FIC: Never Mind (5/5)

[montmorency]

This is The End at last. Thanks for sticking with it. <3



Woods Hole

Tommy sits cross-legged on the bare floor of Shane’s new apartment, which is really just the upstairs of a old clapboard house that’s been converted into two apartments. He’s holding a huge sheaf of hole-punched paper that’s bound by brads.

Footsteps clomp up a wooden staircase and Shane appears in the doorway with a bag of groceries. “Hey, is that something good you’re reading, darlin’?”

Tommy looks up, smiling. “This is so boring.”

Shane laughs and kicks the door shut. “Good thing my thesis committee disagreed.”

“Yeah, right, Dr. Shane,” Tommy says, a twinkle in his eyes.

Shane dumps the bags on the tiny kitchen counter space and comes to kneel beside Tommy. “Want to help me make dinner?”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Home-made tacos.”

“You’re fucking awesome,” Tommy says, laying the thesis aside and pulling Shane down to his level with a hand on the collar of his polo shirt. Shane goes happily where Tommy drags him, his lips colliding against Tommy’s.

Woods Hole, Massachusetts is a whole new world, for sure. During the Glam Nation tour, there’d been no time for sightseeing. So he had been to Boston and Providence but hadn’t seen the Atlantic Ocean. Shane had taken him for a walk along the shore the day before. Above all, Tommy noticed the briny smell, much different from the Pacific. They’d walked down Penzance and Bar Neck Road, stepping aside when a car went by, enjoying the sound of the waves on the sandbars to each side, and scoffing at the overly large houses belonging to wealthy people. Walking on the damp sand, Tommy had noticed another difference from the California beaches - shells everywhere, littered across the sand. Shane pointed out a horseshoe crab making its lonely way back to the water.

The Woods Hole campus is nothing like UCLA, and Tommy doesn’t even know UCLA all that well. The tiny downtown is quaint, that’s the only operative word for it. The buildings are mostly lots older than Los Angeles buildings, but not nearly as old as the places Tommy had gone in Europe during the tour. There’s more of a feeling of being worn down; the grocery stores are not pristinely new like Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s but on the other hand the greens of the trees and bushes are way greener than the stuff along Ventura beach.

It’s going to snow here in a few months. Tommy shivers at the thought.

“What’s this?” asks Shane, lifting a local free paper from the floor.

“Was looking at the club ads.”

“How do they look?”

“Same as anywhere.”

“We could go to listen to a band tonight. If you like?”

Tommy nods. “Maybe. Tacos first, though.”

That night, long after midnight, lying together in the second-hand bed they found in a thrift shop, Shane whispers, “Thanks for coming with me. It’s kind of scary going to a new place alone.”

Tommy can’t believe anything scares Shane, but he knows that feeling of needing someone familiar when you go somewhere new.

Ed’s Coffee Shop

Sutan rubs at Adam’s shoulder with one hand while stirring Equal into his coffee with the other. “You know what I’m going to tell you, honey, don’t you?”

Adam shakes his head like a shaggy dog, hair flopping everywhere.

“Oh, baby, oh come on,” Sutan cajoles.

“I can’t believe he actually left,” Adam says quietly.

Sutan looks around the coffee shop. It’s late morning and on the quiet side, but the place is small and intimate and you can’t be too careful. Even so, he doesn’t see anyone who appears to be listening in. In fact everyone there is cool enough not to notice if there is a well-known face in their midst. He leans in towards Adam and lowers his voice. “You know what you have to do. You know.”

Adam raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“That’s right, baby, you have to go and get him back.”

Adam’s forehead thunks on the table.

“Stop being so melodramatic,” Sutan says, “and get your hair out of my pancakes.”

Shane’s apartment

The apartment is starting to feel homey. Over the past few days they have scoured the Goodwill and Salvation Army stores for mismatched bits of furniture. It reminds Tommy of nearly everywhere he’s ever lived. He didn’t grow up with money and he doesn’t make all that much as a bass player for a mid-level pop star. He doesn’t care because he’s comfortable with surroundings like this. The quilt spread carefully over the big bed is one that Shane’s mother made for him years ago. Shane throws in some personal photos, including one from that notorious beach party, where someone caught a snap of Tommy on Shane’s shoulders. Tommy’s favorite Fender and a small amp sit in one corner of the living room, looking right at home.

It’s Sunday and Shane doesn’t have to be anywhere for a few hours, and Tommy doesn’t have to be anywhere at all, ever, so they have a very late, very lazy breakfast, the Boston Globe spread out on the kitchen table. They trade sections while they eat waffles and drink coffee and orange juice.

Shane’s hand sneaks over and rests on top of Tommy’s. Tommy looks up and smiles, because who wouldn’t when Shane is smiling like the sun coming over a hill.

“You know I love you, right?” Shane asks. “Thank god I went to that bar that night.”

Tommy can’t breathe for a moment. Then he awkwardly pushes back his chair and goes around the table and shoves himself onto Shane’s lap, burying his face against Shane’s shoulder.

“Don’t be sad, baby,” Shane says soothingly, stroking Tommy’s back and holding him tightly.

“Can’t help it,” Tommy mumbles against Shane’s shirt.

“Everything’s going to work out, it’s going to be all right.”

Tommy tucks himself closer into Shane’s body, if that’s possible. “Love you,” he says. “Shane.”

Hours later, after sleepy sex in the big bed, afternoon sunlight slanting against their skin, after Shane goes to his new lab to meet with his new advisor, Tommy plays his guitar. It feels so unusual to be here, alone, in a state that’s not California, rocking slow blues on a crappy little amp. He remembers the old lyric about the blues being nothing but a good man feeling bad.

“Fuck,” he says out loud, then laughs at himself.

He wonders what’s going on in California. Isaac’s been keeping him in the loop. There’s uncomfortable shit going down with Monte and with that fake album that someone is trying to pass off as Adam’s second album. Tommy doesn’t know all the details, doesn’t want to know; back in L.A. he was feeling stuck between Monte and Adam. But he’s not even sure it matters anymore, now that he’s not there. He lets himself wonder, for one second, what the fuck Adam thinks about the way he ran off. Then he shuts that line of thinking down and plugs his iPod into the amp so he can jam along with Clapton or Jimi or Stevie Ray.

The ringing of the doorbell actually makes him jump, it’s that unexpected. The chord he's playing goes sour and his pick goes flying across the room.

Who the fuck?

The doorbell rings again - if it’s a Jehovah’s Witness, Tommy’s gonna flip his shit -Tommy sets the guitar down and goes to the door.

What he isn’t expecting is Adam.

Adam looking tired and grumpy and gorgeous and worried, frozen in place, his finger about to press the doorbell again, staring at Tommy.

“Adam?” Tommy asks stupidly.

Adam’s arm drops to his side. “I need you. For promo.”

That doesn’t compute in Tommy’s mind.

“The new album. It’s time for promo. I need you,” Adam clarifies, not very clearly.

“You should probably find yourself a bass player who knows how to play bass,” Tommy says.

“I did,” Adam answers. “Her name is Ashley.”

Oh. Wow. Well, Tommy should have expected that. Nonetheless, it hurts. “Okay, then, you have your band, why are you here?”

“Monte’s out. You’re on lead.”

This is the strangest conversation Tommy can ever remember having, standing on a doorstep in a strange state, not even inviting Adam in, and Adam’s saying things that aren’t making sense to Tommy.

“Can I?” Adam asks, gesturing awkwardly.

Tommy rouses himself. “Yeah.” He turns and goes back to the chair he was in before, picking up his guitar and putting it in front of himself like it’s a shield. He feels too vulnerable without it. Adam shuts the front door and settles onto the small sofa.

“Where is…?” Adam’s voice drifts off, as though he doesn’t want to say the name.

“Shane? He’s on campus, he’ll be back in an hour or so for dinner.”

Adam looks around the uncluttered, sunny room. “Are you happy here?”

Tommy shrugs.

“I’m serious,” Adam says. “Lead guitar. We always talked about it, in case Monte got busy with Madonna. And now that he got busy with those assholes and that album, it’s your job. If you want it.”

Tommy sighs inwardly. He’s always come in second in Adam’s esteem, or regard, or affection. He feels like an afterthought. Not to mention his conflicted feelings about Monte. The guy introduced him to lots of people in the business, and took him everywhere for months, giving him a chance to buff his live-gig skills. Monte also used him. Even so, Tommy misses the children, especially Beatrix. But Adam? Imperfect though he is, Adam came all this way (and Tommy would have to chastise Isaac later for giving up the address of this apartment) and for what? For Tommy? Tommy never would have guessed Adam would have done something like this. It’s a little bit flattering, a little bit overwhelming, and really inappropriate under the circumstances.

“Adam,” he begins. He looks up from his hand, where it rests on the guitar’s neck, to ponder Adam.

“Yes?” Adam looks hopeful.

“You want me for promo.”

“Yes.”

“Is that it?”

Adam’s eyes go wide. “I - yes. I mean no. It’s time for promo and I want you to have a career as a guitarist and I want everyone to see how great you are at it.”

Tommy waits.

“And I miss you,” Adam adds.

Tommy misses Adam, too, even though the man is sitting right in front of him. He misses the first times they were together, playing music, sitting on the beach at Cabo, partying in New York. Those were exciting times, full of promise and possibility, and, he’s even willing to admit now, full of love. Tommy can’t deny that: he’s been in love with Adam for a long while, and even though everything’s different now, years have passed and they’ve grown closer and then farther apart, nothing has changed that.

Nothing but a good man feelin’ bad.

“I was missing you when you were a half hour drive away.”

“I apologized for that.”

“Not looking for apologies. I’m trying to explain.”

“Oh.” Adam scratches his chin. “You mean explain how you were in a snit and decided to go out and find someone like me?”

Tommy snorts. “Like you went out and found someone like me?”

“That’s not what I did!” Adam protests.

“Then don’t accuse me of it.”

Adam frowns. “I just don’t get why you went looking for a guy at all.”

“We’ve been over this. If you don’t understand, then I’ll save my breath and stop trying to explain.”

“Your explanations are kind of sketchy at the best of times, Tommy, no lie.”

“Fuck you, we can’t all be articulate and smart and shit like you.”

Adam glares at Tommy.

Tommy glares back.

It doesn’t get better anytime soon, so Tommy calls Shane after awhile, asks him to bring home takeout for three. He can’t bring himself to throw Adam out of the apartment - doesn’t even know if he wants to - but he badly needs a buffer zone. It’s not fair to treat Shane like a buffer zone, but Shane won’t mind, he’s awesome like that.

Horrifically awkward doesn’t begin to describe the situation. Adam and Tommy have already been either sniping at each other or giving the cold shoulder for the past eighty minutes by the time Shane arrives with a cheerful grin, a hearty handshake for Adam, a quick kiss for Tommy, and takeout containers from the local and highly locavore vegan eatery.

“I appreciate this,” Adam mumbles, as they sit around the kitchen table, Tommy on a stool since there are only two dining chairs, eating the food with plastic forks off paper plates. “This is excellent stuff.”

Shane looks over at Tommy, who shrugs and admits it’s tastier than he was expecting, considering it’s vegan.

“So you just flew into Boston and drove down here?” Shane asks.

Adam nods.

“What’s your plan?”

That’s awfully direct. Adam doesn’t look like he wants to answer. Tommy’s fork is poised mid-air, waiting for the answer to a question he was afraid to ask.

Adam clears his throat, drinks more tea, and harrumphs like an old biddy in a British movie from the fifties. “Kidnap Tommy,” he announces abruptly. “I have two plane tickets leaving Boston tomorrow.”

“Fuck, Adam,” Tommy says miserably.

“First class,” Adam adds, as though that’s going to help.

Tommy puts down his fork and walks out of the room without a backward glance. But not quite fast enough to avoid hearing Shane say, “Hey, let’s go for a drink so we can talk,” to Adam.

Oy very fucking vey. Tommy hates his life right now.

Fishermonger’s Café

Over fancy martinis, Shane asks Adam a million questions about the music business, how an album is created, who decides the tour cities, and how Adam grew up doing school musicals. By the second drink, Adam decides he doesn’t hate Shane all that hard. He even starts to understand why Tommy fell for him.

“It’s not easy to hate you,” he says casually, because the drinks are strong and his brain-mouth filter is weakening significantly.

“You hate me?” Shane asks, susprised.

“Not anymore.”

Shane gives Adam the side eye. “You were jealous?”

“What do you think.”

Shane leans closer. “I can kind of get that, because Tommy’s amazing. What I don’t get is why you didn’t grab him while you had the chance.”

Adam moans. Thank fuck this tiny New England town has no paparazzi. He leans in. “He told me he was straight.”

“Come on, Lambert, you and me, we’ve known we were gay since we were little kids, we know the drill, we also know that it’s harder for some guys to deal with their feelings. You’re telling me you didn’t have an inkling?”

“You never chased a straight guy and had a bad experience?”

Shane shakes his head. “I’m the first to admit, I’m so into my studies that I don’t go out a lot. Lots of guys think I’m too boring, always in the lab or writing papers. I have to push myself to go out to bars sometimes.”

It’s Adam’s turn to deliver the side eye. “You think that’s the only place I meet guys? Thanks.”

“You were telling me twenty minutes ago about how much clubbing you do!”

Fair enough. Adam had told him that. This line of talk is making him grumpy again. The impromptu trip to Massachusetts is turning out all wrong. Adam’s going to take it out of Sutan’s hide when he returns to L.A.

“I thought,” Adam says slowly, “that he really didn’t want to be gay. He liked the stage-gay but then in actual reality he turned me down and that was pretty painful. I spent nearly a year on him and there’s only so much coyness I can take, you know?”

“You’re not patient,” Shane says, nodding. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do. I may be impatient but I gave him a buttload of time.”

“The timing was wrong, then.”

Adam groans loudly. Even the waitress notices; she comes over and asks if there’s something wrong with his drink. Adam shakes his head and orders another round for both of them. “How would you know, he went right to bed with you.”

“Who said that? I didn’t make any moves for over a month.”

Adam raises a supercilious eyebrow at Shane.

“I’m not kidding,” Shane says. “I’m a romantic. I’m not out for a quick blowjob.”

“I can be romantic,” Adam scowls. The booze is starting to slosh around inside his stomach. He considers everything they’ve said. He feels what his dad calls a barstool manifesto burbling up from his depths. “Oh fuck,” he says.

Shane looks worried. “You’re not going to barf, are you?”

“Nuh uh. I was thinking. Don’t laugh, I may not be a genius like you but I’m capable of thinking.”

Shane puts up both hands placatingly.

“I took him for granted,” Adam grumbles. “But you know something? He took me for granted, too. He thought I’d always be there if he suddenly wanted to be gay.”

Shane shakes his head as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re really something, you know that? What you need right now, Adam, is to consider your next move very carefully.”

“My next move? My next move doesn’t matter, I already lost, I’m going back to L.A. by myself and I have to find a new guitarist.”

“I think there’s something you don’t know,” Shane says. “Tommy came with me to help me move in. He’s always planned to go back.”

Adam’s jaw practically drops to the tabletop.

“Don’t get cocky,” Shane says. “It’s not about you. It’s about us and the fact that my career is going to dictate where I live for the next five years and after that, I’ll be moving somewhere else that could be anywhere. That sucks for Tommy’s career. He needs to be where he can be in a band and go gigging and touring. It doesn’t work for him to pick up and move around after me. I’m not going to do that to him.”

Adam feels astonished and hopeful, but in a guilty way. “Really? He’s going to leave you? Why? I wouldn’t.”

“I told him that’s the way it is, and that’s the last thing you’ll hear from me on the topic. I’m not discussing it with you. It was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“I’m sorry about - “

“Please shut up.”

That’s the rudest Shane’s ever been, to Adam’s knowledge. So he shuts up.

“Just one thing,” Shane says, looking darkly at Adam. “He’s not yours. He belongs to himself, he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and you do not fuck with him. Got that? I’m a nice guy but I’m absolutely certain I could beat the shit out of you if necessary.”

Adam definitely wishes he hadn’t had that third martini. He’s pretty certain he won’t barf. Pretty certain. “You’re kind of scary.”

Shane laughs. “No, I’m not. Don’t ever give me a reason, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Friends?” Shane holds out his martini glass.

Adam clicks it carefully with his, not wanting broken barware on the tab. “How about mutual acquaintances of a guitar player?”

Shane’s apartment

Tommy’s off in guitar-world when the door opens and the two men in his life stumble in, giggling, maybe two sheets to the wind, max. He wants to hate both of them. It’s late and why is Adam here and not in some hotel downtown? Because, apparently, Shane said that was silly and Adam can stay in the apartment.

The sleeping arrangements are bizarre. The sofa is far too short for Adam, so they pile up some blankets on the wooden floorboards.

In fact, as Tommy and Shane turn out the living room light and head for the bedroom, Adam actually says, “Is this the weirdest fucking sleeping arrangement that’s ever happened in the history of ever?”

“Good night,” Shane says. “I left a night-light on in the bathroom.”

Tommy tosses and turns in the bed, even when Shane tries to capture him and hold him. It’s just too weird. The guy he’s in love with - still, and he could slap his own face over it - is snoring on the living room floor not thirty feet away while the guy he loves is cuddling him here in bed. The extra airline ticket is on the kitchen table, and Adam had said to change it to whatever date he needs and Adam will pay for the difference. Tommy’s not leaving tomorrow even though he could pack everything in under five minutes. He’s not ready.

Life’s a total, total, total bitch.

In the morning they have a quiet breakfast together and then Adam drives off in his rental car, after leaving behind a folio of lyrics and a disc from the new album.

“Promo’s starting in a couple of weeks,” Tommy tells Shane. “I need to practice.”

Shane pulls Tommy onto his lap and loops his arms loosely around Tommy’s waist. “You need to do that in L.A., I think.”

Tommy nods, pressing his lips against Shane’s neck.

“Give me three more days,” Shane whispers in his ear.

Tommy nods again. He can’t talk anymore; he feels a crying jag working its way up from his guts.

Shane hugs him harder. “I’m always going to think of you as my little rockstar boyfriend.” He laughs; the sound is kind of ragged and desperate. “The time I was cool enough to have a pink-haired boyfriend who can shred like James Hartfield.”

“Hetfield,” Tommy corrects, muffled, giggling a little.

Shane tugs on a lock of pink hair. “Whatever,” he says fondly.

Kansas City, Country Inn Motel

That’s how fancy promo is: they’re staying in a motel. It’s been Adam and Tommy doing acoustic radio gigs for a few weeks now. It took several gigs to get into the groove, but they’re in it now. Tommy misses his electric guitars, but Guild gave him a gorgeous new acoustic so he feels pretty rockstar these days. Even having to get up outrageously early in the morning is manageable. He and Adam haven’t had fun like this together in months. It feels good.

They work out the arrangements together at every stop, practicing for a couple of hours when they get the chance. They have meals together and every few days they go out at night. Sometimes Adam gets paid to make appearances at clubs, and since they haven’t toured in awhile, extra money never hurts. They talk about everything but the thing that’s on both their minds.

Tommy texts and talks every day with Shane, who has been invited to go on a three-month research cruise to the South Atlantic and sounds very excited about it. The cruise leaves in a few weeks. Once he’s out there, contact will get a lot more sporadic.

Tommy misses Shane so much that he throws himself into even more rehearsal, more practice, more working out of arrangements, anything to keep his mind occupied. He wakes up exhausted and goes to bed exhausted, and that’s a good thing.

Two a.m. and he’s shoving his clothes back into his suitcase before sleeping, because they’ll be on the road first thing in the morning, damn it. There’s a knock and he calls come in because it’s just Adam, and Adam uses the spare key and lets himself in. He looks as tired as Tommy feels.

“How are the adds going?” Tommy asks.

Adam sits on the bed beside Tommy. “I hate this. It’s like being a door-to-door salesman.”

“So no new adds?”

“Not today.” Adam picks up a couple of black t-shirts and starts to fold them neatly.

“You don’t have to do that,” Tommy argues, reaching for the shirts.

“No way, you’ll just stuff them in there. You’re always so wrinkled.”

Tommy shrugs. “So what?”

“I want you to look hot,” Adam says, smiling carefully. “Is that bad?”

This is shaky ground, like being in the middle of a frozen lake that’s starting to crack. “Hot is for you, Adam. I’m just small and pretty.”

Adam tousles Tommy’s hair and Tommy ducks his head, grinning. “You’re hot like burning, sweetie. Do you still have that jacket I gave you, the one with the epaulets and the peace-sign buttons?”

Tommy nods. “It’s in L.A. Saving it for full-band gig.”

“You look incredible in that. I should arrange a full-band gig asap.”

“I’m going to dye my hair a new color, I think.” Tommy runs his hand through his hair.

“Trespassing yellow?”

“Wait and see.”

“Should we watch some YouTube of us today?”

“Think it’s up already?”

Adam snickers. “Fuck yeah, of course.”

They get snuggled up on the spare bed, the one that the suitcase and its contents aren’t spread all over. Every pillow in the room gets deployed and a comforter covers their feet. Adam fires up his iPad and sets it on his knees, one arm around Tommy’s thin shoulders.

It feels almost natural to be back like this, cuddling with Adam. Tommy has trouble really watching the videos. He’s too overwhelmed by the feelings that are still there, different, sadder, wiser, but maybe deeper, too. They’ve been through so much, and they’re both bitches, if he’s being honest. For all Adam’s talk of realness, it’s a lot harder to be real than just by saying it. Adam does have that tendency to blurt out his feelings and what he’s thinking, even if he sometimes mixes up realness with what he wishes was real, while Tommy’s tendency is to clam up and hold it in. Still, they aren’t that much different, not really. Not where it counts.

Tommy laces his fingers with Adam’s free hand. “Shane told me I had to find the right home, the one that fit me.” Adam doesn’t know about the hermit crabs, so someday Tommy will tell him. Not right now. Some other day.

Right now, Adam squeezes his hand back. “I got so lucky that day you walked into the audition.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

Tommy hesitates. It’s time to be a little more open than usual. “When you sang Ring of Fire on American Idol, or anyway when I watched it later on the web, that was when.”

“When what?”

“I fell for you. Didn’t know what to do with it, though.”

There is some telltale glistening in Adam’s eyes. He turns away from Tommy, back to the video where they are playing Trespassing and grinning at each other like fools when they do it right. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, gorgeous. That’s when I knew.”

Tommy making a humming sound. “It’s a good thing I was willing to learn how to play bass, then.”

Adam pulls Tommy close against his shoulder and kisses the top of his head. “Tommy, I’m sorry for everything.”

“Me, too.”

“I was an idiot.”

“Can we not talk about this ever again?”

Adam laughs. “Yes, let’s not.”

They watch a bit longer. “I can’t believe you had to stop me that time,” Tommy says. “I was totally on autopilot.”

“That was hilarious,” Adam agrees. “Sleepy Tommy.”

Tommy yawns, as if on cue. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” he asks, tilting his head to look up at Adam in the soft light.

Adam looks back, his eyes still sparkling but not threatening to spill over any longer. “I think so. You know… kismet.”

Tommy giggles. “Kiss me, dork.”

So Adam does.

The End