Fic: Salvage, 1/1
Salvage
By kalimyre
Rating: PG
Summary: Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food... three months without light, without human contact, without mercy. What part of Adam would that kill?
Notes: Spoilers for everything through Powerless. Written because I couldn’t leave Adam down there, and neither could Hiro.
~~~
Hiro can’t leave him there forever, of course.
He tries. He reminds himself of all the terrible things Adam (Kensei) has done, and all the terrible things he will surely do if released. Adam is a killer, a liar, a madman. Adam is dangerous, he wants to destroy the world, he will not stop trying to do so.
Adam has caused suffering beyond measure. Adam deserves to suffer.
And it works, for a while.
There are the first three days, when he thinks, Adam has died of thirst now. He has suffocated, he has probably beaten his hands bloody on the coffin lid, his body has run out of moisture and his blood has clotted and he’s died of thirst. Probably. Maybe it will take another few days.
So after a week, Adam has definitely died of thirst at least once. But Hiro is still angry, still grieving the loss of his father, and he can resist compassion.
After that, of course, comes hunger. What is the rule? Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. How long without all three? Hiro rounds up a little, because it’s Adam, and figures a month. At one month, Adam has starved to death.
Can his body build something from nothing? Can he really waste away until there’s nothing left, until even Adam can’t come back?
That’s when the dreams start. Hiro dreams of Adam’s skeletal form, skin shrunken tight and dry against his bones, belly hollow, ribs standing in sharp relief, the naked jut of hip bone and the skin sunken around his eyes, the same deep blue, the only part of him that’s still recognizable.
He dreams that Adam’s body devours itself, sacrifices what is not essential to protect what is. Fingers, toes, hair-all the first to go. The body stealing building blocks, skin going paper thin, translucent, vital organs shrunken, withered, but still alive, still healing. Adam unravels like a yarn doll, until all that’s left is his heart and his lungs and the cage of ribs and skin and strings of muscle, and of course, his brain. His mind. He never loses that.
Hiro wakes up crying out, shuddering, slick with cold sweat, and it’s been six weeks. Six weeks. And he can’t do this. Another six weeks like this? What about another six years?
But no, he reminds himself. He cannot waver. Adam killed his father.
Oh yes, his mind whispers back. After his father had Adam locked up for thirty years.
But Adam tried to destroy Japan, and that was at the beginning. Before he had the excuse of time and madness to fall upon.
And yes, that’s true-but he only did it after being betrayed. By you, comes the soft, accusing murmur. And he might not have done it at all, it might have been anger and big words and empty threats. But Hiro will never know that, will he.
But he tried to release the virus.
For that, he has no answer, no excuse. That keeps Adam underground for another month.
~~~
Hiro sits at his desk, stares at his screen, is dully aware of Ando watching him, worried, as usual. He’s not sleeping well and it shows, he knows that, but doesn’t especially care.
“Hiro,” Ando says, cautiously. When Hiro doesn’t reply, doesn’t look up, he says it again.
“What,” Hiro snaps, irritable, and he should feel guilty about that but doesn’t. His capacity for guilt is otherwise occupied.
Ando’s hand is warm on his shoulder, his concern real and palpable and Hiro closes his eyes, wanting nothing but to get away. When he opens them again he’s at the graveyard, and maybe that’s his power telling him what he doesn’t want to admit. This can’t go on.
He kneels over the grave, listens. Nothing.
Maybe Adam is already dead? Really, permanently dead? If he were, if Hiro could know for sure...
Instead of relief, the thought fills him with fear, his chest clenching and his throat going tight, forcing him to swallow past a thick ache. Because if Adam is dead, it’s too late, and that’s when he understands he was never going to leave Adam there forever. Not really.
But Hiro is not ready to face him, so Adam stays.
~~~
He holds out until the three month point, and maybe it’s the meaningless number that gets him. Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food... three months without light, without human contact, without mercy. What part of Adam would that kill?
Hiro takes the sword with him to the grave. To end it quickly, cleanly. It will be kindness, he thinks. Justice.
He lies on the ground, holds his breath, and is down and back again in seconds, only long enough to register darkness and the relentless weight of the earth. Then he rolls away, shooting to his feet, sword at the ready, and looks.
Adam makes no sound but he covers his face in his hands, curling away from the light, and it is both better and worse than Hiro imagined. He has his fingers and toes, but his skin is gray, ashen, shriveled veins clearly visible beneath it. Adam’s chest is sunken, compressed, and as Hiro watches it slowly expands, the bone making crunching, popping noises as it reforms itself.
He’s shuddering, gasping like there isn’t enough air in the world, flopping against the ground and it takes a moment for Hiro to realize he’s trying to dig his way back down, to escape the light and space and strangeness.
Hiro lowers the sword, blinking back the sharp sting in his eyes. He kneels beside Adam, touches his shoulder, and Adam flinches, curling tighter.
“I’m sorry,” Hiro whispers, touching Adam’s hair, baby fine and white between his fingertips. He stands, raises the sword; it will be mercy at this point, he thinks. Adam would probably beg for it if he could.
Adam doesn’t react, is lost somewhere in his mind. Hiro can see stringy cords of muscle move beneath his skin as he writhes on the ground, his form all tendon and sinew and bone, every joint sculpted and perfect. He takes a deep breath, grips the sword tighter, and-lets it out, shaking his head.
Not like this. Not when Adam is shivering, helpless, broken.
So Hiro kneels again, touches the back of Adam’s neck, and takes them away.
~~~
In retrospect, his apartment was probably a bad idea.
Adam just does the same thing there, lies shuddering and silent on the floor, and Hiro doesn’t know what to do with him. Clearly he can’t leave Adam alone. Adam could stay like this, could be permanently damaged, gone-or he could stand up and snap back to himself and want nothing more than revenge.
Sitting and watching him constantly isn’t going to work out; Hiro has to sleep sometime, and he’s been exhausted for months. Sometime will be sooner rather than later. So for lack of anything better to do, he drags Adam into the bathroom (he’s so light, hollow boned, like a bird) and turns on the tap. Adam smells awful.
He’s not sure how he’s going to get Adam into the shower, but Adam solves it for him; as soon as he hears the water running he lurches up, flops over the edge of the tub, and sticks his face under the tap. He gulps frantically, his back hitching and his body trembling, his wasted muscles struggling to hold him up.
Adam falters, slips, thunks against the tub, scrabbles up again. Hiro can’t stand to watch it and reaches in, soaking his shirt, and holds Adam. And he can feel it happening, can see it, Adam’s body absorbing the water like the desert after long drought. His body fills out in Hiro’s hands, grows heavier, muscles thickening and skin plumping, his face returning to its baby roundness.
Eventually his belly can’t hold any more water and he slides fully into the tub, lays on his back, nestles into the hard walls and looks relieved. Hiro strips the remaining shreds of clothing from him and washes him, Adam’s skin coming out smooth and flawless beneath the grime, still close to the bones, but healthy again, pink in the warm water.
He has to change the water twice but eventually Adam is scrubbed and glowing and smells only of soap. He still has his eyes closed, and he is pliant, limp. Hiro begins to wonder if Adam’s body has outlived his mind.
He lets the water out and tries to haul Adam from the tub, but he is slippery and heavy and uncooperative, dead weight. Hiro lets him sink back in, dries him as best he can without looking (or touching) and then drapes him with a towel. Then he leans against the edge of the tub, rubs the ache where he pulled his shoulder, and mutters, “Now what?”
Adam looks peaceful, empty. A blank slate. And maybe that’s what he is now, Hiro thinks. Isn’t that what suffocation does? Kills brain cells? Adam’s would grow back, of course, but what about the intangible, the memories, personality, everything that made Adam more than a simple functioning machine of flesh and bone. Could that grow back? Or would it become diluted, faded, after regenerating so many times?
Maybe the Adam he put in that box is gone. And maybe it’s better that way.
Hiro thinks he should lock the door and go lie down; he can’t keep looking at Adam’s closed eyes, his chest rising and falling steadily, the towel pulled neatly to his chin. His eyes are hot and gritty, his body aching, a dull, thudding pain in his temples, and now he thinks that finally, finally he can get some real rest.
And how good will it feel, to curl between his soft sheets, to close his eyes, to finally have a measure of peace without nightmares? Hiro makes a small, longing noise in his throat and decides to do it, but before he can, he rests his face on his arms, folded over the edge of the tub, and is asleep instantly.
~~~
When he wakes up, his neck hurts and his left arm is numb from laying on it and his legs are cramping from being folded on the hard floor for so long, but he feels better than he has in a long time.
Also, Adam is watching him.
Hiro blinks at him, opening his mouth, then closing it again. Adam’s gaze is steady, expressionless. No recognition.
“Um,” Hiro says eventually. He gets to his feet, wincing, his knees making protesting noises. He looks down at Adam, who lies in the tub and looks back, his arms curled against his chest, legs tight together. Still making the shape that would fit in his coffin.
Hiro shifts his weight from side to side, pushes his glasses up, and tugs at his rumpled shirt. Adam doesn’t move, his eyes bright and clear and vacant.
“Adam?” Hiro tries, cautious.
Adam does nothing, and there’s something so measured and deliberate about him, about his perfect stillness and slow, steady breathing, every muscle slack. Not an ounce of wasted energy, complete conservation of effort. Marking time, surviving.
It makes Hiro feel itchy and off balance just to watch him, so he tugs at Adam’s arm, trying to shake that eerie calm. Adam lets him, makes no effort to pull away, no effort to rise. His arm is warm and slim and light, and Hiro can feel the pulse at the wrist, the bones thin and fragile, but beyond that, there is no sign of life.
He pulls again, manages to lift Adam half way up, then lets him go. Adam slides back down, wriggles a little to lie snugly in the tub, and folds his arms again, fitting in his invisible box.
Hiro sighs and goes to the kitchen. Water managed to induce Adam to move before, maybe food will do the trick now. He finds an apple and a package of crackers and a candy bar, and takes them all back to Adam. No reaction until Hiro touches a cracker to his lips, and then Adam smells it and nearly takes Hiro’s fingers off snapping it up.
It takes most of the crackers to lure Adam into a standing position, his body moving awkwardly, relearning. Hiro tries to induce him with bites of apple, but Adam snatches it from his hands and devours it, juice dribbling down his chin as he polishes it off, even the core and stem.
The candy bar gets them half way down the hall and, out of food, Hiro takes Adam’s arm and leads him. Adam follows obediently, and once in the kitchen, allows himself to be seated and proceeds to eat everything Hiro puts in front of him.
He eats with his hands, ignoring the fork Hiro offers, and keeps going until Hiro stops feeding him. His body works its magic, filling in the hollows of his cheeks, laying muscle over bone, and the faint softness returns to his belly, pale and smooth.
He’s draped with the towel (more out of Hiro’s modesty than his own, which is apparently nonexistent) and when he stands, it slips to the floor. Hiro freezes, startled to see Adam move of his own volition.
Adam ignores him, sits on the floor, scoots until his side is pressed against the cupboards, and lies back down, folding his arms into shape. Hiro watches him, feeling something like hope sinking in his belly. Adam looks healthy. That’s all.
Hiro sighs, covers him with the towel again, and wanders off for a shower and some clean clothes. He glances at the clock on his way by, frowns at it (wondering if he’s been muddling time again) and then, when the afternoon light outside confirms it, has to concede that he slept for about fourteen hours by that tub.
He thinks vaguely that he probably missed work (maybe-what day is it?) and Ando is probably worried, but that’s nothing new. So he shrugs it off, because really, how would he explain this to Ando anyway?
He finds half a bag of cereal that Adam didn’t manage to consume, and eats it dry, sitting on a kitchen stool, swinging his feet. Adam continues, unmoving, and Hiro is eventually bothered enough by him lying bare on the kitchen floor to try hauling him up again.
This time Adam follows his lead, already recovering his innate fluid grace, rising to his feet in an easy, languid motion. Hiro carefully keeps his eyes up and steers Adam into the bedroom (No, no, you cannot put him in your bed naked. No.) and coaxes him into a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. It’s like dressing a very young child; Adam has to be nudged and moved and prodded, has no learned response.
When Hiro lets him go, he drops back down, rolls under the bed, and settles there, looking... contented. Hiro crouches, watches him run his fingers lightly against the bed frame, making sure it’s there.
Then he leaves, shuts the door and leans against it and puts his face in his hands. Adam is gone. This strange and childlike shell is what’s left, and it’s Hiro’s responsibility to take care of him. Hiro made him, after all.
~~~
He wanders around the apartment, cleaning up, eventually gets around to calling work to say he won’t be coming in. They don’t argue, but of course, since he inherited ownership of the company, they tend not to. His sister is running things, but his father was traditional enough to leave everything in his son’s name.
Hiro mostly goes to his old job out of habit, and to have something to do other than sit in his apartment and think about Adam all day, and now, going seems more pointless than usual.
So he watches TV and tries not to think about the long spool of days ahead, of watching Adam tuck himself into small, square spaces and look at him with those clear, mindless eyes. Soon enough his body is demanding sleep again, nowhere near satisfied with his one long stretch on the bathroom floor, and he goes back to his room.
A quick check confirms Adam is still under the bed (of course) and Hiro climbs on top. The room is quiet, the day fading to twilight outside, long shadows stretching across the carpet and reaching up the walls. Hiro can hear the faint hum of the fridge, the distant rush of traffic in the city below, and the slow clockwork breathing of Adam below him. It’s strangely soothing, and he’s asleep in minutes.
He wakes, startled, when the bed shifts, and he only recognizes Adam by his scent, which hasn’t changed (clean salt skin and sun warmed sand) and the silhouette of his lean form, crawling in beside him. Hiro lies very still, clutching the mattress like the bed is a storm tossed raft at sea.
“Adam?” he asks (squeaks) as the warmth and weight settle against him, Adam’s elbow jostling companionably against his ribs.
Adam makes a soft sound, not quite a hum, and wriggles a little, burrowing. Hiro turns and sits up and stares at him, but Adam is looking up at the ceiling, eyes a faint reflective gleam in the dim room, the lines of his face smooth and blank.
Hiro hesitates, then slowly, stiffly, he drops back down, lying flat on his back. Adam is quiescent beside him, breathing, unblinking. Hiro closes his eyes and rolls, and it’s okay, it’s fine, it doesn’t count if Adam isn’t Adam anymore. So he can wrap his arms around Adam, he can press his face against the hollow of Adam’s neck and breathe him in and it’s okay. It’s allowed, really.
“I’m sorry,” Hiro whispers against his skin. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
Over his shoulder, where Hiro can’t see, Adam smiles.
~~~
End
By kalimyre
Rating: PG
Summary: Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food... three months without light, without human contact, without mercy. What part of Adam would that kill?
Notes: Spoilers for everything through Powerless. Written because I couldn’t leave Adam down there, and neither could Hiro.
~~~
Hiro can’t leave him there forever, of course.
He tries. He reminds himself of all the terrible things Adam (Kensei) has done, and all the terrible things he will surely do if released. Adam is a killer, a liar, a madman. Adam is dangerous, he wants to destroy the world, he will not stop trying to do so.
Adam has caused suffering beyond measure. Adam deserves to suffer.
And it works, for a while.
There are the first three days, when he thinks, Adam has died of thirst now. He has suffocated, he has probably beaten his hands bloody on the coffin lid, his body has run out of moisture and his blood has clotted and he’s died of thirst. Probably. Maybe it will take another few days.
So after a week, Adam has definitely died of thirst at least once. But Hiro is still angry, still grieving the loss of his father, and he can resist compassion.
After that, of course, comes hunger. What is the rule? Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. How long without all three? Hiro rounds up a little, because it’s Adam, and figures a month. At one month, Adam has starved to death.
Can his body build something from nothing? Can he really waste away until there’s nothing left, until even Adam can’t come back?
That’s when the dreams start. Hiro dreams of Adam’s skeletal form, skin shrunken tight and dry against his bones, belly hollow, ribs standing in sharp relief, the naked jut of hip bone and the skin sunken around his eyes, the same deep blue, the only part of him that’s still recognizable.
He dreams that Adam’s body devours itself, sacrifices what is not essential to protect what is. Fingers, toes, hair-all the first to go. The body stealing building blocks, skin going paper thin, translucent, vital organs shrunken, withered, but still alive, still healing. Adam unravels like a yarn doll, until all that’s left is his heart and his lungs and the cage of ribs and skin and strings of muscle, and of course, his brain. His mind. He never loses that.
Hiro wakes up crying out, shuddering, slick with cold sweat, and it’s been six weeks. Six weeks. And he can’t do this. Another six weeks like this? What about another six years?
But no, he reminds himself. He cannot waver. Adam killed his father.
Oh yes, his mind whispers back. After his father had Adam locked up for thirty years.
But Adam tried to destroy Japan, and that was at the beginning. Before he had the excuse of time and madness to fall upon.
And yes, that’s true-but he only did it after being betrayed. By you, comes the soft, accusing murmur. And he might not have done it at all, it might have been anger and big words and empty threats. But Hiro will never know that, will he.
But he tried to release the virus.
For that, he has no answer, no excuse. That keeps Adam underground for another month.
~~~
Hiro sits at his desk, stares at his screen, is dully aware of Ando watching him, worried, as usual. He’s not sleeping well and it shows, he knows that, but doesn’t especially care.
“Hiro,” Ando says, cautiously. When Hiro doesn’t reply, doesn’t look up, he says it again.
“What,” Hiro snaps, irritable, and he should feel guilty about that but doesn’t. His capacity for guilt is otherwise occupied.
Ando’s hand is warm on his shoulder, his concern real and palpable and Hiro closes his eyes, wanting nothing but to get away. When he opens them again he’s at the graveyard, and maybe that’s his power telling him what he doesn’t want to admit. This can’t go on.
He kneels over the grave, listens. Nothing.
Maybe Adam is already dead? Really, permanently dead? If he were, if Hiro could know for sure...
Instead of relief, the thought fills him with fear, his chest clenching and his throat going tight, forcing him to swallow past a thick ache. Because if Adam is dead, it’s too late, and that’s when he understands he was never going to leave Adam there forever. Not really.
But Hiro is not ready to face him, so Adam stays.
~~~
He holds out until the three month point, and maybe it’s the meaningless number that gets him. Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food... three months without light, without human contact, without mercy. What part of Adam would that kill?
Hiro takes the sword with him to the grave. To end it quickly, cleanly. It will be kindness, he thinks. Justice.
He lies on the ground, holds his breath, and is down and back again in seconds, only long enough to register darkness and the relentless weight of the earth. Then he rolls away, shooting to his feet, sword at the ready, and looks.
Adam makes no sound but he covers his face in his hands, curling away from the light, and it is both better and worse than Hiro imagined. He has his fingers and toes, but his skin is gray, ashen, shriveled veins clearly visible beneath it. Adam’s chest is sunken, compressed, and as Hiro watches it slowly expands, the bone making crunching, popping noises as it reforms itself.
He’s shuddering, gasping like there isn’t enough air in the world, flopping against the ground and it takes a moment for Hiro to realize he’s trying to dig his way back down, to escape the light and space and strangeness.
Hiro lowers the sword, blinking back the sharp sting in his eyes. He kneels beside Adam, touches his shoulder, and Adam flinches, curling tighter.
“I’m sorry,” Hiro whispers, touching Adam’s hair, baby fine and white between his fingertips. He stands, raises the sword; it will be mercy at this point, he thinks. Adam would probably beg for it if he could.
Adam doesn’t react, is lost somewhere in his mind. Hiro can see stringy cords of muscle move beneath his skin as he writhes on the ground, his form all tendon and sinew and bone, every joint sculpted and perfect. He takes a deep breath, grips the sword tighter, and-lets it out, shaking his head.
Not like this. Not when Adam is shivering, helpless, broken.
So Hiro kneels again, touches the back of Adam’s neck, and takes them away.
~~~
In retrospect, his apartment was probably a bad idea.
Adam just does the same thing there, lies shuddering and silent on the floor, and Hiro doesn’t know what to do with him. Clearly he can’t leave Adam alone. Adam could stay like this, could be permanently damaged, gone-or he could stand up and snap back to himself and want nothing more than revenge.
Sitting and watching him constantly isn’t going to work out; Hiro has to sleep sometime, and he’s been exhausted for months. Sometime will be sooner rather than later. So for lack of anything better to do, he drags Adam into the bathroom (he’s so light, hollow boned, like a bird) and turns on the tap. Adam smells awful.
He’s not sure how he’s going to get Adam into the shower, but Adam solves it for him; as soon as he hears the water running he lurches up, flops over the edge of the tub, and sticks his face under the tap. He gulps frantically, his back hitching and his body trembling, his wasted muscles struggling to hold him up.
Adam falters, slips, thunks against the tub, scrabbles up again. Hiro can’t stand to watch it and reaches in, soaking his shirt, and holds Adam. And he can feel it happening, can see it, Adam’s body absorbing the water like the desert after long drought. His body fills out in Hiro’s hands, grows heavier, muscles thickening and skin plumping, his face returning to its baby roundness.
Eventually his belly can’t hold any more water and he slides fully into the tub, lays on his back, nestles into the hard walls and looks relieved. Hiro strips the remaining shreds of clothing from him and washes him, Adam’s skin coming out smooth and flawless beneath the grime, still close to the bones, but healthy again, pink in the warm water.
He has to change the water twice but eventually Adam is scrubbed and glowing and smells only of soap. He still has his eyes closed, and he is pliant, limp. Hiro begins to wonder if Adam’s body has outlived his mind.
He lets the water out and tries to haul Adam from the tub, but he is slippery and heavy and uncooperative, dead weight. Hiro lets him sink back in, dries him as best he can without looking (or touching) and then drapes him with a towel. Then he leans against the edge of the tub, rubs the ache where he pulled his shoulder, and mutters, “Now what?”
Adam looks peaceful, empty. A blank slate. And maybe that’s what he is now, Hiro thinks. Isn’t that what suffocation does? Kills brain cells? Adam’s would grow back, of course, but what about the intangible, the memories, personality, everything that made Adam more than a simple functioning machine of flesh and bone. Could that grow back? Or would it become diluted, faded, after regenerating so many times?
Maybe the Adam he put in that box is gone. And maybe it’s better that way.
Hiro thinks he should lock the door and go lie down; he can’t keep looking at Adam’s closed eyes, his chest rising and falling steadily, the towel pulled neatly to his chin. His eyes are hot and gritty, his body aching, a dull, thudding pain in his temples, and now he thinks that finally, finally he can get some real rest.
And how good will it feel, to curl between his soft sheets, to close his eyes, to finally have a measure of peace without nightmares? Hiro makes a small, longing noise in his throat and decides to do it, but before he can, he rests his face on his arms, folded over the edge of the tub, and is asleep instantly.
~~~
When he wakes up, his neck hurts and his left arm is numb from laying on it and his legs are cramping from being folded on the hard floor for so long, but he feels better than he has in a long time.
Also, Adam is watching him.
Hiro blinks at him, opening his mouth, then closing it again. Adam’s gaze is steady, expressionless. No recognition.
“Um,” Hiro says eventually. He gets to his feet, wincing, his knees making protesting noises. He looks down at Adam, who lies in the tub and looks back, his arms curled against his chest, legs tight together. Still making the shape that would fit in his coffin.
Hiro shifts his weight from side to side, pushes his glasses up, and tugs at his rumpled shirt. Adam doesn’t move, his eyes bright and clear and vacant.
“Adam?” Hiro tries, cautious.
Adam does nothing, and there’s something so measured and deliberate about him, about his perfect stillness and slow, steady breathing, every muscle slack. Not an ounce of wasted energy, complete conservation of effort. Marking time, surviving.
It makes Hiro feel itchy and off balance just to watch him, so he tugs at Adam’s arm, trying to shake that eerie calm. Adam lets him, makes no effort to pull away, no effort to rise. His arm is warm and slim and light, and Hiro can feel the pulse at the wrist, the bones thin and fragile, but beyond that, there is no sign of life.
He pulls again, manages to lift Adam half way up, then lets him go. Adam slides back down, wriggles a little to lie snugly in the tub, and folds his arms again, fitting in his invisible box.
Hiro sighs and goes to the kitchen. Water managed to induce Adam to move before, maybe food will do the trick now. He finds an apple and a package of crackers and a candy bar, and takes them all back to Adam. No reaction until Hiro touches a cracker to his lips, and then Adam smells it and nearly takes Hiro’s fingers off snapping it up.
It takes most of the crackers to lure Adam into a standing position, his body moving awkwardly, relearning. Hiro tries to induce him with bites of apple, but Adam snatches it from his hands and devours it, juice dribbling down his chin as he polishes it off, even the core and stem.
The candy bar gets them half way down the hall and, out of food, Hiro takes Adam’s arm and leads him. Adam follows obediently, and once in the kitchen, allows himself to be seated and proceeds to eat everything Hiro puts in front of him.
He eats with his hands, ignoring the fork Hiro offers, and keeps going until Hiro stops feeding him. His body works its magic, filling in the hollows of his cheeks, laying muscle over bone, and the faint softness returns to his belly, pale and smooth.
He’s draped with the towel (more out of Hiro’s modesty than his own, which is apparently nonexistent) and when he stands, it slips to the floor. Hiro freezes, startled to see Adam move of his own volition.
Adam ignores him, sits on the floor, scoots until his side is pressed against the cupboards, and lies back down, folding his arms into shape. Hiro watches him, feeling something like hope sinking in his belly. Adam looks healthy. That’s all.
Hiro sighs, covers him with the towel again, and wanders off for a shower and some clean clothes. He glances at the clock on his way by, frowns at it (wondering if he’s been muddling time again) and then, when the afternoon light outside confirms it, has to concede that he slept for about fourteen hours by that tub.
He thinks vaguely that he probably missed work (maybe-what day is it?) and Ando is probably worried, but that’s nothing new. So he shrugs it off, because really, how would he explain this to Ando anyway?
He finds half a bag of cereal that Adam didn’t manage to consume, and eats it dry, sitting on a kitchen stool, swinging his feet. Adam continues, unmoving, and Hiro is eventually bothered enough by him lying bare on the kitchen floor to try hauling him up again.
This time Adam follows his lead, already recovering his innate fluid grace, rising to his feet in an easy, languid motion. Hiro carefully keeps his eyes up and steers Adam into the bedroom (No, no, you cannot put him in your bed naked. No.) and coaxes him into a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. It’s like dressing a very young child; Adam has to be nudged and moved and prodded, has no learned response.
When Hiro lets him go, he drops back down, rolls under the bed, and settles there, looking... contented. Hiro crouches, watches him run his fingers lightly against the bed frame, making sure it’s there.
Then he leaves, shuts the door and leans against it and puts his face in his hands. Adam is gone. This strange and childlike shell is what’s left, and it’s Hiro’s responsibility to take care of him. Hiro made him, after all.
~~~
He wanders around the apartment, cleaning up, eventually gets around to calling work to say he won’t be coming in. They don’t argue, but of course, since he inherited ownership of the company, they tend not to. His sister is running things, but his father was traditional enough to leave everything in his son’s name.
Hiro mostly goes to his old job out of habit, and to have something to do other than sit in his apartment and think about Adam all day, and now, going seems more pointless than usual.
So he watches TV and tries not to think about the long spool of days ahead, of watching Adam tuck himself into small, square spaces and look at him with those clear, mindless eyes. Soon enough his body is demanding sleep again, nowhere near satisfied with his one long stretch on the bathroom floor, and he goes back to his room.
A quick check confirms Adam is still under the bed (of course) and Hiro climbs on top. The room is quiet, the day fading to twilight outside, long shadows stretching across the carpet and reaching up the walls. Hiro can hear the faint hum of the fridge, the distant rush of traffic in the city below, and the slow clockwork breathing of Adam below him. It’s strangely soothing, and he’s asleep in minutes.
He wakes, startled, when the bed shifts, and he only recognizes Adam by his scent, which hasn’t changed (clean salt skin and sun warmed sand) and the silhouette of his lean form, crawling in beside him. Hiro lies very still, clutching the mattress like the bed is a storm tossed raft at sea.
“Adam?” he asks (squeaks) as the warmth and weight settle against him, Adam’s elbow jostling companionably against his ribs.
Adam makes a soft sound, not quite a hum, and wriggles a little, burrowing. Hiro turns and sits up and stares at him, but Adam is looking up at the ceiling, eyes a faint reflective gleam in the dim room, the lines of his face smooth and blank.
Hiro hesitates, then slowly, stiffly, he drops back down, lying flat on his back. Adam is quiescent beside him, breathing, unblinking. Hiro closes his eyes and rolls, and it’s okay, it’s fine, it doesn’t count if Adam isn’t Adam anymore. So he can wrap his arms around Adam, he can press his face against the hollow of Adam’s neck and breathe him in and it’s okay. It’s allowed, really.
“I’m sorry,” Hiro whispers against his skin. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
Over his shoulder, where Hiro can’t see, Adam smiles.
~~~
End