fic: Resolution (epilogue)
Title: Resolution (epilogue)
Genre: Angst/Drama/Hurt-Comfort
Rating: PG-13
Summary: (whole story, links to all parts inside) Kris and Katy have grown apart, and Katy fears she’s losing her husband. Panicked, she makes him choose between her and Adam, and suddenly Kris feels as if he’s lost them both. A tragic accident succeeds in further tearing everyone apart… but may eventually bring them back together again. P.S. Sarver is such an idiot.
Summary: (epilogue) Adam finally addresses the press about the accident, and Sarver gets mad at him (again). Kris tells him a thing or two, and then the Idols have a tour rehearsal, Adam included! Yay for happy times!
Notes: THANK YOU times a billion. :) You readers and commenters brighten my day. I apologize that I didn’t get this up yesterday, my computer was not cooperating with LJ-cuts. The story's finally over!
LINKS:
PART 1: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/305652.html
PART 2: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/314033.html
PART 3: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/319228.html
PART 4: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/322193.html
PART 5: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/327934.html
PART 6: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/334259.html
PART 7: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/340338.html
PART 8: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/347851.html
PART 9: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/363102.html
PART 10: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/383578.html
------------------------
EPILOGUE
Adam shifted uneasily as he stared out across the sea of reporters and press. The curtain he waited behind brushed his forehead as he leaned forward a bit on his crutch, peering curiously into the crowd. After all of the drama, and after he’d noticeably been healing- the producers hurried him into a press conference so that everyone would quit panicking and speculating. They hadn’t anticipated the amount of uproar and fright over the pictures from breakfast a week before, showing Adam, crutch in hand, weak and pale-looking, and supported on each side as he limped along by Allison and Kris.
Adam was nearly convinced that he really was better; that he had returned to his former self, but a check-up by a doctor and pure logic defied that belief. The pain remained, weaker, but festering within him, and while the pain remained, while even the slightest weakness remained, he was not himself. Frustration still flooded him at the thought.
He turned away from the hushed swarm when one of the Idol PR managers stepped out to introduce him, dismissing someone from coming to his aid as he prepared to emerge from behind the curtain. Swallowing when he heard his name, he pushed himself forward, bracing himself for a frenzy.
Cameras immediately began flashing madly at his approach, and Adam stepped cautiously to the small podium, then managed a convincing smile to the spectators, easing the sudden hysterical and panicked shouts. He tapped the mic carefully and grinned when it sparked to life with amplified thudding sounds.
Immediately, he was self-conscious of the popping cameras. The Idol makeup crew had done their best to cover any remaining inky, jagged marks on his still-paled face, but he knew it wasn’t completely effective. He’d glanced in the mirror before coming out, and seen for himself the stark differences in his features despite all efforts to disguise them.
He beamed cheerfully nonetheless, and the promise of reassurances and answers held the anxious reporters in his grasp. “Good evening,” he greeted plainly, and drew his lips back in a gentle smile. “I’ll be taking your questions now.” He continued, scanning the faces in the jumbled mess of people. The screen behind him, projecting his image larger for those in the back to see, flickered on.
“Mr. Lambert, I’m sure you know about the endless speculations about your condition of health...” The first reporter started, staring up at Adam determinedly. “Can we get an personal assurance that you are medically okay, and perhaps an explanation for the crutch?”
Adam forced another smile, “Adam... please, it’s Adam. And yes, I can promise you that I’ve been well-cared for and looked after, and I’m going to be just fine. The crutch is only for a minor ankle injury, so that I can stay on my feet when needed.”
“Adam, there were rumors immediately following the accident that Kris Allen was placed under 24-hour care at the hospital nearest the crash site, brought to fruition by footage of his wife entering the facility.” Another person stated, reading from a notebook. “But Mr. Allen appears to be in good shape, which calls these initial reports into question, can you go into any detail about the condition of the others involved in the crash?”
Adam’s grin faded. “Unfortunately we lost our driver, Christian Calderone in the accident. He was a very good man, and we are devastated by his passing. But to answer your question - Kris is fine, everyone else is fine now. There were some minor scrapes and bumps, but we were really very lucky to have almost everyone walk out of it.” He paused, trying fitfully to hide any tiny signs of weakness, the little fissures in his struggling façade. He was still tired, felt ready to shatter, keeping his body upright only with the crutch supporting him and the effort of his trembling but determined will.
His still lightly bandaged shoulders, hidden within his jacket, slumped a bit in his fatigue and his brow was slightly crinkled. He’d been gradually re-introducing himself to physical activity, actually doing miniature warm- up routines with the others and ending them gasping and tired and shaking. His wounds had been getting better, of course, but only enough to tug him from the blistering, continuous sharpness of pain to a more subdued but persistent ache. His eyes, smudged with eyeliner, were a little bleary, and under the makeup, one was still bruised and hollow looking where Sarver had punched him.
He could see his reflection in the lens of the nearest camera and had to clamp down on a disgusted grimace. The pink skin of his cheeks was still undercut with a pale, sickly gray that turned it a bit sallow in the spotlights. The raised welt from Sarver on one cheekbone, hard to conceal with cosmetics, stood out red and swollen, and other tiny flecks of red and blue were bright and angry on his face.
Adam raised his head again, awaiting the next question. “Adam, has the cause of the bus accident been confirmed yet?”
His eyes, dull and expressionless, turned at the inquiry, and he took a breath. “An investigation was conducted. There was a mechanical issue involving the brakes. That’s all I can say for sure.”
“Are you willing to elaborate on what happened to warrant 24-hour care for one of you?” A woman asked, looking expectant. A knowing glint in her eyes told Adam she knew that one person needing the care had been him.
“It was me.” Adam mumbled in confirmation, feeling the urge to collapse overwhelm him. His words were slurred and thick, catching a bit on his still-bruised lips, and he steadied himself with one hand on the podium. “I was nearest the f-front of the bus... with Christian.”
“Were you hurt badly? Is that why tour dates have been pushed back?” Another female reporter pressed gently, her voice soothing and even reasonable. But Adam winced away from her words before he could stop himself, his eyes showing the hit plainly even though he managed to keep his face stoic and unaffected. His body tensed and he shifted uncomfortably, the bandages brushing lightly again his pink, raw shoulders. Cameras flashed.
“It was bad enough to cause genuine concern,” Adam croaked quietly. “Besides the torn tendons in my ankle, I had some issues with smoke inhalation and... other injuries. But those have since been remedied.” He let that sink in a moment before stepping closer to the mic and adding softly, “And the dates weren’t pushed back just because of me... it’s been rough and we all needed rest and to have some time to get back on track.”
“Adam, there’s a rumor that Kris Allen and his wife have had recent troubles in their marriage, and that somehow you were involved. Is this true?”
Something cold seized in Adam’s chest and he froze; horrified. How did THAT rumor get out?
After a few moments of stunned silence, he realized he needed to respond. “I’d rather not comment on Kris and Katy,” He rasped, wincing at his voice. He tried not to pant for breath and forced his head up further. “Their personal relationship is not my business, nor is it the business of this press conference... ” he broke off. His chest was heaving as he fought to take in air, and he tried to smile shakily.
The murmurs in the crowd increased a bit in volume and reporters scribbled into their notepads. Adam felt fevered and confused, like he was losing control over his pain, his emotions, and the walls he’d built as shields for the night came crumbling down. Dull aching and feelings came spilling out from between the cracks, razor-sharp and messy. He closed his eyes and clenched his fingers around the podium, knuckles going white.
“That’s not all we’ve heard...” One sleazy-looking man said. “One internet rumor says that Mr. Allen lashed out at you, maybe even struck you. Can you comment on that?”
Adam’s eyes, liquid dark and wild, stared startled and frantic into the crowd, as if he were caught in a trap. The reporters’ fingers curled excitedly around their pens, preparing to record the answer, and the fluttering of his heart intensified.
He paled a bit. “What?”
“Is it true that Kris Allen punched you?” He prompted eagerly. “What does you and Mr. Allen’s tension have to do with his possible marital problems?”
Adam stared at this man, his mouth trembling as he strained against falling into a tired, sad heap. His muscles sagged. “Kris and I aren’t fighting...” He replied slowly. “We’re fine, getting along fine. And as I said before, this isn’t the subject of this-”
The man shrugged and jotted a few notes. Adam took a heaving breath, relieved and aching. His shoulders were shaking visibly now, and he tried to steady them.
“Adam...” Another reporter tentatively began. “I’m sure you don’t require me to expand upon the word that Michael Sarver will not pursue a recording contract with 19E or RCA once this tour is complete. This is a statement of fact, released recently by the American Idol producers. We know this is true, but can you comment on why this is? Is this Sarver’s choice or the company’s? And why, might I ask, is this sudden announcement coinciding with the accident?”
Adam’s head snapped back up, and he vaguely remembered how much he hated press conferences, wished he’d not cracked and agreed to do this under reminder that his fans were anxious to hear from him personally, concerned for him. “It’s-n-not my place to comment on this...” he muttered. His voice seemed to be broken.
“You mean to say you don’t know why Sarver is being dropped by RCA completely?” The reporter continued, a greedy grin now decorating his face, and Adam realized he wanted to pry the answer from his lips.
Adam shook his head slightly and replied, “I’m not saying anything more. I’m sure you’ll get the information you want about this issue in time.”
“To get back on topic,” A reporter interjected, perhaps noticing the change in Adam’s demeanor. “You have a hurt ankle, Adam, how will you be performing?”
Adam laughed then, a thin, somewhat nervous sound that crackled into the mic. “You insult me,” he said, chuckling. “Did you really imagine I wouldn’t be able to? I’ll be fine; my ankle’s not that bad. Don’t underestimate me. I wish I could dance right now.” He smiled wholly.
“I wonder, how was it you were so lucky to escape with ‘small injuries’ and a hurt ankle and your driver didn’t survive?” One asked contemplatively as he eyed Adam curiously. “I understand if you don’t wish to recall in great detail what happened, but how were you able to get out?”
“Kris,” Adam whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away. “Kris saved me.” His breath hitched, and he gave a watery smile. “He pulled me out-” The pain and emotion was cascading over him and he could do little to stop it. He silently cursed the producers for asking him to do this.
This revelation stunned the crowd though, and they hurried to document it.
“Are you feeling okay now?” One reporter then asked, looking him over.
Adam put a hand to the visible mark on his cheek. “I-I’m strong.” His voice cracked and he winced. “I’m fine.” His eyelids lifted, and his eyes flashed with a determined fire. “And I’ll be back on the road soon enough.”
That was the final question. Adam stalked past the managers and producers, getting into the car and having his escort take him straight back to the hotel the Idols were camped out in until the next show. Frustrated, he ignored their calls, his phone switched off and dead in his pocket.
When he reached the building, he struggled against his tiredness and pain to get in and get to his and Kris’ room as quickly as he could. In the corridor though, he was forced to halt when he found someone waiting for him.
A mixture of anger, despair and exasperation tingled on his every nerve when Sarver approached him, eyes dark and cold. He stood tall, trying to intimidate. His posture was stiff and he shook a bit, emotion thick and rolling from him.
“What the fuck was that, Lambert? We were just watching your little press show... the question about me? Your lack of answer WAS their answer! You should see the way the talk shows are twisting your words already! I’m done for!”
“Would you rather I told them you were an absolute asshole to me and not only threatened me, but punched me in the face... while I was still in intensive care?” Adam seethed, angered that Sarver was blocking the whole hallway, and feeling a little vulnerable.
Michael slammed an arm into him, and he groaned as he was shoved bodily backward against the wall. Sarver smiled darkly and jerked a hand in Adam’s hair painfully, pulling his head up, and tightened his other hand just under his chin, forcing him to look into his fury-filled eyes. Adam’s crutch clattered to the ground.
“Don’t you dare use another smart ass comment on me!” Sarver growled. “You ruined me, you stupid fag!” Dark energy rippled through his face and he pressed his hands into Adam threateningly, pressing his body against the cold, stone wall.
Pain rippled through him, playing over his muscles and making him twitch and gasp slightly, writhing against Sarver, his fist narrowly missing hitting him square in the jaw. This only served to infuriate Michael further.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Adam snapped through his teeth. “I did nothing... you brought this on yourself, dumbass... and now you’re making it worse. You’re lucky I didn’t crucify you at that podium tonight.”
Sarver’s breath caught in a gasp, and his eyes widened as he pulled back, glaring. “You did, Lambert! Why didn’t you just make some shit up to explain it? I already have to leave the company because of you, and now the media is over-hyping this and I won’t get a recording contract anywhere with negative press!”
“Over-hyping?” Adam breathed, gasping. He winced and glared up at Michael. “You attacked me. You deserve to reap the punishment... for your stupidity, especially... since it was unprovoked. And now, you’re on the verge of doing it again, and you’ll dig yourself a deeper hole like the dumbass you are... fuck you, Michael Sarver. I don’t need this shit... just get the fuck away from me!”
Sarver lowered his eyes, and let Adam’s head drop. He shoved him again though, and Adam sank to the ground slowly, trying to slink away so he couldn’t tower above him.
“Just know this, Lambert... I may have just destroyed my life... but I did it knowing the truth, about your disgusting nature, your perverse actions and Christian’s... involvement in them... I did it knowing about them. I know what’s right. And it’s certainly not you; Adam... you’re lucky I didn’t do worse.”
“SARVER!!!” Came a surprisingly strong shout and with a startled oof, Michael was pinned to the wall, held there by Anoop and Matt.
Kris was kneeling beside Adam, eyes big and moist with worry. “Adam...? Fuck man; here... let me help... you okay?”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Sarver???!!” Anoop cried and Matt shook his head.
“Did he hit you, Adam? Come on, man... you’re just asking to get kicked out of the rest of the tour too. Lay off him, all right?”
Michael looked at the two of them, haughty and proud. “I don’t give a shit if I get kicked out; I was ruined already because of that sick fuck!” He turned to Adam, who was now sitting up, leaned heavily against the wall.
He became distantly aware of a blurry figure moving away from him and toward Sarver. Kris lunged, his much smaller fist balling up in Sarver’s shirt just below the collar. “You listen here.” He growled. “The only sick fuck here is you, Sarver. Don’t you even dare talk about Adam that way. I personally cannot wait for you to get the fuck out of here, and never show your face in my presence again.”
Sarver’s brows beetled in anger and he wrenched himself away from Kris, shouting, “Fuck you too, Allen! Fuck you!”
Anoop and Matt frowned in deep anger and started to drag Sarver away, ranting to him as they moved slowly down the corridor.
“Adam...?” Then Kris was pulling him up. “Oh my God, what the fuck is his problem? I knew he was a dumbass, but seriously... are you all right?”
Adam nodded thickly, shaking his head to re-orient himself.
“Don’t worry, only a few more weeks of dealing with him.” Kris said, examining him closely.
Adam laughed noiselessly as he shakily stood, waving off Kris’ concern. “All I have to say is...” He broke off, grinning, and with a tiny gulp, he cleared his throat and softly sang, “Haaaaaaallleeelujah!”
Kris smiled and with a supportive arm draped across his friend’s shoulders, helped him to their room.
---------
A week and a half later…
Kris took a deep breath and wiped his forehead quickly, steadying his feet mid-routine, and struggling to bury the impulse to glance worriedly over to Adam, on the other side of the stage. His friend was, at this point in the group rehearsal, on the other side of the line of people and looking would do nothing but distract him when he needed to stay focused, but that didn’t change how much he needed to be certain he was faring well, for this was the first time he’d attempted to dance without the crutch, ankle wrapped in a light Ace bandage within his boot.
He focused on his footwork as the music picked up in tempo. Come on, Allen, he told himself firmly. Adam can take care of himself. You know that. Get a grip on yourself and do what everyone’s counting on you to do. He pushed the worried thoughts from his mind with an effort and concentrated on staying on beat with each step, slightly swaying his body along with the notes. He tried to block out everyone else, merely noting the blur of bodies moving at the same time as him in the same directions.
He snuck in a glance anyway, trying not to let it trip him up, but unwilling to fight the urge to look. At the other end of the group, Adam gritted his teeth and pivoted his body on his weak foot, once, twice, three times, and then swayed his hips in a wide arc as he moved to dance beside Allison. Kris could tell he was intently focused on what he was doing, determined to do it properly. The routine was tricky enough already and he still wasn’t entirely accustomed to moving cautiously on his newly healed ankle and with his still-tired muscles. He did a few impromptu movements and Allison invented a few to coincide with his. Adam smiled and peeled off again, moving lithely to the side.
Kris grinned at the sight. Adam would be all right. He had to be. He’d been through so much, and was looking so much better. He internally chastised himself, he was worrying about nothing, right? Being stupid.
But-he could see... and understand, and feel him. He could, ironically, read the theater performer’s thoughts and emotions rather easily- and there, on the edges of his presence, that bright smile and those shining eyes, just waiting, his weariness and slight pain were simmering quietly.
No. Adam was fine. Kris rolled his shoulders and moved to the side, falling into step as Anoop and Megan skipped forward, and then weaved out and in again to end up beside Allie and diagonally aligned with Adam.
He was doing well, anyway. Dancing never seemed to be difficult for Adam, and the moves came to him almost like second nature. Kris smiled hesitantly when Adam cast him an encouraging look in-between steps.
The song sped up a bit, and Adam spun again, popping his chest a bit and flailing one arm upward, as the lights moved downward, spot-lighting the people on stage. He moved downstage slightly, and Kris followed with a quick burst of movement and felt a rush of satisfaction as the lights flickered in their wake and Adam’s skilled feet raked across the stage, making it seem almost as though his friend had never been injured at all.
Kris grinned as he carried out the next part of the routine, tapping out the beats with a foot and nodding his head. He was readying himself for another pivot when a tiny exhale from Adam caught his attention. His companion raised a tired hand, waving it almost nonchalantly to call for a short break and desperately gasping for breath. The music crackled to a stop and the Idols all froze and collapsed into sitting positions, gulping eagerly from water bottles.
Kris heard Adam’s breathy voice beside him as he reached for their waters, and everything inside him froze into sudden stillness.
“Kris,” came his whisper, the gentle and exhausted overlay of the tone rendered by the strenous activity obscuring the usual warmth. “Kris, you’re... d-doing great.” A small chuckle, and a slight wince. “Ah... I missed this. I really... did. But fuck, I feel like... I’ve been kicked by a mule.”
Hazily, Kris felt himself reach out with one hand and touch Adam’s shoulder, now un-bandaged and only slightly scarred under his clingy shirt, and he squeezed it tenderly in wordless reassurance. A ghost of a smile appeared on Adam’s face, making Kris swallow hard and forcing him to tear his eyes away from the visible marks still marring his friend’s face, bereft of makeup.
Adam caught him looking, and shook his head a little, tired breaths practically scraping from his lungs. Kris couldn’t help but feel yet another pang of concern for him. It was nearly impossible to discern anything about just how much pain he was really in from the look on his face, but it seemed like he was unwilling to give up anyway, even if it were too much for his body to handle. He appeared slightly limp as he leaned back onto his arms, but he tensed again when Kris stared too long. After a moment, and a sip of water, he spoke.
“Adam,” he said. “You’re doing awesome. You look great.” He paused, and Adam swallowed a thirsty gulp of his own water and smiled. “But remember not to push yourself or anything. I want you to feel well at the real show, you know? The producers are hoping for tomorrow night; and I think you’ll be ready.
His face softened as Adam looked at him, eyes scanning his. “Just be careful,” he added softly. “I don’t want you to be in pain - take care of yourself, rest when you need to... I’ll never forgive you if you collapse from exhaustion, and I mean it.”
Adam bit his lip, seemingly holding in a laugh at his motherly instructions, and Kris was about to reiterate how just how serious he was, but was distracted into renewed worry as Adam reached up and massaged one shoulder gently, eyes closed.
Kris stared, feeling helpless. His throat felt thick, and it suddenly hurt to swallow. “I know you’ll be all right,” he finished, assuring not only Adam but himself. “It’s just that... I love you, Adam. I need you to be all right, do perform with me. Don’t you dare let me down.”
Adam grinned then and leisurely stretched an arm around his friend’s shoulder. As Adam embraced him in a tiny, one-armed hug, Kris patted Adam’s chest supportively and beamed up at him. “I’ll make you proud, Krissy,” Adam replied steadily, and the band began to play the tune again.
The others around them shuffled to their feet, stowing away their water bottles and groaning. “Just take it easy.” Kris repeated, pulling away from Adam.
The taller man reached out and touched the fingers of one trembling hand to Kris’ arm, barely brushing his sleeve. “Kris,” he said seriously, his voice a little hoarse. “I’m fine.”
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “You hear me? I’m all right.”
Kris nodded and the music went into full swing as the Idols stepped back into position and started to dance again.
------------------------
Adam pressed forward through the routine, ignoring the groan building in his throat as his exhausted body ached in protest. Despite his lingering fatigue, it felt so good to be dancing, to be readying himself to really perform again, and that overpowered all else. The routine was fun and bouncy, and he was enjoying himself despite the fact that his body was definitely reacting to the fact that this was the most activity it had carried out in a long time.
He swept an arm toward Megan and twirled her around, grinning and pivoting away from her to the other side of the stage, beside Matt. After a few bars, he then followed the sequence to stand between Michael and Lil, bobbing his head as he moved.
The group formed two long lines that weaved in and out of each other as they danced, and Adam grinned as the movements were executed perfectly, in-time and in-sync with everyone.
Another volley of energy pulled from somewhere within led him into another half-spin, and Gokey, who had never been quite excellent at dancing, stumbled a bit and brushed against him, throwing him off and catching him by surprise. He nearly tripped over Gokey’s wandering foot, and the bespectacled man gave him an awkward and apologetic look. Adam flailed his arms out to steady his wavering body, and Sarver, intently focused on his footwork, collided with him.
The latter shuddered at the contact, as if unable to bear touching him, and Adam’s slightly weaker body was thrown slightly to the side by a surprised shove. Luckily, the direction he swayed was toward Kris, who rushed forward, arms outstretched.
The music stopped abruptly. Adam’s hand swept upward as he grasped at Kris for a handhold, but even though he managed to wrap his fingers around a chunk of the fabric of his friend’s tee-shirt, his off-balance legs buckled and he bumped into him, nearly toppling the smaller man.
Pain sparked through him significantly, and his cringing groan was perfectly timed with Kris’ grunt of exertion as he steadied himself after catching the heavier man. A dull ache exploded behind Adam’s eyes and up his ankle and along half-healed burn wounds, the pain thick and liquid. He clenched his other hand around Kris’ wrist, recklessly pulling himself upward and shaking his head to clear his vision.
Everyone came back into focus and he realized they were all moving toward him, concerned voices ringing through the near- empty stage area. Adam, with Kris’ help, pulled himself all the way up and smiled half-heartedly as Kris sent a glare that could melt steel to Sarver.
“I’m okay,” he muttered, catching Danny’s guilty look and trying to grin fully.
“That was my fault... I fell out of step and almost tripped him.” Gokey mumbled, looking at the ground in shame. “Ended up sort of pushing him into Michael. Sorry, man.”
Adam fired off a healthy grin and shrugged as Kris stared at him worriedly. “Don’t worry about it.” He suppressed the brief flare of pain it had left scissoring through him and glanced around at everyone, waving them off. “Really, I’m fine. Doesn’t matter. Let’s just start where we left off.”
Without another word, he moved back into position in his signified spot on stage and everyone followed suit as the music picked back up once the director and band were sure everything was truly okay. Gokey did better this time, still shuffling a bit from foot to foot, but doing so on-beat.
Adam found himself re-immersed in the routine, and he ignored the way Sarver kept as much distance between them as he could. He kept stepping, spinning, and smiling, falling back into step with little effort.
He didn’t want to be angry with Sarver, but the man kept throwing anxious glances of partial fear, partial anger... and was that jealousy?... over his shoulder. Adam merely smiled - he was definitely out-shining Sarver as far as the dance moves went, in fact, even doing better than most of the others despite his injuries, and the words of the song were flowing back to him as if he’d never stopped performing them.
Kris, who had said he thought Adam was the best singer to ever perform on American Idol, was beaming at him as he too danced, and the lines shifted until he was by his side, their energy rolling off in waves and powering each other as they moved toward the finish of the song.
Any frustration Adam had felt was replaced by the warm glow of pride and recognition that lit within his heart. He pressed forward through the big climax of the song, kicking out his leg and bellowing out a high note, thrilled by the chills of adrenaline that rippled through him.
As the final chorus wore down and they moved into the last sequence, the most complicated but visually exciting of the performance, Adam panted for breath and tried to push back the tiny flickers of pain he still felt from his almost-tumble.
The thought of performing the actual show the next night actually let loose a small flutter of anxiety in his stomach, and he looked down, realizing he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.
But Kris, still dancing at his side, was depending on him, moving with him, feeding off of his vigor and grace, and sending him the biggest, most triumphant grin Adam had ever seen.
Well, he thought stubbornly, it’ll just have to be long enough.
And he finished out the rehearsal, cheeks pink from the endeavor, but splitting with a mirroring grin. “Nice job, Glambert.” Kris panted, laughing and he threw an arm around Adam. “Not bad, I’m very impressed.”
“All right,” Adam replied. “Bring it on.”
----------------
*SQUEE!*
Final comments? :)
Genre: Angst/Drama/Hurt-Comfort
Rating: PG-13
Summary: (whole story, links to all parts inside) Kris and Katy have grown apart, and Katy fears she’s losing her husband. Panicked, she makes him choose between her and Adam, and suddenly Kris feels as if he’s lost them both. A tragic accident succeeds in further tearing everyone apart… but may eventually bring them back together again. P.S. Sarver is such an idiot.
Summary: (epilogue) Adam finally addresses the press about the accident, and Sarver gets mad at him (again). Kris tells him a thing or two, and then the Idols have a tour rehearsal, Adam included! Yay for happy times!
Notes: THANK YOU times a billion. :) You readers and commenters brighten my day. I apologize that I didn’t get this up yesterday, my computer was not cooperating with LJ-cuts. The story's finally over!
LINKS:
PART 1: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/305652.html
PART 2: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/314033.html
PART 3: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/319228.html
PART 4: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/322193.html
PART 5: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/327934.html
PART 6: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/334259.html
PART 7: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/340338.html
PART 8: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/347851.html
PART 9: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/363102.html
PART 10: http://community.livejournal.com/kradam_ai/383578.html
------------------------
EPILOGUE
Adam shifted uneasily as he stared out across the sea of reporters and press. The curtain he waited behind brushed his forehead as he leaned forward a bit on his crutch, peering curiously into the crowd. After all of the drama, and after he’d noticeably been healing- the producers hurried him into a press conference so that everyone would quit panicking and speculating. They hadn’t anticipated the amount of uproar and fright over the pictures from breakfast a week before, showing Adam, crutch in hand, weak and pale-looking, and supported on each side as he limped along by Allison and Kris.
Adam was nearly convinced that he really was better; that he had returned to his former self, but a check-up by a doctor and pure logic defied that belief. The pain remained, weaker, but festering within him, and while the pain remained, while even the slightest weakness remained, he was not himself. Frustration still flooded him at the thought.
He turned away from the hushed swarm when one of the Idol PR managers stepped out to introduce him, dismissing someone from coming to his aid as he prepared to emerge from behind the curtain. Swallowing when he heard his name, he pushed himself forward, bracing himself for a frenzy.
Cameras immediately began flashing madly at his approach, and Adam stepped cautiously to the small podium, then managed a convincing smile to the spectators, easing the sudden hysterical and panicked shouts. He tapped the mic carefully and grinned when it sparked to life with amplified thudding sounds.
Immediately, he was self-conscious of the popping cameras. The Idol makeup crew had done their best to cover any remaining inky, jagged marks on his still-paled face, but he knew it wasn’t completely effective. He’d glanced in the mirror before coming out, and seen for himself the stark differences in his features despite all efforts to disguise them.
He beamed cheerfully nonetheless, and the promise of reassurances and answers held the anxious reporters in his grasp. “Good evening,” he greeted plainly, and drew his lips back in a gentle smile. “I’ll be taking your questions now.” He continued, scanning the faces in the jumbled mess of people. The screen behind him, projecting his image larger for those in the back to see, flickered on.
“Mr. Lambert, I’m sure you know about the endless speculations about your condition of health...” The first reporter started, staring up at Adam determinedly. “Can we get an personal assurance that you are medically okay, and perhaps an explanation for the crutch?”
Adam forced another smile, “Adam... please, it’s Adam. And yes, I can promise you that I’ve been well-cared for and looked after, and I’m going to be just fine. The crutch is only for a minor ankle injury, so that I can stay on my feet when needed.”
“Adam, there were rumors immediately following the accident that Kris Allen was placed under 24-hour care at the hospital nearest the crash site, brought to fruition by footage of his wife entering the facility.” Another person stated, reading from a notebook. “But Mr. Allen appears to be in good shape, which calls these initial reports into question, can you go into any detail about the condition of the others involved in the crash?”
Adam’s grin faded. “Unfortunately we lost our driver, Christian Calderone in the accident. He was a very good man, and we are devastated by his passing. But to answer your question - Kris is fine, everyone else is fine now. There were some minor scrapes and bumps, but we were really very lucky to have almost everyone walk out of it.” He paused, trying fitfully to hide any tiny signs of weakness, the little fissures in his struggling façade. He was still tired, felt ready to shatter, keeping his body upright only with the crutch supporting him and the effort of his trembling but determined will.
His still lightly bandaged shoulders, hidden within his jacket, slumped a bit in his fatigue and his brow was slightly crinkled. He’d been gradually re-introducing himself to physical activity, actually doing miniature warm- up routines with the others and ending them gasping and tired and shaking. His wounds had been getting better, of course, but only enough to tug him from the blistering, continuous sharpness of pain to a more subdued but persistent ache. His eyes, smudged with eyeliner, were a little bleary, and under the makeup, one was still bruised and hollow looking where Sarver had punched him.
He could see his reflection in the lens of the nearest camera and had to clamp down on a disgusted grimace. The pink skin of his cheeks was still undercut with a pale, sickly gray that turned it a bit sallow in the spotlights. The raised welt from Sarver on one cheekbone, hard to conceal with cosmetics, stood out red and swollen, and other tiny flecks of red and blue were bright and angry on his face.
Adam raised his head again, awaiting the next question. “Adam, has the cause of the bus accident been confirmed yet?”
His eyes, dull and expressionless, turned at the inquiry, and he took a breath. “An investigation was conducted. There was a mechanical issue involving the brakes. That’s all I can say for sure.”
“Are you willing to elaborate on what happened to warrant 24-hour care for one of you?” A woman asked, looking expectant. A knowing glint in her eyes told Adam she knew that one person needing the care had been him.
“It was me.” Adam mumbled in confirmation, feeling the urge to collapse overwhelm him. His words were slurred and thick, catching a bit on his still-bruised lips, and he steadied himself with one hand on the podium. “I was nearest the f-front of the bus... with Christian.”
“Were you hurt badly? Is that why tour dates have been pushed back?” Another female reporter pressed gently, her voice soothing and even reasonable. But Adam winced away from her words before he could stop himself, his eyes showing the hit plainly even though he managed to keep his face stoic and unaffected. His body tensed and he shifted uncomfortably, the bandages brushing lightly again his pink, raw shoulders. Cameras flashed.
“It was bad enough to cause genuine concern,” Adam croaked quietly. “Besides the torn tendons in my ankle, I had some issues with smoke inhalation and... other injuries. But those have since been remedied.” He let that sink in a moment before stepping closer to the mic and adding softly, “And the dates weren’t pushed back just because of me... it’s been rough and we all needed rest and to have some time to get back on track.”
“Adam, there’s a rumor that Kris Allen and his wife have had recent troubles in their marriage, and that somehow you were involved. Is this true?”
Something cold seized in Adam’s chest and he froze; horrified. How did THAT rumor get out?
After a few moments of stunned silence, he realized he needed to respond. “I’d rather not comment on Kris and Katy,” He rasped, wincing at his voice. He tried not to pant for breath and forced his head up further. “Their personal relationship is not my business, nor is it the business of this press conference... ” he broke off. His chest was heaving as he fought to take in air, and he tried to smile shakily.
The murmurs in the crowd increased a bit in volume and reporters scribbled into their notepads. Adam felt fevered and confused, like he was losing control over his pain, his emotions, and the walls he’d built as shields for the night came crumbling down. Dull aching and feelings came spilling out from between the cracks, razor-sharp and messy. He closed his eyes and clenched his fingers around the podium, knuckles going white.
“That’s not all we’ve heard...” One sleazy-looking man said. “One internet rumor says that Mr. Allen lashed out at you, maybe even struck you. Can you comment on that?”
Adam’s eyes, liquid dark and wild, stared startled and frantic into the crowd, as if he were caught in a trap. The reporters’ fingers curled excitedly around their pens, preparing to record the answer, and the fluttering of his heart intensified.
He paled a bit. “What?”
“Is it true that Kris Allen punched you?” He prompted eagerly. “What does you and Mr. Allen’s tension have to do with his possible marital problems?”
Adam stared at this man, his mouth trembling as he strained against falling into a tired, sad heap. His muscles sagged. “Kris and I aren’t fighting...” He replied slowly. “We’re fine, getting along fine. And as I said before, this isn’t the subject of this-”
The man shrugged and jotted a few notes. Adam took a heaving breath, relieved and aching. His shoulders were shaking visibly now, and he tried to steady them.
“Adam...” Another reporter tentatively began. “I’m sure you don’t require me to expand upon the word that Michael Sarver will not pursue a recording contract with 19E or RCA once this tour is complete. This is a statement of fact, released recently by the American Idol producers. We know this is true, but can you comment on why this is? Is this Sarver’s choice or the company’s? And why, might I ask, is this sudden announcement coinciding with the accident?”
Adam’s head snapped back up, and he vaguely remembered how much he hated press conferences, wished he’d not cracked and agreed to do this under reminder that his fans were anxious to hear from him personally, concerned for him. “It’s-n-not my place to comment on this...” he muttered. His voice seemed to be broken.
“You mean to say you don’t know why Sarver is being dropped by RCA completely?” The reporter continued, a greedy grin now decorating his face, and Adam realized he wanted to pry the answer from his lips.
Adam shook his head slightly and replied, “I’m not saying anything more. I’m sure you’ll get the information you want about this issue in time.”
“To get back on topic,” A reporter interjected, perhaps noticing the change in Adam’s demeanor. “You have a hurt ankle, Adam, how will you be performing?”
Adam laughed then, a thin, somewhat nervous sound that crackled into the mic. “You insult me,” he said, chuckling. “Did you really imagine I wouldn’t be able to? I’ll be fine; my ankle’s not that bad. Don’t underestimate me. I wish I could dance right now.” He smiled wholly.
“I wonder, how was it you were so lucky to escape with ‘small injuries’ and a hurt ankle and your driver didn’t survive?” One asked contemplatively as he eyed Adam curiously. “I understand if you don’t wish to recall in great detail what happened, but how were you able to get out?”
“Kris,” Adam whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away. “Kris saved me.” His breath hitched, and he gave a watery smile. “He pulled me out-” The pain and emotion was cascading over him and he could do little to stop it. He silently cursed the producers for asking him to do this.
This revelation stunned the crowd though, and they hurried to document it.
“Are you feeling okay now?” One reporter then asked, looking him over.
Adam put a hand to the visible mark on his cheek. “I-I’m strong.” His voice cracked and he winced. “I’m fine.” His eyelids lifted, and his eyes flashed with a determined fire. “And I’ll be back on the road soon enough.”
That was the final question. Adam stalked past the managers and producers, getting into the car and having his escort take him straight back to the hotel the Idols were camped out in until the next show. Frustrated, he ignored their calls, his phone switched off and dead in his pocket.
When he reached the building, he struggled against his tiredness and pain to get in and get to his and Kris’ room as quickly as he could. In the corridor though, he was forced to halt when he found someone waiting for him.
A mixture of anger, despair and exasperation tingled on his every nerve when Sarver approached him, eyes dark and cold. He stood tall, trying to intimidate. His posture was stiff and he shook a bit, emotion thick and rolling from him.
“What the fuck was that, Lambert? We were just watching your little press show... the question about me? Your lack of answer WAS their answer! You should see the way the talk shows are twisting your words already! I’m done for!”
“Would you rather I told them you were an absolute asshole to me and not only threatened me, but punched me in the face... while I was still in intensive care?” Adam seethed, angered that Sarver was blocking the whole hallway, and feeling a little vulnerable.
Michael slammed an arm into him, and he groaned as he was shoved bodily backward against the wall. Sarver smiled darkly and jerked a hand in Adam’s hair painfully, pulling his head up, and tightened his other hand just under his chin, forcing him to look into his fury-filled eyes. Adam’s crutch clattered to the ground.
“Don’t you dare use another smart ass comment on me!” Sarver growled. “You ruined me, you stupid fag!” Dark energy rippled through his face and he pressed his hands into Adam threateningly, pressing his body against the cold, stone wall.
Pain rippled through him, playing over his muscles and making him twitch and gasp slightly, writhing against Sarver, his fist narrowly missing hitting him square in the jaw. This only served to infuriate Michael further.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Adam snapped through his teeth. “I did nothing... you brought this on yourself, dumbass... and now you’re making it worse. You’re lucky I didn’t crucify you at that podium tonight.”
Sarver’s breath caught in a gasp, and his eyes widened as he pulled back, glaring. “You did, Lambert! Why didn’t you just make some shit up to explain it? I already have to leave the company because of you, and now the media is over-hyping this and I won’t get a recording contract anywhere with negative press!”
“Over-hyping?” Adam breathed, gasping. He winced and glared up at Michael. “You attacked me. You deserve to reap the punishment... for your stupidity, especially... since it was unprovoked. And now, you’re on the verge of doing it again, and you’ll dig yourself a deeper hole like the dumbass you are... fuck you, Michael Sarver. I don’t need this shit... just get the fuck away from me!”
Sarver lowered his eyes, and let Adam’s head drop. He shoved him again though, and Adam sank to the ground slowly, trying to slink away so he couldn’t tower above him.
“Just know this, Lambert... I may have just destroyed my life... but I did it knowing the truth, about your disgusting nature, your perverse actions and Christian’s... involvement in them... I did it knowing about them. I know what’s right. And it’s certainly not you; Adam... you’re lucky I didn’t do worse.”
“SARVER!!!” Came a surprisingly strong shout and with a startled oof, Michael was pinned to the wall, held there by Anoop and Matt.
Kris was kneeling beside Adam, eyes big and moist with worry. “Adam...? Fuck man; here... let me help... you okay?”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Sarver???!!” Anoop cried and Matt shook his head.
“Did he hit you, Adam? Come on, man... you’re just asking to get kicked out of the rest of the tour too. Lay off him, all right?”
Michael looked at the two of them, haughty and proud. “I don’t give a shit if I get kicked out; I was ruined already because of that sick fuck!” He turned to Adam, who was now sitting up, leaned heavily against the wall.
He became distantly aware of a blurry figure moving away from him and toward Sarver. Kris lunged, his much smaller fist balling up in Sarver’s shirt just below the collar. “You listen here.” He growled. “The only sick fuck here is you, Sarver. Don’t you even dare talk about Adam that way. I personally cannot wait for you to get the fuck out of here, and never show your face in my presence again.”
Sarver’s brows beetled in anger and he wrenched himself away from Kris, shouting, “Fuck you too, Allen! Fuck you!”
Anoop and Matt frowned in deep anger and started to drag Sarver away, ranting to him as they moved slowly down the corridor.
“Adam...?” Then Kris was pulling him up. “Oh my God, what the fuck is his problem? I knew he was a dumbass, but seriously... are you all right?”
Adam nodded thickly, shaking his head to re-orient himself.
“Don’t worry, only a few more weeks of dealing with him.” Kris said, examining him closely.
Adam laughed noiselessly as he shakily stood, waving off Kris’ concern. “All I have to say is...” He broke off, grinning, and with a tiny gulp, he cleared his throat and softly sang, “Haaaaaaallleeelujah!”
Kris smiled and with a supportive arm draped across his friend’s shoulders, helped him to their room.
---------
A week and a half later…
Kris took a deep breath and wiped his forehead quickly, steadying his feet mid-routine, and struggling to bury the impulse to glance worriedly over to Adam, on the other side of the stage. His friend was, at this point in the group rehearsal, on the other side of the line of people and looking would do nothing but distract him when he needed to stay focused, but that didn’t change how much he needed to be certain he was faring well, for this was the first time he’d attempted to dance without the crutch, ankle wrapped in a light Ace bandage within his boot.
He focused on his footwork as the music picked up in tempo. Come on, Allen, he told himself firmly. Adam can take care of himself. You know that. Get a grip on yourself and do what everyone’s counting on you to do. He pushed the worried thoughts from his mind with an effort and concentrated on staying on beat with each step, slightly swaying his body along with the notes. He tried to block out everyone else, merely noting the blur of bodies moving at the same time as him in the same directions.
He snuck in a glance anyway, trying not to let it trip him up, but unwilling to fight the urge to look. At the other end of the group, Adam gritted his teeth and pivoted his body on his weak foot, once, twice, three times, and then swayed his hips in a wide arc as he moved to dance beside Allison. Kris could tell he was intently focused on what he was doing, determined to do it properly. The routine was tricky enough already and he still wasn’t entirely accustomed to moving cautiously on his newly healed ankle and with his still-tired muscles. He did a few impromptu movements and Allison invented a few to coincide with his. Adam smiled and peeled off again, moving lithely to the side.
Kris grinned at the sight. Adam would be all right. He had to be. He’d been through so much, and was looking so much better. He internally chastised himself, he was worrying about nothing, right? Being stupid.
But-he could see... and understand, and feel him. He could, ironically, read the theater performer’s thoughts and emotions rather easily- and there, on the edges of his presence, that bright smile and those shining eyes, just waiting, his weariness and slight pain were simmering quietly.
No. Adam was fine. Kris rolled his shoulders and moved to the side, falling into step as Anoop and Megan skipped forward, and then weaved out and in again to end up beside Allie and diagonally aligned with Adam.
He was doing well, anyway. Dancing never seemed to be difficult for Adam, and the moves came to him almost like second nature. Kris smiled hesitantly when Adam cast him an encouraging look in-between steps.
The song sped up a bit, and Adam spun again, popping his chest a bit and flailing one arm upward, as the lights moved downward, spot-lighting the people on stage. He moved downstage slightly, and Kris followed with a quick burst of movement and felt a rush of satisfaction as the lights flickered in their wake and Adam’s skilled feet raked across the stage, making it seem almost as though his friend had never been injured at all.
Kris grinned as he carried out the next part of the routine, tapping out the beats with a foot and nodding his head. He was readying himself for another pivot when a tiny exhale from Adam caught his attention. His companion raised a tired hand, waving it almost nonchalantly to call for a short break and desperately gasping for breath. The music crackled to a stop and the Idols all froze and collapsed into sitting positions, gulping eagerly from water bottles.
Kris heard Adam’s breathy voice beside him as he reached for their waters, and everything inside him froze into sudden stillness.
“Kris,” came his whisper, the gentle and exhausted overlay of the tone rendered by the strenous activity obscuring the usual warmth. “Kris, you’re... d-doing great.” A small chuckle, and a slight wince. “Ah... I missed this. I really... did. But fuck, I feel like... I’ve been kicked by a mule.”
Hazily, Kris felt himself reach out with one hand and touch Adam’s shoulder, now un-bandaged and only slightly scarred under his clingy shirt, and he squeezed it tenderly in wordless reassurance. A ghost of a smile appeared on Adam’s face, making Kris swallow hard and forcing him to tear his eyes away from the visible marks still marring his friend’s face, bereft of makeup.
Adam caught him looking, and shook his head a little, tired breaths practically scraping from his lungs. Kris couldn’t help but feel yet another pang of concern for him. It was nearly impossible to discern anything about just how much pain he was really in from the look on his face, but it seemed like he was unwilling to give up anyway, even if it were too much for his body to handle. He appeared slightly limp as he leaned back onto his arms, but he tensed again when Kris stared too long. After a moment, and a sip of water, he spoke.
“Adam,” he said. “You’re doing awesome. You look great.” He paused, and Adam swallowed a thirsty gulp of his own water and smiled. “But remember not to push yourself or anything. I want you to feel well at the real show, you know? The producers are hoping for tomorrow night; and I think you’ll be ready.
His face softened as Adam looked at him, eyes scanning his. “Just be careful,” he added softly. “I don’t want you to be in pain - take care of yourself, rest when you need to... I’ll never forgive you if you collapse from exhaustion, and I mean it.”
Adam bit his lip, seemingly holding in a laugh at his motherly instructions, and Kris was about to reiterate how just how serious he was, but was distracted into renewed worry as Adam reached up and massaged one shoulder gently, eyes closed.
Kris stared, feeling helpless. His throat felt thick, and it suddenly hurt to swallow. “I know you’ll be all right,” he finished, assuring not only Adam but himself. “It’s just that... I love you, Adam. I need you to be all right, do perform with me. Don’t you dare let me down.”
Adam grinned then and leisurely stretched an arm around his friend’s shoulder. As Adam embraced him in a tiny, one-armed hug, Kris patted Adam’s chest supportively and beamed up at him. “I’ll make you proud, Krissy,” Adam replied steadily, and the band began to play the tune again.
The others around them shuffled to their feet, stowing away their water bottles and groaning. “Just take it easy.” Kris repeated, pulling away from Adam.
The taller man reached out and touched the fingers of one trembling hand to Kris’ arm, barely brushing his sleeve. “Kris,” he said seriously, his voice a little hoarse. “I’m fine.”
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “You hear me? I’m all right.”
Kris nodded and the music went into full swing as the Idols stepped back into position and started to dance again.
------------------------
Adam pressed forward through the routine, ignoring the groan building in his throat as his exhausted body ached in protest. Despite his lingering fatigue, it felt so good to be dancing, to be readying himself to really perform again, and that overpowered all else. The routine was fun and bouncy, and he was enjoying himself despite the fact that his body was definitely reacting to the fact that this was the most activity it had carried out in a long time.
He swept an arm toward Megan and twirled her around, grinning and pivoting away from her to the other side of the stage, beside Matt. After a few bars, he then followed the sequence to stand between Michael and Lil, bobbing his head as he moved.
The group formed two long lines that weaved in and out of each other as they danced, and Adam grinned as the movements were executed perfectly, in-time and in-sync with everyone.
Another volley of energy pulled from somewhere within led him into another half-spin, and Gokey, who had never been quite excellent at dancing, stumbled a bit and brushed against him, throwing him off and catching him by surprise. He nearly tripped over Gokey’s wandering foot, and the bespectacled man gave him an awkward and apologetic look. Adam flailed his arms out to steady his wavering body, and Sarver, intently focused on his footwork, collided with him.
The latter shuddered at the contact, as if unable to bear touching him, and Adam’s slightly weaker body was thrown slightly to the side by a surprised shove. Luckily, the direction he swayed was toward Kris, who rushed forward, arms outstretched.
The music stopped abruptly. Adam’s hand swept upward as he grasped at Kris for a handhold, but even though he managed to wrap his fingers around a chunk of the fabric of his friend’s tee-shirt, his off-balance legs buckled and he bumped into him, nearly toppling the smaller man.
Pain sparked through him significantly, and his cringing groan was perfectly timed with Kris’ grunt of exertion as he steadied himself after catching the heavier man. A dull ache exploded behind Adam’s eyes and up his ankle and along half-healed burn wounds, the pain thick and liquid. He clenched his other hand around Kris’ wrist, recklessly pulling himself upward and shaking his head to clear his vision.
Everyone came back into focus and he realized they were all moving toward him, concerned voices ringing through the near- empty stage area. Adam, with Kris’ help, pulled himself all the way up and smiled half-heartedly as Kris sent a glare that could melt steel to Sarver.
“I’m okay,” he muttered, catching Danny’s guilty look and trying to grin fully.
“That was my fault... I fell out of step and almost tripped him.” Gokey mumbled, looking at the ground in shame. “Ended up sort of pushing him into Michael. Sorry, man.”
Adam fired off a healthy grin and shrugged as Kris stared at him worriedly. “Don’t worry about it.” He suppressed the brief flare of pain it had left scissoring through him and glanced around at everyone, waving them off. “Really, I’m fine. Doesn’t matter. Let’s just start where we left off.”
Without another word, he moved back into position in his signified spot on stage and everyone followed suit as the music picked back up once the director and band were sure everything was truly okay. Gokey did better this time, still shuffling a bit from foot to foot, but doing so on-beat.
Adam found himself re-immersed in the routine, and he ignored the way Sarver kept as much distance between them as he could. He kept stepping, spinning, and smiling, falling back into step with little effort.
He didn’t want to be angry with Sarver, but the man kept throwing anxious glances of partial fear, partial anger... and was that jealousy?... over his shoulder. Adam merely smiled - he was definitely out-shining Sarver as far as the dance moves went, in fact, even doing better than most of the others despite his injuries, and the words of the song were flowing back to him as if he’d never stopped performing them.
Kris, who had said he thought Adam was the best singer to ever perform on American Idol, was beaming at him as he too danced, and the lines shifted until he was by his side, their energy rolling off in waves and powering each other as they moved toward the finish of the song.
Any frustration Adam had felt was replaced by the warm glow of pride and recognition that lit within his heart. He pressed forward through the big climax of the song, kicking out his leg and bellowing out a high note, thrilled by the chills of adrenaline that rippled through him.
As the final chorus wore down and they moved into the last sequence, the most complicated but visually exciting of the performance, Adam panted for breath and tried to push back the tiny flickers of pain he still felt from his almost-tumble.
The thought of performing the actual show the next night actually let loose a small flutter of anxiety in his stomach, and he looked down, realizing he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.
But Kris, still dancing at his side, was depending on him, moving with him, feeding off of his vigor and grace, and sending him the biggest, most triumphant grin Adam had ever seen.
Well, he thought stubbornly, it’ll just have to be long enough.
And he finished out the rehearsal, cheeks pink from the endeavor, but splitting with a mirroring grin. “Nice job, Glambert.” Kris panted, laughing and he threw an arm around Adam. “Not bad, I’m very impressed.”
“All right,” Adam replied. “Bring it on.”
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*SQUEE!*
Final comments? :)