in his kitchen in Arkansas, watching Kesha sit and marinate in her own sleepiness across the table from him. Her hair is blonde and kinky and Angel's is black and straight, but for a minute their faces look almost exactly the same. He remembers what he said as pearly overcast light spilled over Kesha's face, and repeats it as a square of early golden sunshine maps out a square on Adam's bedroom floor. "If you want to sleep in, go ahead." He pauses. "I can deal with Brad if he wakes up if you can deal with Adam."
"I deal with him three or four nights a week," Angel answers. Kris bites his tongue to keep from telling Angel that his way of dealing with Adam is helping Kris to memorize entire albums at speeds he once only dreamed of.
"Sure. Okay. I'm going to get breakfast. He's probably going to freak out when he wakes up because I promised to wake him before eight to call Brad. Just a warning."
"I think he'll live," Angel yawns. "Not sure I will."
"Get some sleep," Kris suggests, and slides off the bed.
--------------------
Kris can tell Adam is avoiding him.
Adam isn't in the habit of slinking around his own kitchen to pour orange juice over his Rice Krispies before sliding out the back door like a guilt-ridden thief with coffee and cereal in hand, and after debating for a few moments Kris follows him.
Adam is sitting on the swing, nibbling on his cereal. Kris sits and takes a sip of his coffee.
"Did Angel tell you Brad's here?"
"I saw him in the spare room." Adam pauses. "He was still way under, but he asked if I'd lay down with him for a little bit. He's not used to sleeping alone." He sends a guilty glance in Kris' direction, like he's waiting to be scolded, and finally Kris can't stand it anymore.
"Last night is okay," he spits out. "I don't want things to be awkward because you needed somebody to be with you."
Adam looks startled. "I didn't-"
"Don't," Kris interrupts. "Just . . . don't. I know you like dissecting everything that happens to you, but it's not that deep. Really. You needed somebody and I was there. That's what friends are for."
For a second Adam looks unsure, and Kris wants to shake him. If he starts trying to talk it out, it will get awkward. Then Adam smiles, unsure but friendly.
"Thanks."
Kris smiles back. Adam leans over to peck his cheek. "You're really one in a million, you know," he says, and Kris slings an arm around his shoulders. Adam leans into the hug. His cereal tips, and after a brief moment when it seems like he might actually save it the whole thing goes head over teakettle, sending Rice Krispies and orange juice and half-dissolved sugar in a semiartistic splatter over the porch. Adam's mouth opens in an O of surprise. Then he looks back up at Kris.
"Oh, to hell with it, I never fucking liked Rice Krispies anyway," Adam says, and Kris bursts into laughter. Adam joins in and throws his arms around Kris' shoulders. There's a huff from the doorway.
"Fuck you, Rice Krispies are awesome," Angel's voice drifts out. "If you're a normal person and eat them with, you know, milk."
Kris jumps. Adam's arms slide from around his shoulders. Angel cocks an eyebrow at them both. The effect is somewhat spoiled by the shirt he obviously stole out of Adam's closet; he's taller than Kris, but not by much, and Adam's old stretched tee falls easily almost all the way to his knees. "Brad's up."
"Is he okay?"
"Dunno, he's still way out of it." Angel plunks down on a part of the patio not covered with orange juice and crosses his legs. The wash-faded front of the tee billows into his lap, and he takes a bite out of an orange he's partially peeled but not bothered to section. For a second Kris thinks it won't even fit in his mouth, and then by doing some weird thing with his tongue that sends juice down his chin Angel manages to get the last bit between his teeth and swallow it almost whole. Kris decides it's better for his mental health if he doesn't know where Angel learned something like that. "He was in the bathroom when I got up." Angel links his fingers together and stretches his arms up so far over his head Kris can hear his back pop. "So like, you're probably taking him back there today, right?"
"Yeah," Adam agrees. "How'd you end up back here last night?"
Angel looks up into the tree over the porch like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, which Kris supposes is his way of either being mysterious, or not wanting to admit he was worried. He pulls himself to his feet, all awkward legs and arms not quite moving in the same direction at the same time, and stares down at the rind of his orange before sticking his tongue out and slurping at what's left inside. Kris raises his eyebrows. Adam chuckles.
"You're totally vile."
"You love it," Angel shoots back, and takes Adam's coffee straight out of his hand before padding back into the house.
Kris and Adam look at each other. Then Adam looks down at his hands like he's trying very hard not to laugh, and that's it-Kris cracks up, and then Adam snickers, and then they're holding each other on the porch swing, trying not to fall off into Adam's Rice Krispies and orange juice as they laugh.
They glance at each other again as they wind down, and for a single second-the first one in almost two years-it occurs to Kris that for just a moment, he was truly happy again.
---------------------
Kris listens. Listens. Listens. Gives Adam a double thumbs-up from his place at the mic. Settles the giant headphones on his shoulders, and then Adam's voice-coming out of an Adam grinning one of those oh-I've-always-wanted-to-do-this kind of smiles-echoes in the room: "Okay, everybody, that's a wrap."
Kris stretches his arms over his head as Adam walks in, and as he hears his spine crackle he's vaguely aware that Adam is watching him and trying not to watch at the same time. Kris wonders if he should feel uncomfortable. Then it occurs to him that he's taking the narrow view: Adam is a healthy male and Kris is his idea of attractive, and guys look. It's not all that different from Kris still noticing pretty girls on the street, no matter how little he feels like introducing himself to one. He takes his time finishing his stretch as he likes, and then breathes deep and smiles at Adam.
"So," he says. "One to go."
"Yeah," Adam agrees. "And then you better start writing, 'cause I have the feeling people are going to start screaming for a full-length album fast."
Kris smiles a little. He's already done a little bit, startled by how easily the words come when he lets them. He opens his mouth to say so, but Adam's already ahead of him.
"Enough work for the night, wanna go out?"
Kris hesitates. Adam's idea of "going out" and his idea of "going out" are two very different things, and he's about to say so when Adam prattles on.
"There's an Olive Garden like two miles from here that's got an upstairs, and if we ask them they can put us in one of the little sections and nobody'll bother us, so it's not like there'll be pictures floating everywhere. They don't normally do reservations, but if I call ahead and say it's us they'll have a spot waiting."
Kris thinks about it. They've eaten out since he's come from Arkansas, but it's been a steady stream of Thai and Chinese takeout with one blissful night when Tommy was over and they got tacos from some Mexican place that tasted great enough for Kris to ignore that the whole place looked like a dive. Italian in Adam's home consists of spaghetti and store-bought ravioli Adam never quite gets past al dente, served with either canned spaghetti sauce or some kind of incredibly simple garlic-and-butter recipe he got from some singer whose name Kris didn't recognise. Cooking anything more complicated than macaroni and cheese is a talent Adam has tried and failed to master.
"Let's do it," he says, and Adam pulls out his phone to call.
The view from the second-story window they're seated next to is beautiful, all lights and palm trees, and Kris says so as he eyes the glass of wine in front of him, the other glass in front of Adam. By now he could find his way home from the studio in his sleep if he could walk, but just the thought of sliding into the driver's seat of Adam's new Porsche and adjusting the rearview to accommodate his height makes Kris' heart speed up. Adam raises his glass.
"Just one," he says, and it's close enough to only half-full that Kris feels okay relaxing. Adam is a big guy and they're going to be here for awhile; if an hour isn't enough to get half a glass of wine out of his system, then Adam might as well give up ever trying to drink again. "Here's to a chart-topper, what do you say?"
"I'll drink to that." Kris sips the wine. Pinot noir, by Adam's suggestion. By the time they leave he'll have had two glasses and Adam will be keeping a worried eye on him lest Kris fall right over-but for now it's just a sweet taste on his tongue, close enough to the merlot from his wedding to stir nostalgia and far enough away that he doesn't feel the need to excuse himself from the table after his first sip. He touches Adam's glass with his own and looks out the window. "Is that the parkway down there?"
"More over to your left," Adam tells him. "Brad and I sat here for two hours one night figuring out what everything down there was. When we left we took a drive to see how close to right we were. He teased me for two months about taking someone on a date driving and not parking til we got back to his place."
"I thought you guys lived together," Kris spits out, and immediately regrets it. Tonight is supposed to be about a celebration, not rehashing the past. Adam looks surprisingly calm.
"Not the second time," is all he says, and then after a few seconds-maybe recognising with his usual gift for conversation that they've lurched into a place Kris isn't quite sure how to guide them out of-he continues. "That time wasn't about making it work out. It was about remembering how to love each other before we started hating each other." He smiles, and if it's a little wistful it's the sweet kind of wistfulness that's more nostalgia than regret. "We dated for three months. He wanted to see if we could really make it work a second time, so I told him to sit on it for another three months and if it still sounded like a good idea with a cool head we'd do it."
"What happened?"
"Jerry happened," Adam answers, and after peering out the window for a minute he points at a small cluster of lights on the other side of the parkway. "They live there now. It's right next to the university." He nibbles at the tiramisu sitting on the table between them. "I was kind of pissed off at first. I didn't tell him, but I was. Right up until the night Brad called me all nervous and told me he was supposed to meet Jerry's kids the next day, because they were, I don't know, passing judgement on whether or not it was okay for their dad to date somebody their age. And then I realised I couldn't think of a single other person he'd put himself through that for. Either you take him or you don't. So-" He shrugs. "Brad got the Prince Charming he always wanted and I got my best friend back. There are worse endings."
"I'm sorry that's how it turned out for you."
"I'm not. Considering the alternative. Two good endings out of ten is a really shitty record, but it's better than one out of nine." Adam blinks. "I think. Doesn't that raise the success percentage?"
Kris can't help it-he bursts out laughing, and continues until he chokes for lack of air. Adam watches him over the rim of his water glass. His mouth isn't smiling, but his eyes are, and when Kris finally stops to breathe Adam grins at him.
"Math was always Neil's thing," he says, and Kris has to choke back more laughter before people start to stare.
It's a good meal. It's a good night, and when Kris falls quiet for too long Adam is always there with some kind of conversation to break the silence. Adam ribs Kris about being a lightweight as they leave, and Kris shakes his head as Adam guides him to the car.
"I'm not," he protests, shaping his words carefully. "I just haven't had alcohol for two years."
The look Adam gives him is a searching one, but he doesn't comment-just turns on the CD player and lets Train blare out. Kris raises his eyebrows.
"Thought you didn't like Train." Not that he's complaining; after the disastrous mix CD that nearly killed them both, Adam's restricted himself to whatever happens to be on his iPod-with the result that sometimes they're listening to Katy Perry or Bruno Mars and sometimes to Elvis Presley or some local band called Children of Nine. Adam's music isn't bad, but it's not usually Kris' music.
"They're okay. Thought you might like the break from Goldfrapp."
Kris lets the sound of "Save Me, San Francisco" wash over him as he closes his eyes and leans back in the seat. It occurs to him that two months ago he would never have believed he could relax in a car ever again, but Adam's an excellent driver and goes out of his way whenever he can to avoid things like eight-lane intersections that leave Kris fighting panic attacks. He also hasn't asked Kris why he carries a state ID instead of his (by now several months expired) driver's license; or how Kris expects to get around LA, if he stays, when Adam isn't around; or what it is about the stop sign four blocks from Adam's house that freaks Kris out if he has to look at it from one side. It occurs to Kris that Adam's gone out of his way to step neatly around subjects most people would blunder right into, giving Kris time and space on topics he can't handle.
He's still sober enough to realise what it means for eternally-chatty Adam to simply avoid a subject altogether, and when they pull into the driveway and Adam holds out a hand to help Kris out of the car, Kris leans against him to demonstrate what he's learned from Adam's friends.
It's just a gentle touch of lips, something Kris sees Adam and his friends do a thousand times a day, but Adam instantly goes from relaxed and friendly to stiff as a board and pushes Kris against the side of the car.
"What the fuck, Kris?"
"I-" And Kris knows what he meant it to mean, but Adam looks shocked and angry and the second glass of wine stole too many of Kris' words for him to explain.
"I need to pick up Brad. You need to go upstairs and sleep it off," Adam says, and he sounds disgusted enough that Kris steps directly in his way as he heads back to the driver's seat.
"Look, you-you're just-I don't know what you think, but you're wrong." Adam's eyes narrow, and it occurs to Kris that crossing his professional fairy godmother is probably a bad idea, but that's a thought that would have power only if he were fully sober; right now his own temper is finally roused, and while he's sure all five-foot-eight of him makes an incredibly imposing figure-he might actually reach all the way to Adam's chin in the boots Adam has on, by God-he intends to have his say. "You don't-if you think I'm-" As soon as he figures out what his say is, that is. "You don't know what I'm like at all anymore."
Adam suddenly deflates, so fast Kris blinks in surprise. If there's one thing he remembers clearly about Adam, it's that Adam never backs down. "Just . . . go to bed, Kris."
Kris goes to bed, but he's too wired to sleep. Eventually he hears the front door open and Adam turning off the alarm (1-2-7-1-1, and he won't believe anyone who tells him it's way too obvious), the quiet murmur of voices and a sound that can only be Brad trying not to sniffle. Then there are bathroom sounds-shower, the flush of the toilet in the master bath that always makes the pipes gurgle-and a tiny, quiet creak as someone small who is not Adam sits down on Adam's bed in a way that isn't at all Adam's heavy but graceful fall or Angel's careless, I-know-I'm-too-small-to-break-this-mattress-so-I'm-going-to-abuse-it-as-much-as-I-like flop.
"Your shirts are still way too big."
"Correction, you're still way too small." There's a larger, high-pitched creak like a soprano cracking on high C, and if Kris doesn't miss his guess by a mile Adam is going to be putting his bed back together again sometime soon. That one sounded like a spring. "I've got some stuff, if you need to chill out."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Pot. Chamomile. Neil turned up some mescaline and gave me some. I think I might have a tab of X somewhere."
There's a small giggle, probably directed at the way Adam casually tossed herbal tea into the middle of his list. The end of it turns thoughtful. "Do you think it's big enough to split?"
"Probably. I think it's in my jewellery box, want me to look?"
There's a mumble Kris can't catch even through the heating vent, and then the bed creaks again. Eventually Kris hears the returning creak.
"I've got a lavender candle," Adam's voice says, and Kris bites his lip. Brad is an adult, but he also has a partner in the hospital and-"
"It'll keep me awake. I appreciate it, but . . . no flickering."
"Okay. Just no freaking out, okay?"
"I'm freaking enough without going on a bad trip, sweetheart. I'll be okay if you're here."
"I'm not going anywhere. Get some sleep. I'll wake you around five, okay?"
Kris rolls over and burrows into his pillow miserably. Adam has a ready-made excuse to ignore him tomorrow, and he's not too drunk to know the message Adam got isn't the one Kris was trying to send. They have to talk. Probably about more than tonight, too, and that's the part that sets Kris' whole midsection twisting.
But there's just no way around it, that's all.
-------------------------
"I need to talk to you about last night." Kris squints against the really unfair early-early-morning dawnlight coming in the window and hopes he looks like a man with convictions. Right now he feels more like a third-day flu patient with a headache. On two small glasses of wine, even. And Adam, who was dropping party drugs the night before in his bedroom, looks fresh as a daisy.
Sometimes the world just isn't fair.
"No."
Well, that was unexpected. "Yes."
"Kris, there's nothing to talk about. I have to wake Brad in ten minutes so I can get him up to the hospital, I'm picking up the littles for the day so they're not hanging out in a waiting room until five tonight and I really don't want to-"
It's also a very effective way of shutting Adam up. Kris is starting to understand why Brad did it so often. Adam with his mouth hanging open and nothing to say is something akin to Lady Gaga in a plain black dress.
"You really-"
"Come on, there's no way that was even good," Kris interrupts him. "We need to install a better on/off switch on your mouth."
"Kris-"
"I don't know what you think it was, but it wasn't," Kris interrupts again. "Don't tell me it's different because I'm not from here or because I'm straight or-whatever dumb reason you have for reacting that way, you do it a million times a day to everyone else."
Adam stares at him. Kris sighs and flops down at the table. He really should have had some coffee before doing this. Or maybe a new brain.
"I was trying to say thank you." He sees Adam open his mouth to protest and puts a finger across his lips. "Maybe I missed something, but I see you do it every day to everyone from Brad to your manager. Am I really wrong here? Because if I am I'd rather you tell me I just made a huge fool of myself while I was drunk and then drop it instead of getting mad. I don't have a whole lot of friends since Katy died. I don't want to lose any of the ones I've got left." He pulls his finger away and waits to be told to fuck off.
Instead Adam blinks at him, then lets out a small huff, and then starts to chuckle. "You-you were trying to-" And he's off, laughing so hard he has to fight to keep the volume down. Kris waits patiently while Adam laughs himself out.
"Okay, a couple of important things you need to know," Adam finally wheezes. "Under no circumstances when you're kissing hello or thank you do you lunge like a dog in heat. And you don't kiss on the mouth."
"I've seen you-"
Adam turns Kris' head with one hand and puts a gentle peck on the spot between his cheek and his lips. All right; fair enough. Adam finishes, and when he does his voice is low enough in both pitch and volume that it almost seems to rumble against Kris' ear in spite of Adam's high register.
"I'll give you an A for effort," he says, and as two things happen in perfect unison Kris curses his luck.
Brad appears in the doorway, and Kris shivers.
---------------
"I brought you this," a woman's voice says from the doorway, and everyone looks up-Adam from trying to corral both of the littles (Brad's term, Kris has learned, for Jerry's grandchildren), Kris from his notebook of lyrics, Mandy from her laptop, Nicole from her book, Brad just up. Cody lets go of the corner of Adam's jacket he's been clinging to and runs to the woman's side, yelling "Nana's here!" as he goes. Kris gets up to take the small cooler out of her hand, leaving her free to ruffle Cody's hair and put the Thermoses in her other hand down on the table. "I didn't think anybody would want hospital coffee and everyone has to eat sooner or later."
She heads for the vacant seat between Brad and Mandy and takes it. Behind her a boy who looks like Jerry with twenty-five years removed slinks in, looks around, plunks down into a chair at the table and opens a calculus book. Debra pours herself coffee from a red Thermos, then pulls a cup out of the cooler and pours another that she hands to Brad. He thanks her and smells it, but doesn't drink. Kris watches everyone and then dives back into his lyrics. Brad is mostly what Adam would call "inside himself," but occasionally he surfaces long enough to look curiously at what Kris has written. The next time Kris looks up, Adam and the littles are gone. Good. He looks down at the notebook, reads what he's written-something about laughing golden in an early dawn-and scribbles it out with a fierceness bordering on outright violence.
You're living in his house, eating his food, and letting him save your career. Getting attached is natural. What you don't want to get is confused.
Oh, but he doesn't think he's confused. That's the part he could do without knowing. He hasn't had Adam's string of significant others, but he knows that kind of shiver when it happens.
I don't want to.
"I don't think you want to use those lyrics, sweetheart, Alice Cooper would leave you standing in your underwear," Brad murmurs from his right. Kris looks down and sees I'll just close my eyes and it'll go away written two or three times across a page blank except for the copied line and a really bad doodle of what might be a horse. He tears out the page and crumples it up.
"Writer's block," he says, and Brad nods.
"It's awful, isn't it?" There's a pause no more than a beat long, and then Brad sighs and runs his hands into his hair. "I don't think it's fair that they can't knock out the rest of us, too."
Kris rubs Brad's shoulder. It's not as awkward as it would have been two months ago, he realises, and wonders if that means he's starting to blend into California. "He'll be okay."
"'Barring further complications'," Brad answers, wrinkling his nose as he says it. "I know he will. He'd better. I told him this morning before they took him in that if he died I'd kick his ass for leaving me that way."
"What did he say?"
Brad closes his eyes. "He-" There's a little hiccuping sound, and Kris wishes Adam was here. He's the one who's good at this. Finally he just puts an arm around Brad's shoulders. That is awkward, horribly so, and he hopes it doesn't show. "He said he knew if anything happened to him I'd be okay," Brad whispers, and now Kris is the one who wants to kick Jerry's ass. Even when it's a lie, hope is better.
Brad turns something endlessly on his thumb. Kris glances between Brad's moving fingers and sees a ring that's too big for Brad's hand. Probably Jerry's and taken off during his surgery for safekeeping, Kris thinks, and wonders with a sudden painful stab if Katy's ring is still on her finger, or if she's far enough gone for it to have slipped off into her casket. He puts a hand over Brad's to still that horrible repetitive motion, and Brad smiles in a way that's trying to look upbeat and not quite making it.
"Sorry. I just . . . I keep worrying about whether or not I'll be able to put it back where it belongs."
"It's okay." Kris looks back down at his notebook. Then he shuts it. The words are done for today, he thinks. "Wanna go for a walk?"
Brad blinks. "Where?"
"Debra didn't bring tea," Kris answers, and pulls Brad out of his seat before he can protest. "Come on. The coffee is great, but I want something else for a little bit."
Kris waits until they're in the elevator before speaking again. "You looked like you were suffocating in there. I thought you could use an excuse to get out for fifteen minutes."
Brad still looks worried, but under the worry there's relief. "Thank you."
"No problem." And then, because Adam is still the one who's better at the whole emotions thing, Kris changes the subject. "How did you meet, anyway? You and Jerry?"
Brad actually giggles, and this time it's Kris' turn to be relieved. A giggling Brad is one who isn't under so much mental stress he's ready to snap. "I was one of his students in his History of Storytelling class, can you believe that? I went back to school for a B.S. in psychology and took it as an elective because I wanted the degree for my work, you know, and storytelling is part of that, and at the end of the semester because it was a 300 course everyone was supposed to turn in some kind of project and I did a research paper on storytelling from a historical gay perspective-because unless you're talking about Oscar Wilde or Shakespeare you never hear anything about it, you know?-and he really liked what I did with it so after the semester was over he asked me if he could submit it to a journal and we started talking over lunch and things about edits I had to make and well . . . " The animated babble dies off into a smile. "About three months later I asked him out."
"That must've gone over great with the dean," Kris comments. Brad snorts.
"Fuck the dean. Actually, don't. He doesn't deserve it. I waited until the point in the semester following where Jerry couldn't change my grade anymore before I asked him out, so it's not like he could accuse me of seducing the teacher to get better marks. Which I didn't need, by the way, I passed with a 92. And then about two months after that I met his kids and six months after that we moved in together." He twirls the ring on his thumb, but it's not a despondent gesture anymore-more of an absent one, cherishing someone who isn't present where Brad can hold his hand. "And until now it's been nothing but amazing."
"Even Sleeping Beauty had to get hurt before she could get her happily-ever-after," Kris says, with no idea why he's said it, but it's like some kind of magic spell-the cloud settling back over Brad's face suddenly lifts.
"Yes! That's true, isn't it? Happy ever after always comes after you fight for it."
Kris glances down at his wedding ring, unaware he's even done it until Brad's arms are around his shoulders.
"Sometimes you need more than one happily ever after," Brad's voice says in his ear. "Staying in the deep dark forest where giants go to rampage forever is a bad idea. I think Katy would tell you the same thing."
Kris doesn't ask how Brad knows. The answer is obvious: his wedding ring is on his right hand.
Instead he just hugs back.
-----------------
"Brad Bell?"
Adam grabs the back of Cody's overalls to keep him from fleeing into Brad's arms, something he's started doing every time someone says Brad's name. It's kind of cute, really-Cody is six and thinks he's Brad's bodyguard when he's so little for his age he makes even Brad look like a giant. Brad looks up.
"Yes?"
The nurse in the doorway looks suddenly flustered. "Ah-I think I'm looking for your father-"
Brad has the look of practised patience that suggests he hears this several times a week. "Jerry is my fiancé, not my stepfather."
"Oh!" And now the nurse looks more flustered than ever, shuffling the papers in her hands and nearly dropping them. "I'm sorry, I-that is, unless one of his daughters has power of attorney you're listed as the primary post-op caretaker and hospital policy requires that role go to someone over the age of 21-"
"I'm over thirty," Brad answers, and Kris has to hide a smile. He wonders if Jerry knows how old Brad actually is. Kris decides to take pity on the nurse and steps hard on Brad's toes under the snack table. Brad kicks his foot. "Can I help you?"
The nurse glances down at the papers in her hands. "Well, that is, I should say-the doctor will be in to speak with you shortly but-"
"Is he okay?" There's a steel edge under Brad's voice that suggests he's reached the end of both his nerves and energy, and the nurse looks startled again.
"Well. I'd assume so. But standard procedure requires that we keep your, ah, fiancé with us for one to two days for observation-"
"I know all this," Brad interrupts. Kris has the uneasy feeling they sent this woman out to stall. "I was the one who had to sign the releases this morning."
"Yes, that is, I have your signature here but-one of these is dated but not signed, and without your signature we can't release him from Recovery to a general room." She holds out the paper hesitantly. Brad takes it, and Kris offers his notebook to write on.
The sheet the nurse handed over has three sets of Brad's initials, one date, and sure enough, no signature. Kris wonders vaguely if Brad is okay to be alone that night, or if he's still apt to do something like leaving the stove on after the pans are off or forgetting to set the house alarm.
Brad scribbles at the bottom of the page and hands it back. "When can we see him?"
"Standard procedure is to limit visitors immediately following surgery-"
Brad glances down at the littles, and Kris knows he's biting his tongue to keep from swearing. "I was told this morning that immediate family could see him when he got out of Recovery."
"That won't be for another hour or so. I'm sure the doctor can fill you in. Thank you, Mr. Bell."
The nurse doesn't so much leave as flee. Brad puts his face back in his hands. Kris puts a hand on his back.
"She's got to be new, she probably doesn't know what she's talking about."
"They're going to try to keep me out because I'm not female." Brad spits the last word so hard Kris half-expects a forked tongue to accompany it. The girls look up at him, and Adam finally loses his hold on Cody's overalls enough for him to crawl into Brad's lap. Brad buries his face in Cody's hair. There's a shuffle as Debra straightens an AutoCAD printout, and then she glances up at Brad. The air in the entire room shifts, and after a minute Brad raises his head and smiles wearily at the girls.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I know I'm not the only one."
Kris scribbles something in his notebook, then flips the page before Brad can read what's popped into his mind. Nicole leans over to hug him. Anthony looks in another direction and shuts his calculus book.
"You have a right to be mad too," Nicole tells Brad, and then she glances over at Anthony. "I know I am. They told us last night Dad could go home the day after the surgery. We didn't hear any of this two-days-for-observation stuff."
"It was probably worse than they thought it would be, Nicky," Mandy cuts in. "You've seen the way Dad eats and he's not exactly active-"
"He jogs!"
"Jogged, Nicky. Jogged. For two weeks, and decided he'd rather have the extra twenty minutes of sleep in the morning."
"Like you don't have any bad habits?"
"My bad habits aren't going to kill me if I don't change them, Nicky-"
Brad cuts in with a "stop it, both of you" just as Debra lets out a warning "girls" and Anthony flips his textbook open again. Debra, all five-foot-nothing of her, manages to loom from where she sits at the table with her work spread in front of her.
"Nobody in this room needs to listen to you two squabble over how much of your father's health is his own fault," she says. "If you feel the need to be that childish, take it elsewhere."
"Mother-!" 'mentative 'Manda, Kris has heard Brad call the oldest of Jerry's children before, and as Debra walks out he understands why. Mandy stares out the door, and Kris decides to leave Adam to sweep up the drama here while he takes Debra's papers to her before she can leave.
He finds her in the cafeteria downstairs, sipping an orange juice. She looks up at him and smiles.
"Thank you." Unlike Brad, who practically punctuates his sentences with movement, Debra simply holds Kris' gaze level with her own. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"All families have some kind of personal problems," Kris answers. "It's no big deal."
"The girls are very protective of their father," Debra tells him. "There were . . . sides taken, during the divorce, and it's somewhat stayed that way."
Kris looks down at the folder between his hands. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I know why the chips fell the way they did. I said some very ugly things I shouldn't have said. Neither of the girls have quite their father's same gift for forgiveness. But we're getting there." She puts a hand on top of his. "The first time I met Brad he was sitting on the floor reading a book to Cody. Dr. Seuss." She twists her shoulders, and when she speaks again it's in a passable imitation of Brad's voice. "You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself any direction you choose!" Kris finds it easy, looking at her, to imagine Brad reading that line, sounding as excited as the day the possibility first occurred to him that he, too, could steer himself in any direction he chose. "A Harvard graduate taking advice from a child's book, can you imagine? You'd think it would take more than that to set you straight."
"Adam thinks you're some kind of superhuman for being friendly with Brad," Kris says. He doesn't mean to say it, it just kind of slides out, but Debra smiles.
"At first I felt that way myself," she tells him. "I think a great deal of the reason things sit as they do is because Brad wanted to be an active part of the family-not just a toy who went out for dinner and a kiss goodnight. It's hard to stay bitter about someone or doubtful about his level of commitment when you see him doing this kind of thing." She gestures at the hospital cafeteria. "It may seem strange, but I never wished my husband unhappiness. Just level-headedness."
"You wished him level-headedness, and he got Brad," Kris muses.
Debra laughs.
---------------
Brad and Anthony are both missing when they get back upstairs.
Kris sits next to Adam, feeling lost and wanting to just go back to Adam's place and nap. Mandy is packing up her papers. Nicole is hunting for a bookmark, and when Kris hears footsteps in the corridor he understands what they've been waiting here for.
Brad guides Anthony back into the nurses' breakroom they've been sequestered in, one hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulder and the other being strangled in a death grip by Anthony's fingers. Brad looks quiet and tired, but otherwise fine. Anthony looks his usual sullen self until Brad takes the hand off his shoulder. Then he crumples from the inside like an imploded building, his whole face screwing up as he lets out a healthy wail. Nicole drops her book and pulls her brother into her arms. Brad extricates his hand from Anthony's and substitutes Nicole's before ducking to Debra's side and murmuring something in her ear. She listens and nods, then listens again and shakes her head. Kris watches and hopes that wail doesn't mean what he thinks it could.
Brad slips back to Adam and rests his head on Adam's shoulder. Adam puts an arm around him and squeezes.
"Back to the house or are we going to your place?"
"Dinner?" Brad asks, and Adam nods. "I need to . . . I haven't been home in three days, it's going to smell old. I don't want it to smell old when he gets out of here."
Kris feels a small stone roll off his heart. Then he steps around Adam and pulls Brad into a tight hug, an arm around both shoulder and waist as Brad leans on him.
Brad finally lets go so he can hug the girls goodbye. He leaves with Adam and Kris-not a surprise, since he rode in with them, Kris decides-and stops for just a minute at the nurses' station.
"I'm here with Jerry McAllister in 214," he says, and before the nurse can tell him Jerry McAllister isn't taking visitors at the moment he continues. "He fell asleep before I could say goodnight. Will you make sure he knows Bradley is coming back tomorrow at eleven, when he wakes up?"
The nurse smiles at him and nods. Kris marvels for a second; he doesn't think he's ever heard Brad actually use his full name to refer to himself. Then he thinks of the nurse asking Brad if he was over 21, and it makes sense-Brad doesn't want Jerry to be expecting Anthony in the morning.
Kris watches him glance back down the hall as they walk out. He looks like he's doing okay.
Kris envies him.
---------------------
They eat at Brad and Jerry's, a snug little place where Jerry's academia jostles with Brad's avant-garde to create a place that looks like home. The kitchen is a bright yellow that picks up the light from Jerry's glass-and-wood hanging lamp and leaves little speckles of light all over the upper walls and Brad's collection of leaf art, and when Brad is safely ensconced in it he actually seems to perk up a little.
"I can put in a tray of cookies tonight and make it smell like gingerbread," Brad says as they all nibble on stir-fry. "And then tomorrow I can fix up, and he'll never know he was gone." He stares at his last bite of asparagus and sets it aside. "I have cheesecake in the fridge. It's going to be a day old because it was setting for last night, but it should be okay."
"My mom thinks you should have been a Jewish mother," Adam comments. "Everything is food or relationships."
"Real life is always food or relationships," Brad argues. "Or both."
Kris eats his pea pods and chicken and listens to Adam and Brad banter. Eventually Brad gets up and brings out the cheesecake, complete with a bowl of strawberries in some kind of sauce. Kris touches a bit of it to his tongue and thinks he tastes just a little hint of orange juice in there somewhere. It's delicious, whatever it is, and he finishes off his piece almost embarrassingly fast. Brad watches him with the self-satisfied smile of a master crafter presenting a masterpiece. Adam reaches over and steals the last bite of Brad's piece when Brad isn't looking, and as they war for control over Adam's fork it occurs to Kris that once upon a time, things like this probably preceded a run to the bedroom.
The thought brings with it a swirl of unexpected anger: Brad doesn't know how lucky he is to have a fiance who desires him and an ex who still dotes on him like a boyfriend, while Kris has neither lover nor wife. It's not fair, Kris thinks, and although he knows the corollary to this very well-life isn't fair, so put it on your TS list and mail it to the chaplain, sweetie-he can't help thinking there's been some kind of horrible mistake, that Katy should be quietly dead beneath the ground while Brad walks around cheerfully oblivious to how much he has, how quickly it could all be taken away.
"Are you going to be okay here tonight alone?" Kris asks, and in his head he can hear Katy, far-off and distressed: Kris, don't. He's hurting too. He pushes her voice away. She, after all, is not the one who has to wake up in the middle of the night still wondering why the other half of the bed is empty. "I heard you through the vents last night."
Kris ignores the expression on Adam's face, the one that says oh fuck you mean you can hear my room? in favour of Brad's. He's almost instantly sorry. Brad's megawatt smile dims, and suddenly he just looks pensive and thoughtful.
"I'll be fine," he says finally. "Last night was . . . kind of a fluke."
People don't take X as a fluke, Kris thinks, and there it is again: I did everything as right as I knew how! Why are you the one who lucked out?
Brad starts stacking dishes. There's a faint rosy flush on his cheeks. "I thought about coming back here without him and just . . . couldn't do it," he explains. "I couldn't imagine trying to sleep without being able to hear somebody. The only time I've slept without him since we moved in together was when I was filming on location, and that's . . . you know, different."
"Yeah," Kris agrees. "I know. What is it Cassidy says-been there, done that, got the T-shirt?"
He sees Adam wince and could almost swear he can feel Katy's disapproval. One side of Brad's mouth quirks.
"That's what he says," Brad agrees, and Kris forces himself to bite his tongue before he can spit out something outght cruel. Instead he excuses himself to the bathroom.
He knows Adam is going to be-no, not just angry, only Adam's word will do for this, Adam is going to be royally pissed-when they leave, and before he can start in with a tirade about how dare Kris try to hurt Brad when Brad is dealing the best he can with something most people his age don't even have to think about, Kris speaks up.
"I'm sorry," he says, and he can tell by the set of Adam's mouth that Adam knows exactly what he's talking about. "I don't know what got into me." He pauses and sighs. To heck with it. "That's not true. Yes I do. It's too close to home and I bit at the wrong person when I should've been trying to support him. I feel like crap."
"You know what Gokey would tell you, right?"
"Human beings are just imperfect shadows of the Lord now go get a cup of coffee and calm down Kris?"
"You could make your living doing impressions, Kristopher," Adam agrees. "We all fuck up. But that-" Adam manages, without ever lifting his hands from the wheel, to gesture in the direction of the house they've left behind-"that was a pretty big fuckup." Adam's lips tremble, and for a second Kris thinks he's going to cry. Then he realises Adam is trying not to scream at him. "He doesn't deserve that kind of shit. You don't know everything that's going on in his life right now, you can't judge."
Kris tries to keep his temper even. Adam's points are good ones, and the irony, Kris thinks, is that's why he'd like to be angry. "I know I don't. I wasn't trying to judge."
"You could have fooled the fuck out of me." Adam's voice drops half an octave. It's a horrible impression of Kris' own, but close enough for Kris to get the message. "'I heard you through the vents last night, Brad, I've been there and gotten the T-shirt, Brad, I'm going to be more concerned about you dropping than you needing to get your life back to normal, Brad.'" Adam drops the impersonation. It's something of a relief. "Jerry's heart stopped sometime this afternoon during surgery. That's why they were talking about not letting in visitors. They had to crash him. Brad has a right to be fucked-up right now."
Kris bites his tongue as another wave of bitterness washes over him, one so angry he can't help but realise how irrational it is: If Katy had been Kevin, you'd get it a lot more than you do. "I understand. I'm sorry."
Adam takes a deep breath. Then he hits the play button on the stereo, and they drive through Los Angeles to the sound of the Beatles and Eleanor Rigby, who died in the church and was buried along with her name.
Angel is sitting on the porch swing, beer in hand, when Adam pulls in. He stands up and waves at them both, and when they climb the front steps he fishes a pair of bottles out from Adam's old steel bucket under the swing and passes them each one, popping off the tops with a keychain bottle-opener as he does and collecting the caps in one hand. Adam looks down at the keys in his hand and clips them back to his belt before sitting on the swing. Kris sits on the broad front rail of the porch, and when he leans against the large column that forms half the frame of the front steps Adam swings his legs up and rests his head in Angel's lap. Kris wonders how Adam plans to drink his beer sideways and then decides that's not his problem.
Angel swings a thick cable of braid back over his shoulder and runs his fingers through Adam's hair. Kris watches him and isn't jealous at all when Adam closes his eyes and lets himself go heavy and limp. Really.
The moths flicker around the porch lights. A breeze flits through the leaves overhead, making them rustle.
And Kris wonders who he thinks he's kidding.
Author: Ninalyn/technicolornina
Fandom: Adam Lambert
Pairing/Characters: Adam Lambert, Kris Allen, Katy Allen (past), Brad Bell, various and sundry OCs
Word Count: 8728
Story Rating: R
Chapter Rating: R. Adam likes to swear. Angel likes to swear even more.
Story Summary: Seven years after Idol, Adam and Kris and their lives have both drastically changed. Now they have to rebuild to get back to the people they once were--if that's really what they want.
Disclaimer: If you happen to be one of the people in this story, thanks for letting me play in your sandbox (and sorry for making your fictitious avatars go through such horrible shit). I'd recommend you read no further. You know, mental scarring and all that. If you're anyone else and you link one of said people to this story and I find out, yea, The Wrath Of Nina will fall on your head, and I'm short but I hit really hard for a girl.
Notes: Let me make this very clear: THERE IS DEATH IN THIS STORY!!! If you are one of those silly people who does not read the author's notes, don't bitch to me when you find out someone died in the backstory and you are bothered by it. I will refer you back to my BOLDED UNDERLINED ITALICIZED BRIGHT RED NOTE. And to those who go "DDD: HOW COULD YOU KILL X," it's nothing against X. It's just that all characters must be equally dispensable as plot fodder. I hope everyone in this story actually goes on to live a long, happy, healthy life. (And for those who will only care if it's Adam, Brad, or Kris, because I know y'all are out there: no, it's none of them.)
Feedback: I really do appreciate it when I get it, so if you care to make an author happy, please do.
Special Thanks/Dedications: For m_lasha, who requested Kradam in return for her generous donation to help_japan!
I, I wish that I could dance on a single prayer.
I, I wish I could be strong without somebody there.
I, I wish that I could dance on a single prayer.
I, I wish I could be strong without the scheiße, yeah.
--"Scheiße, Lady Gaga
Kris wakes up with a hand that isn't Adam's on his shoulder.
At some point during the night Adam rolled over and now Kris is the big spoon, which means the fingers resting just above his neck have to belong to a third person who wasn't in the bed when he fell asleep. He weighs his options before peeking over Adam's shoulder just enough to see a single dark eye looking at him from beneath a wild tangle of black hair.
The night before crashes back into Kris' mind, and he wonders if he can babble an explanation fast enough to keep Angel from killing him. Or castrating him, which in spite of his lately-celibate lifestyle really isn't something he wants to deal with. He's in the middle of taking a breath deep enough to hopefully get out the whole story when Angel stretches-and now Kris knows who makes that little catlike sound he hears sometimes through the air ducts-and yawns and curls back up against Adam's chest.
"We're not exclusive," he says, and after a pause, "Never thought I'd say that to a Jesus freak."
Kris considers pointing out he's a Christian, not a fanatic, thanks, and then decides that even if the pair of them have chosen to not commit to monogamy there's something else that bothers him more. "Nothing happened. I mean, I kissed him, but I didn't-"
"You still being fully dressed didn't give me a single clue," Angel interrupts. "And I really seriously don't give a shit. Kiss him, fuck him, get him to give you blowjob lessons, whatever."
Kris wants to reply with something snappy, but his brain stalls out on a mental image of Adam in librarian glasses and a button-down very seriously saying "Now, unzip your partner's fly" and he has to choke back laughter before he can wake Adam, still sleeping peacefully caught between their arms. Angel raises his eyebrows, and Kris calms down before he can disturb Adam. Instead he whispers "When did you get here?"
"About six-thirty. I picked up Brad." Another of those little pauses. "He's in the other spare room."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. As far as I know. His boyfriend's totally drugged out and Brad was freaking so they gave him a sedative. I brought him back here because he was too out of it to give me his address. I don't think they gave him the right dose."
Kris raises his own eyebrows. "He's not going to need the hospital, is he?"
"For OD? Nah. I think it's just 'cause he's so little." Angel settles further into Adam's arms. "Anyway. They said he should be awake by like noon and then Brad can see him. He's still in ICU. I convinced one of the nurses to tell me what was going on so I could fill him in when he wakes up and I guess he needs, like, surgery to fix his aorta or something. You know, to keep it from happening again. But he's okay for now. Long's nothing else goes wrong."
Angel yawns widely, and Kris is reminded of sitting in his kitchen in Arkansas, watching Kesha sit and marinate in her own sleepiness across the table from him. Her hair is blonde and kinky and Angel's is black and straight, but for a minute their faces look almost exactly the same. He remembers what he said as pearly overcast light spilled over Kesha's face, and repeats it as a square of early golden sunshine maps out a square on Adam's bedroom floor. "If you want to sleep in, go ahead." He pauses. "I can deal with Brad if he wakes up if you can deal with Adam."
"I deal with him three or four nights a week," Angel answers. Kris bites his tongue to keep from telling Angel that his way of dealing with Adam is helping Kris to memorize entire albums at speeds he once only dreamed of.
"Sure. Okay. I'm going to get breakfast. He's probably going to freak out when he wakes up because I promised to wake him before eight to call Brad. Just a warning."
"I think he'll live," Angel yawns. "Not sure I will."
"Get some sleep," Kris suggests, and slides off the bed.
--------------------
Kris can tell Adam is avoiding him.
Adam isn't in the habit of slinking around his own kitchen to pour orange juice over his Rice Krispies before sliding out the back door like a guilt-ridden thief with coffee and cereal in hand, and after debating for a few moments Kris follows him.
Adam is sitting on the swing, nibbling on his cereal. Kris sits and takes a sip of his coffee.
"Did Angel tell you Brad's here?"
"I saw him in the spare room." Adam pauses. "He was still way under, but he asked if I'd lay down with him for a little bit. He's not used to sleeping alone." He sends a guilty glance in Kris' direction, like he's waiting to be scolded, and finally Kris can't stand it anymore.
"Last night is okay," he spits out. "I don't want things to be awkward because you needed somebody to be with you."
Adam looks startled. "I didn't-"
"Don't," Kris interrupts. "Just . . . don't. I know you like dissecting everything that happens to you, but it's not that deep. Really. You needed somebody and I was there. That's what friends are for."
For a second Adam looks unsure, and Kris wants to shake him. If he starts trying to talk it out, it will get awkward. Then Adam smiles, unsure but friendly.
"Thanks."
Kris smiles back. Adam leans over to peck his cheek. "You're really one in a million, you know," he says, and Kris slings an arm around his shoulders. Adam leans into the hug. His cereal tips, and after a brief moment when it seems like he might actually save it the whole thing goes head over teakettle, sending Rice Krispies and orange juice and half-dissolved sugar in a semiartistic splatter over the porch. Adam's mouth opens in an O of surprise. Then he looks back up at Kris.
"Oh, to hell with it, I never fucking liked Rice Krispies anyway," Adam says, and Kris bursts into laughter. Adam joins in and throws his arms around Kris' shoulders. There's a huff from the doorway.
"Fuck you, Rice Krispies are awesome," Angel's voice drifts out. "If you're a normal person and eat them with, you know, milk."
Kris jumps. Adam's arms slide from around his shoulders. Angel cocks an eyebrow at them both. The effect is somewhat spoiled by the shirt he obviously stole out of Adam's closet; he's taller than Kris, but not by much, and Adam's old stretched tee falls easily almost all the way to his knees. "Brad's up."
"Is he okay?"
"Dunno, he's still way out of it." Angel plunks down on a part of the patio not covered with orange juice and crosses his legs. The wash-faded front of the tee billows into his lap, and he takes a bite out of an orange he's partially peeled but not bothered to section. For a second Kris thinks it won't even fit in his mouth, and then by doing some weird thing with his tongue that sends juice down his chin Angel manages to get the last bit between his teeth and swallow it almost whole. Kris decides it's better for his mental health if he doesn't know where Angel learned something like that. "He was in the bathroom when I got up." Angel links his fingers together and stretches his arms up so far over his head Kris can hear his back pop. "So like, you're probably taking him back there today, right?"
"Yeah," Adam agrees. "How'd you end up back here last night?"
Angel looks up into the tree over the porch like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, which Kris supposes is his way of either being mysterious, or not wanting to admit he was worried. He pulls himself to his feet, all awkward legs and arms not quite moving in the same direction at the same time, and stares down at the rind of his orange before sticking his tongue out and slurping at what's left inside. Kris raises his eyebrows. Adam chuckles.
"You're totally vile."
"You love it," Angel shoots back, and takes Adam's coffee straight out of his hand before padding back into the house.
Kris and Adam look at each other. Then Adam looks down at his hands like he's trying very hard not to laugh, and that's it-Kris cracks up, and then Adam snickers, and then they're holding each other on the porch swing, trying not to fall off into Adam's Rice Krispies and orange juice as they laugh.
They glance at each other again as they wind down, and for a single second-the first one in almost two years-it occurs to Kris that for just a moment, he was truly happy again.
---------------------
Kris listens. Listens. Listens. Gives Adam a double thumbs-up from his place at the mic. Settles the giant headphones on his shoulders, and then Adam's voice-coming out of an Adam grinning one of those oh-I've-always-wanted-to-do-this kind of smiles-echoes in the room: "Okay, everybody, that's a wrap."
Kris stretches his arms over his head as Adam walks in, and as he hears his spine crackle he's vaguely aware that Adam is watching him and trying not to watch at the same time. Kris wonders if he should feel uncomfortable. Then it occurs to him that he's taking the narrow view: Adam is a healthy male and Kris is his idea of attractive, and guys look. It's not all that different from Kris still noticing pretty girls on the street, no matter how little he feels like introducing himself to one. He takes his time finishing his stretch as he likes, and then breathes deep and smiles at Adam.
"So," he says. "One to go."
"Yeah," Adam agrees. "And then you better start writing, 'cause I have the feeling people are going to start screaming for a full-length album fast."
Kris smiles a little. He's already done a little bit, startled by how easily the words come when he lets them. He opens his mouth to say so, but Adam's already ahead of him.
"Enough work for the night, wanna go out?"
Kris hesitates. Adam's idea of "going out" and his idea of "going out" are two very different things, and he's about to say so when Adam prattles on.
"There's an Olive Garden like two miles from here that's got an upstairs, and if we ask them they can put us in one of the little sections and nobody'll bother us, so it's not like there'll be pictures floating everywhere. They don't normally do reservations, but if I call ahead and say it's us they'll have a spot waiting."
Kris thinks about it. They've eaten out since he's come from Arkansas, but it's been a steady stream of Thai and Chinese takeout with one blissful night when Tommy was over and they got tacos from some Mexican place that tasted great enough for Kris to ignore that the whole place looked like a dive. Italian in Adam's home consists of spaghetti and store-bought ravioli Adam never quite gets past al dente, served with either canned spaghetti sauce or some kind of incredibly simple garlic-and-butter recipe he got from some singer whose name Kris didn't recognise. Cooking anything more complicated than macaroni and cheese is a talent Adam has tried and failed to master.
"Let's do it," he says, and Adam pulls out his phone to call.
The view from the second-story window they're seated next to is beautiful, all lights and palm trees, and Kris says so as he eyes the glass of wine in front of him, the other glass in front of Adam. By now he could find his way home from the studio in his sleep if he could walk, but just the thought of sliding into the driver's seat of Adam's new Porsche and adjusting the rearview to accommodate his height makes Kris' heart speed up. Adam raises his glass.
"Just one," he says, and it's close enough to only half-full that Kris feels okay relaxing. Adam is a big guy and they're going to be here for awhile; if an hour isn't enough to get half a glass of wine out of his system, then Adam might as well give up ever trying to drink again. "Here's to a chart-topper, what do you say?"
"I'll drink to that." Kris sips the wine. Pinot noir, by Adam's suggestion. By the time they leave he'll have had two glasses and Adam will be keeping a worried eye on him lest Kris fall right over-but for now it's just a sweet taste on his tongue, close enough to the merlot from his wedding to stir nostalgia and far enough away that he doesn't feel the need to excuse himself from the table after his first sip. He touches Adam's glass with his own and looks out the window. "Is that the parkway down there?"
"More over to your left," Adam tells him. "Brad and I sat here for two hours one night figuring out what everything down there was. When we left we took a drive to see how close to right we were. He teased me for two months about taking someone on a date driving and not parking til we got back to his place."
"I thought you guys lived together," Kris spits out, and immediately regrets it. Tonight is supposed to be about a celebration, not rehashing the past. Adam looks surprisingly calm.
"Not the second time," is all he says, and then after a few seconds-maybe recognising with his usual gift for conversation that they've lurched into a place Kris isn't quite sure how to guide them out of-he continues. "That time wasn't about making it work out. It was about remembering how to love each other before we started hating each other." He smiles, and if it's a little wistful it's the sweet kind of wistfulness that's more nostalgia than regret. "We dated for three months. He wanted to see if we could really make it work a second time, so I told him to sit on it for another three months and if it still sounded like a good idea with a cool head we'd do it."
"What happened?"
"Jerry happened," Adam answers, and after peering out the window for a minute he points at a small cluster of lights on the other side of the parkway. "They live there now. It's right next to the university." He nibbles at the tiramisu sitting on the table between them. "I was kind of pissed off at first. I didn't tell him, but I was. Right up until the night Brad called me all nervous and told me he was supposed to meet Jerry's kids the next day, because they were, I don't know, passing judgement on whether or not it was okay for their dad to date somebody their age. And then I realised I couldn't think of a single other person he'd put himself through that for. Either you take him or you don't. So-" He shrugs. "Brad got the Prince Charming he always wanted and I got my best friend back. There are worse endings."
"I'm sorry that's how it turned out for you."
"I'm not. Considering the alternative. Two good endings out of ten is a really shitty record, but it's better than one out of nine." Adam blinks. "I think. Doesn't that raise the success percentage?"
Kris can't help it-he bursts out laughing, and continues until he chokes for lack of air. Adam watches him over the rim of his water glass. His mouth isn't smiling, but his eyes are, and when Kris finally stops to breathe Adam grins at him.
"Math was always Neil's thing," he says, and Kris has to choke back more laughter before people start to stare.
It's a good meal. It's a good night, and when Kris falls quiet for too long Adam is always there with some kind of conversation to break the silence. Adam ribs Kris about being a lightweight as they leave, and Kris shakes his head as Adam guides him to the car.
"I'm not," he protests, shaping his words carefully. "I just haven't had alcohol for two years."
The look Adam gives him is a searching one, but he doesn't comment-just turns on the CD player and lets Train blare out. Kris raises his eyebrows.
"Thought you didn't like Train." Not that he's complaining; after the disastrous mix CD that nearly killed them both, Adam's restricted himself to whatever happens to be on his iPod-with the result that sometimes they're listening to Katy Perry or Bruno Mars and sometimes to Elvis Presley or some local band called Children of Nine. Adam's music isn't bad, but it's not usually Kris' music.
"They're okay. Thought you might like the break from Goldfrapp."
Kris lets the sound of "Save Me, San Francisco" wash over him as he closes his eyes and leans back in the seat. It occurs to him that two months ago he would never have believed he could relax in a car ever again, but Adam's an excellent driver and goes out of his way whenever he can to avoid things like eight-lane intersections that leave Kris fighting panic attacks. He also hasn't asked Kris why he carries a state ID instead of his (by now several months expired) driver's license; or how Kris expects to get around LA, if he stays, when Adam isn't around; or what it is about the stop sign four blocks from Adam's house that freaks Kris out if he has to look at it from one side. It occurs to Kris that Adam's gone out of his way to step neatly around subjects most people would blunder right into, giving Kris time and space on topics he can't handle.
He's still sober enough to realise what it means for eternally-chatty Adam to simply avoid a subject altogether, and when they pull into the driveway and Adam holds out a hand to help Kris out of the car, Kris leans against him to demonstrate what he's learned from Adam's friends.
It's just a gentle touch of lips, something Kris sees Adam and his friends do a thousand times a day, but Adam instantly goes from relaxed and friendly to stiff as a board and pushes Kris against the side of the car.
"What the fuck, Kris?"
"I-" And Kris knows what he meant it to mean, but Adam looks shocked and angry and the second glass of wine stole too many of Kris' words for him to explain.
"I need to pick up Brad. You need to go upstairs and sleep it off," Adam says, and he sounds disgusted enough that Kris steps directly in his way as he heads back to the driver's seat.
"Look, you-you're just-I don't know what you think, but you're wrong." Adam's eyes narrow, and it occurs to Kris that crossing his professional fairy godmother is probably a bad idea, but that's a thought that would have power only if he were fully sober; right now his own temper is finally roused, and while he's sure all five-foot-eight of him makes an incredibly imposing figure-he might actually reach all the way to Adam's chin in the boots Adam has on, by God-he intends to have his say. "You don't-if you think I'm-" As soon as he figures out what his say is, that is. "You don't know what I'm like at all anymore."
Adam suddenly deflates, so fast Kris blinks in surprise. If there's one thing he remembers clearly about Adam, it's that Adam never backs down. "Just . . . go to bed, Kris."
Kris goes to bed, but he's too wired to sleep. Eventually he hears the front door open and Adam turning off the alarm (1-2-7-1-1, and he won't believe anyone who tells him it's way too obvious), the quiet murmur of voices and a sound that can only be Brad trying not to sniffle. Then there are bathroom sounds-shower, the flush of the toilet in the master bath that always makes the pipes gurgle-and a tiny, quiet creak as someone small who is not Adam sits down on Adam's bed in a way that isn't at all Adam's heavy but graceful fall or Angel's careless, I-know-I'm-too-small-to-break-this-mattress-so-I'm-going-to-abuse-it-as-much-as-I-like flop.
"Your shirts are still way too big."
"Correction, you're still way too small." There's a larger, high-pitched creak like a soprano cracking on high C, and if Kris doesn't miss his guess by a mile Adam is going to be putting his bed back together again sometime soon. That one sounded like a spring. "I've got some stuff, if you need to chill out."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Pot. Chamomile. Neil turned up some mescaline and gave me some. I think I might have a tab of X somewhere."
There's a small giggle, probably directed at the way Adam casually tossed herbal tea into the middle of his list. The end of it turns thoughtful. "Do you think it's big enough to split?"
"Probably. I think it's in my jewellery box, want me to look?"
There's a mumble Kris can't catch even through the heating vent, and then the bed creaks again. Eventually Kris hears the returning creak.
"I've got a lavender candle," Adam's voice says, and Kris bites his lip. Brad is an adult, but he also has a partner in the hospital and-"
"It'll keep me awake. I appreciate it, but . . . no flickering."
"Okay. Just no freaking out, okay?"
"I'm freaking enough without going on a bad trip, sweetheart. I'll be okay if you're here."
"I'm not going anywhere. Get some sleep. I'll wake you around five, okay?"
Kris rolls over and burrows into his pillow miserably. Adam has a ready-made excuse to ignore him tomorrow, and he's not too drunk to know the message Adam got isn't the one Kris was trying to send. They have to talk. Probably about more than tonight, too, and that's the part that sets Kris' whole midsection twisting.
But there's just no way around it, that's all.
-------------------------
"I need to talk to you about last night." Kris squints against the really unfair early-early-morning dawnlight coming in the window and hopes he looks like a man with convictions. Right now he feels more like a third-day flu patient with a headache. On two small glasses of wine, even. And Adam, who was dropping party drugs the night before in his bedroom, looks fresh as a daisy.
Sometimes the world just isn't fair.
"No."
Well, that was unexpected. "Yes."
"Kris, there's nothing to talk about. I have to wake Brad in ten minutes so I can get him up to the hospital, I'm picking up the littles for the day so they're not hanging out in a waiting room until five tonight and I really don't want to-"
It's also a very effective way of shutting Adam up. Kris is starting to understand why Brad did it so often. Adam with his mouth hanging open and nothing to say is something akin to Lady Gaga in a plain black dress.
"You really-"
"Come on, there's no way that was even good," Kris interrupts him. "We need to install a better on/off switch on your mouth."
"Kris-"
"I don't know what you think it was, but it wasn't," Kris interrupts again. "Don't tell me it's different because I'm not from here or because I'm straight or-whatever dumb reason you have for reacting that way, you do it a million times a day to everyone else."
Adam stares at him. Kris sighs and flops down at the table. He really should have had some coffee before doing this. Or maybe a new brain.
"I was trying to say thank you." He sees Adam open his mouth to protest and puts a finger across his lips. "Maybe I missed something, but I see you do it every day to everyone from Brad to your manager. Am I really wrong here? Because if I am I'd rather you tell me I just made a huge fool of myself while I was drunk and then drop it instead of getting mad. I don't have a whole lot of friends since Katy died. I don't want to lose any of the ones I've got left." He pulls his finger away and waits to be told to fuck off.
Instead Adam blinks at him, then lets out a small huff, and then starts to chuckle. "You-you were trying to-" And he's off, laughing so hard he has to fight to keep the volume down. Kris waits patiently while Adam laughs himself out.
"Okay, a couple of important things you need to know," Adam finally wheezes. "Under no circumstances when you're kissing hello or thank you do you lunge like a dog in heat. And you don't kiss on the mouth."
"I've seen you-"
Adam turns Kris' head with one hand and puts a gentle peck on the spot between his cheek and his lips. All right; fair enough. Adam finishes, and when he does his voice is low enough in both pitch and volume that it almost seems to rumble against Kris' ear in spite of Adam's high register.
"I'll give you an A for effort," he says, and as two things happen in perfect unison Kris curses his luck.
Brad appears in the doorway, and Kris shivers.
---------------
"I brought you this," a woman's voice says from the doorway, and everyone looks up-Adam from trying to corral both of the littles (Brad's term, Kris has learned, for Jerry's grandchildren), Kris from his notebook of lyrics, Mandy from her laptop, Nicole from her book, Brad just up. Cody lets go of the corner of Adam's jacket he's been clinging to and runs to the woman's side, yelling "Nana's here!" as he goes. Kris gets up to take the small cooler out of her hand, leaving her free to ruffle Cody's hair and put the Thermoses in her other hand down on the table. "I didn't think anybody would want hospital coffee and everyone has to eat sooner or later."
She heads for the vacant seat between Brad and Mandy and takes it. Behind her a boy who looks like Jerry with twenty-five years removed slinks in, looks around, plunks down into a chair at the table and opens a calculus book. Debra pours herself coffee from a red Thermos, then pulls a cup out of the cooler and pours another that she hands to Brad. He thanks her and smells it, but doesn't drink. Kris watches everyone and then dives back into his lyrics. Brad is mostly what Adam would call "inside himself," but occasionally he surfaces long enough to look curiously at what Kris has written. The next time Kris looks up, Adam and the littles are gone. Good. He looks down at the notebook, reads what he's written-something about laughing golden in an early dawn-and scribbles it out with a fierceness bordering on outright violence.
You're living in his house, eating his food, and letting him save your career. Getting attached is natural. What you don't want to get is confused.
Oh, but he doesn't think he's confused. That's the part he could do without knowing. He hasn't had Adam's string of significant others, but he knows that kind of shiver when it happens.
I don't want to.
"I don't think you want to use those lyrics, sweetheart, Alice Cooper would leave you standing in your underwear," Brad murmurs from his right. Kris looks down and sees I'll just close my eyes and it'll go away written two or three times across a page blank except for the copied line and a really bad doodle of what might be a horse. He tears out the page and crumples it up.
"Writer's block," he says, and Brad nods.
"It's awful, isn't it?" There's a pause no more than a beat long, and then Brad sighs and runs his hands into his hair. "I don't think it's fair that they can't knock out the rest of us, too."
Kris rubs Brad's shoulder. It's not as awkward as it would have been two months ago, he realises, and wonders if that means he's starting to blend into California. "He'll be okay."
"'Barring further complications'," Brad answers, wrinkling his nose as he says it. "I know he will. He'd better. I told him this morning before they took him in that if he died I'd kick his ass for leaving me that way."
"What did he say?"
Brad closes his eyes. "He-" There's a little hiccuping sound, and Kris wishes Adam was here. He's the one who's good at this. Finally he just puts an arm around Brad's shoulders. That is awkward, horribly so, and he hopes it doesn't show. "He said he knew if anything happened to him I'd be okay," Brad whispers, and now Kris is the one who wants to kick Jerry's ass. Even when it's a lie, hope is better.
Brad turns something endlessly on his thumb. Kris glances between Brad's moving fingers and sees a ring that's too big for Brad's hand. Probably Jerry's and taken off during his surgery for safekeeping, Kris thinks, and wonders with a sudden painful stab if Katy's ring is still on her finger, or if she's far enough gone for it to have slipped off into her casket. He puts a hand over Brad's to still that horrible repetitive motion, and Brad smiles in a way that's trying to look upbeat and not quite making it.
"Sorry. I just . . . I keep worrying about whether or not I'll be able to put it back where it belongs."
"It's okay." Kris looks back down at his notebook. Then he shuts it. The words are done for today, he thinks. "Wanna go for a walk?"
Brad blinks. "Where?"
"Debra didn't bring tea," Kris answers, and pulls Brad out of his seat before he can protest. "Come on. The coffee is great, but I want something else for a little bit."
Kris waits until they're in the elevator before speaking again. "You looked like you were suffocating in there. I thought you could use an excuse to get out for fifteen minutes."
Brad still looks worried, but under the worry there's relief. "Thank you."
"No problem." And then, because Adam is still the one who's better at the whole emotions thing, Kris changes the subject. "How did you meet, anyway? You and Jerry?"
Brad actually giggles, and this time it's Kris' turn to be relieved. A giggling Brad is one who isn't under so much mental stress he's ready to snap. "I was one of his students in his History of Storytelling class, can you believe that? I went back to school for a B.S. in psychology and took it as an elective because I wanted the degree for my work, you know, and storytelling is part of that, and at the end of the semester because it was a 300 course everyone was supposed to turn in some kind of project and I did a research paper on storytelling from a historical gay perspective-because unless you're talking about Oscar Wilde or Shakespeare you never hear anything about it, you know?-and he really liked what I did with it so after the semester was over he asked me if he could submit it to a journal and we started talking over lunch and things about edits I had to make and well . . . " The animated babble dies off into a smile. "About three months later I asked him out."
"That must've gone over great with the dean," Kris comments. Brad snorts.
"Fuck the dean. Actually, don't. He doesn't deserve it. I waited until the point in the semester following where Jerry couldn't change my grade anymore before I asked him out, so it's not like he could accuse me of seducing the teacher to get better marks. Which I didn't need, by the way, I passed with a 92. And then about two months after that I met his kids and six months after that we moved in together." He twirls the ring on his thumb, but it's not a despondent gesture anymore-more of an absent one, cherishing someone who isn't present where Brad can hold his hand. "And until now it's been nothing but amazing."
"Even Sleeping Beauty had to get hurt before she could get her happily-ever-after," Kris says, with no idea why he's said it, but it's like some kind of magic spell-the cloud settling back over Brad's face suddenly lifts.
"Yes! That's true, isn't it? Happy ever after always comes after you fight for it."
Kris glances down at his wedding ring, unaware he's even done it until Brad's arms are around his shoulders.
"Sometimes you need more than one happily ever after," Brad's voice says in his ear. "Staying in the deep dark forest where giants go to rampage forever is a bad idea. I think Katy would tell you the same thing."
Kris doesn't ask how Brad knows. The answer is obvious: his wedding ring is on his right hand.
Instead he just hugs back.
-----------------
"Brad Bell?"
Adam grabs the back of Cody's overalls to keep him from fleeing into Brad's arms, something he's started doing every time someone says Brad's name. It's kind of cute, really-Cody is six and thinks he's Brad's bodyguard when he's so little for his age he makes even Brad look like a giant. Brad looks up.
"Yes?"
The nurse in the doorway looks suddenly flustered. "Ah-I think I'm looking for your father-"
Brad has the look of practised patience that suggests he hears this several times a week. "Jerry is my fiancé, not my stepfather."
"Oh!" And now the nurse looks more flustered than ever, shuffling the papers in her hands and nearly dropping them. "I'm sorry, I-that is, unless one of his daughters has power of attorney you're listed as the primary post-op caretaker and hospital policy requires that role go to someone over the age of 21-"
"I'm over thirty," Brad answers, and Kris has to hide a smile. He wonders if Jerry knows how old Brad actually is. Kris decides to take pity on the nurse and steps hard on Brad's toes under the snack table. Brad kicks his foot. "Can I help you?"
The nurse glances down at the papers in her hands. "Well, that is, I should say-the doctor will be in to speak with you shortly but-"
"Is he okay?" There's a steel edge under Brad's voice that suggests he's reached the end of both his nerves and energy, and the nurse looks startled again.
"Well. I'd assume so. But standard procedure requires that we keep your, ah, fiancé with us for one to two days for observation-"
"I know all this," Brad interrupts. Kris has the uneasy feeling they sent this woman out to stall. "I was the one who had to sign the releases this morning."
"Yes, that is, I have your signature here but-one of these is dated but not signed, and without your signature we can't release him from Recovery to a general room." She holds out the paper hesitantly. Brad takes it, and Kris offers his notebook to write on.
The sheet the nurse handed over has three sets of Brad's initials, one date, and sure enough, no signature. Kris wonders vaguely if Brad is okay to be alone that night, or if he's still apt to do something like leaving the stove on after the pans are off or forgetting to set the house alarm.
Brad scribbles at the bottom of the page and hands it back. "When can we see him?"
"Standard procedure is to limit visitors immediately following surgery-"
Brad glances down at the littles, and Kris knows he's biting his tongue to keep from swearing. "I was told this morning that immediate family could see him when he got out of Recovery."
"That won't be for another hour or so. I'm sure the doctor can fill you in. Thank you, Mr. Bell."
The nurse doesn't so much leave as flee. Brad puts his face back in his hands. Kris puts a hand on his back.
"She's got to be new, she probably doesn't know what she's talking about."
"They're going to try to keep me out because I'm not female." Brad spits the last word so hard Kris half-expects a forked tongue to accompany it. The girls look up at him, and Adam finally loses his hold on Cody's overalls enough for him to crawl into Brad's lap. Brad buries his face in Cody's hair. There's a shuffle as Debra straightens an AutoCAD printout, and then she glances up at Brad. The air in the entire room shifts, and after a minute Brad raises his head and smiles wearily at the girls.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I know I'm not the only one."
Kris scribbles something in his notebook, then flips the page before Brad can read what's popped into his mind. Nicole leans over to hug him. Anthony looks in another direction and shuts his calculus book.
"You have a right to be mad too," Nicole tells Brad, and then she glances over at Anthony. "I know I am. They told us last night Dad could go home the day after the surgery. We didn't hear any of this two-days-for-observation stuff."
"It was probably worse than they thought it would be, Nicky," Mandy cuts in. "You've seen the way Dad eats and he's not exactly active-"
"He jogs!"
"Jogged, Nicky. Jogged. For two weeks, and decided he'd rather have the extra twenty minutes of sleep in the morning."
"Like you don't have any bad habits?"
"My bad habits aren't going to kill me if I don't change them, Nicky-"
Brad cuts in with a "stop it, both of you" just as Debra lets out a warning "girls" and Anthony flips his textbook open again. Debra, all five-foot-nothing of her, manages to loom from where she sits at the table with her work spread in front of her.
"Nobody in this room needs to listen to you two squabble over how much of your father's health is his own fault," she says. "If you feel the need to be that childish, take it elsewhere."
"Mother-!" 'mentative 'Manda, Kris has heard Brad call the oldest of Jerry's children before, and as Debra walks out he understands why. Mandy stares out the door, and Kris decides to leave Adam to sweep up the drama here while he takes Debra's papers to her before she can leave.
He finds her in the cafeteria downstairs, sipping an orange juice. She looks up at him and smiles.
"Thank you." Unlike Brad, who practically punctuates his sentences with movement, Debra simply holds Kris' gaze level with her own. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"All families have some kind of personal problems," Kris answers. "It's no big deal."
"The girls are very protective of their father," Debra tells him. "There were . . . sides taken, during the divorce, and it's somewhat stayed that way."
Kris looks down at the folder between his hands. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I know why the chips fell the way they did. I said some very ugly things I shouldn't have said. Neither of the girls have quite their father's same gift for forgiveness. But we're getting there." She puts a hand on top of his. "The first time I met Brad he was sitting on the floor reading a book to Cody. Dr. Seuss." She twists her shoulders, and when she speaks again it's in a passable imitation of Brad's voice. "You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes, you can steer yourself any direction you choose!" Kris finds it easy, looking at her, to imagine Brad reading that line, sounding as excited as the day the possibility first occurred to him that he, too, could steer himself in any direction he chose. "A Harvard graduate taking advice from a child's book, can you imagine? You'd think it would take more than that to set you straight."
"Adam thinks you're some kind of superhuman for being friendly with Brad," Kris says. He doesn't mean to say it, it just kind of slides out, but Debra smiles.
"At first I felt that way myself," she tells him. "I think a great deal of the reason things sit as they do is because Brad wanted to be an active part of the family-not just a toy who went out for dinner and a kiss goodnight. It's hard to stay bitter about someone or doubtful about his level of commitment when you see him doing this kind of thing." She gestures at the hospital cafeteria. "It may seem strange, but I never wished my husband unhappiness. Just level-headedness."
"You wished him level-headedness, and he got Brad," Kris muses.
Debra laughs.
---------------
Brad and Anthony are both missing when they get back upstairs.
Kris sits next to Adam, feeling lost and wanting to just go back to Adam's place and nap. Mandy is packing up her papers. Nicole is hunting for a bookmark, and when Kris hears footsteps in the corridor he understands what they've been waiting here for.
Brad guides Anthony back into the nurses' breakroom they've been sequestered in, one hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulder and the other being strangled in a death grip by Anthony's fingers. Brad looks quiet and tired, but otherwise fine. Anthony looks his usual sullen self until Brad takes the hand off his shoulder. Then he crumples from the inside like an imploded building, his whole face screwing up as he lets out a healthy wail. Nicole drops her book and pulls her brother into her arms. Brad extricates his hand from Anthony's and substitutes Nicole's before ducking to Debra's side and murmuring something in her ear. She listens and nods, then listens again and shakes her head. Kris watches and hopes that wail doesn't mean what he thinks it could.
Brad slips back to Adam and rests his head on Adam's shoulder. Adam puts an arm around him and squeezes.
"Back to the house or are we going to your place?"
"Dinner?" Brad asks, and Adam nods. "I need to . . . I haven't been home in three days, it's going to smell old. I don't want it to smell old when he gets out of here."
Kris feels a small stone roll off his heart. Then he steps around Adam and pulls Brad into a tight hug, an arm around both shoulder and waist as Brad leans on him.
Brad finally lets go so he can hug the girls goodbye. He leaves with Adam and Kris-not a surprise, since he rode in with them, Kris decides-and stops for just a minute at the nurses' station.
"I'm here with Jerry McAllister in 214," he says, and before the nurse can tell him Jerry McAllister isn't taking visitors at the moment he continues. "He fell asleep before I could say goodnight. Will you make sure he knows Bradley is coming back tomorrow at eleven, when he wakes up?"
The nurse smiles at him and nods. Kris marvels for a second; he doesn't think he's ever heard Brad actually use his full name to refer to himself. Then he thinks of the nurse asking Brad if he was over 21, and it makes sense-Brad doesn't want Jerry to be expecting Anthony in the morning.
Kris watches him glance back down the hall as they walk out. He looks like he's doing okay.
Kris envies him.
---------------------
They eat at Brad and Jerry's, a snug little place where Jerry's academia jostles with Brad's avant-garde to create a place that looks like home. The kitchen is a bright yellow that picks up the light from Jerry's glass-and-wood hanging lamp and leaves little speckles of light all over the upper walls and Brad's collection of leaf art, and when Brad is safely ensconced in it he actually seems to perk up a little.
"I can put in a tray of cookies tonight and make it smell like gingerbread," Brad says as they all nibble on stir-fry. "And then tomorrow I can fix up, and he'll never know he was gone." He stares at his last bite of asparagus and sets it aside. "I have cheesecake in the fridge. It's going to be a day old because it was setting for last night, but it should be okay."
"My mom thinks you should have been a Jewish mother," Adam comments. "Everything is food or relationships."
"Real life is always food or relationships," Brad argues. "Or both."
Kris eats his pea pods and chicken and listens to Adam and Brad banter. Eventually Brad gets up and brings out the cheesecake, complete with a bowl of strawberries in some kind of sauce. Kris touches a bit of it to his tongue and thinks he tastes just a little hint of orange juice in there somewhere. It's delicious, whatever it is, and he finishes off his piece almost embarrassingly fast. Brad watches him with the self-satisfied smile of a master crafter presenting a masterpiece. Adam reaches over and steals the last bite of Brad's piece when Brad isn't looking, and as they war for control over Adam's fork it occurs to Kris that once upon a time, things like this probably preceded a run to the bedroom.
The thought brings with it a swirl of unexpected anger: Brad doesn't know how lucky he is to have a fiance who desires him and an ex who still dotes on him like a boyfriend, while Kris has neither lover nor wife. It's not fair, Kris thinks, and although he knows the corollary to this very well-life isn't fair, so put it on your TS list and mail it to the chaplain, sweetie-he can't help thinking there's been some kind of horrible mistake, that Katy should be quietly dead beneath the ground while Brad walks around cheerfully oblivious to how much he has, how quickly it could all be taken away.
"Are you going to be okay here tonight alone?" Kris asks, and in his head he can hear Katy, far-off and distressed: Kris, don't. He's hurting too. He pushes her voice away. She, after all, is not the one who has to wake up in the middle of the night still wondering why the other half of the bed is empty. "I heard you through the vents last night."
Kris ignores the expression on Adam's face, the one that says oh fuck you mean you can hear my room? in favour of Brad's. He's almost instantly sorry. Brad's megawatt smile dims, and suddenly he just looks pensive and thoughtful.
"I'll be fine," he says finally. "Last night was . . . kind of a fluke."
People don't take X as a fluke, Kris thinks, and there it is again: I did everything as right as I knew how! Why are you the one who lucked out?
Brad starts stacking dishes. There's a faint rosy flush on his cheeks. "I thought about coming back here without him and just . . . couldn't do it," he explains. "I couldn't imagine trying to sleep without being able to hear somebody. The only time I've slept without him since we moved in together was when I was filming on location, and that's . . . you know, different."
"Yeah," Kris agrees. "I know. What is it Cassidy says-been there, done that, got the T-shirt?"
He sees Adam wince and could almost swear he can feel Katy's disapproval. One side of Brad's mouth quirks.
"That's what he says," Brad agrees, and Kris forces himself to bite his tongue before he can spit out something outght cruel. Instead he excuses himself to the bathroom.
He knows Adam is going to be-no, not just angry, only Adam's word will do for this, Adam is going to be royally pissed-when they leave, and before he can start in with a tirade about how dare Kris try to hurt Brad when Brad is dealing the best he can with something most people his age don't even have to think about, Kris speaks up.
"I'm sorry," he says, and he can tell by the set of Adam's mouth that Adam knows exactly what he's talking about. "I don't know what got into me." He pauses and sighs. To heck with it. "That's not true. Yes I do. It's too close to home and I bit at the wrong person when I should've been trying to support him. I feel like crap."
"You know what Gokey would tell you, right?"
"Human beings are just imperfect shadows of the Lord now go get a cup of coffee and calm down Kris?"
"You could make your living doing impressions, Kristopher," Adam agrees. "We all fuck up. But that-" Adam manages, without ever lifting his hands from the wheel, to gesture in the direction of the house they've left behind-"that was a pretty big fuckup." Adam's lips tremble, and for a second Kris thinks he's going to cry. Then he realises Adam is trying not to scream at him. "He doesn't deserve that kind of shit. You don't know everything that's going on in his life right now, you can't judge."
Kris tries to keep his temper even. Adam's points are good ones, and the irony, Kris thinks, is that's why he'd like to be angry. "I know I don't. I wasn't trying to judge."
"You could have fooled the fuck out of me." Adam's voice drops half an octave. It's a horrible impression of Kris' own, but close enough for Kris to get the message. "'I heard you through the vents last night, Brad, I've been there and gotten the T-shirt, Brad, I'm going to be more concerned about you dropping than you needing to get your life back to normal, Brad.'" Adam drops the impersonation. It's something of a relief. "Jerry's heart stopped sometime this afternoon during surgery. That's why they were talking about not letting in visitors. They had to crash him. Brad has a right to be fucked-up right now."
Kris bites his tongue as another wave of bitterness washes over him, one so angry he can't help but realise how irrational it is: If Katy had been Kevin, you'd get it a lot more than you do. "I understand. I'm sorry."
Adam takes a deep breath. Then he hits the play button on the stereo, and they drive through Los Angeles to the sound of the Beatles and Eleanor Rigby, who died in the church and was buried along with her name.
Angel is sitting on the porch swing, beer in hand, when Adam pulls in. He stands up and waves at them both, and when they climb the front steps he fishes a pair of bottles out from Adam's old steel bucket under the swing and passes them each one, popping off the tops with a keychain bottle-opener as he does and collecting the caps in one hand. Adam looks down at the keys in his hand and clips them back to his belt before sitting on the swing. Kris sits on the broad front rail of the porch, and when he leans against the large column that forms half the frame of the front steps Adam swings his legs up and rests his head in Angel's lap. Kris wonders how Adam plans to drink his beer sideways and then decides that's not his problem.
Angel swings a thick cable of braid back over his shoulder and runs his fingers through Adam's hair. Kris watches him and isn't jealous at all when Adam closes his eyes and lets himself go heavy and limp. Really.
The moths flicker around the porch lights. A breeze flits through the leaves overhead, making them rustle.
And Kris wonders who he thinks he's kidding.