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Jensen woke with a start. The world around him was still missing all of its colours, a confusing flat greyness with no recognisable form. It took him only a heartbeat to snap out of the twilight and back into the solid, knowledge and memories cutting objects out of the fog, returning reality. For another heartbeat he felt regret linger at the edge of his consciousness, before the feeling faded into the void that had just spat him out. He was left with the beeping and blaring sounds of an alarm clock. Despicable and mean and utterly annoying. As usually, the world greeted him with a punch.
Out of reflexes, Adam whacked the clock into stunned silence. He winced as the plastic groaned under his metal fist. Red digits blinked defiantly at him from the cracked case. 5.30 am. Rise and shine... Adam raised an eyebrow at the ungodly hour.
“You are such a freak.” he whispered into a mess of black hair.
Pritchard hadn't so much as stirred through all the racket. Adam smiled as he looked down at the sleeping technician curled up next to him. He looked like a younger, carefree version of himself as sleep had smoothed out the lines of worry, exhaustion simply overriding the rules of daily grind. Carefully, Adam brushed his hands over a naked shoulder.
You are a ghost. A fucking tragedy. Everything you touch, everything that touches you, dies.
The echo didn't cut any less sharp than the spoken word. A dead man's word, a ghost's recording in his head, reminding him of all the people, dead, because of him. And yet he was still here, still alive, still kicking. And he would be screaming too, endlessly, were it not for the dry lump in his throat that threatened to choke the life right out of him whenever he opened his mouth. He took a deep breath.
Survivors guilt. he thought, equal parts amused and desperate. There was a pill for that, right?
Sleep had left him and he sank back down into the sheets, staring into the grey above. The rain still kept falling outside, far away from him, and washed the dirt and the blood off the streets below. Tidying up the nursery for the next day, to give it a chance to start all fresh and clean. Adam rose silently off the bed and made his way over to the window. He lifted the shades and gazed into the new morning that was announcing itself in shy pastel colours. A dash of pink and yellow and light blue on the horizon, it approached. As cute a thing as any newborn, and as burdened with hopes and dreams and expectations before it ever made its stumbling first steps. Adam watched the weeping clouds and he too felt like crying.
You should leave. a raindrop said, as it travelled by his window.
You promised not to. said another.
It will kill him if you stay.
It will kill you if you go.
Think about the guilt.
Think about the regret.
Voices faded past him as the rain fell and fell.
The window clicked under the touch of his hand. It felt cool against his forehead. He listened to the raindrops as they threw themselves against the glass, viciously now like they were trying to reach him, to get through to him so they could seep into his skin and flush him out. All of them splattered on the invisible barrier only a few inches thick. Adam closed his eyes and felt them pound against the glass in futility.
Time passed. The world fell quiet. A shimmer of gold caressed his face.
When Adam looked up, the rain had finally stopped. The clouds had spent themselves and hung exhausted in the sky, ready to get shooed away by the rising sun, its rays already poking and prodding the frayed blanket. They warmed his face and soul. The clouds would gather their strength and return, bloated with all the dust and fumes and poisonous air the city provided, but not for now. Adam left the shades open as he walked slowly back to the bedroom. As he went, books balanced excitedly on the edges of shelves that could barely contain them. They all wanted to get a good look at the strange man-machine who had come to their home. Adam, in turn, stopped to look at them. He searched for familiar faces in the crowd and what they would tell him about the person they belonged to. It made him smile. He reached out and took one of them, sending a little dust flitter drowsily about. He returned to bed then, paperback comfort at his side.
Francis was still asleep. Undisturbed, the idea of a smile on his lips and Adam felt himself tingling as he watched him. His body was humming, tuning itself to a melody he didn't quite understand yet. He slid back under the warm covers quietly. He opened the book and began to read while his fingers, all by themselves, went to play with strands of raven hair.
When Pritchard woke up, he felt different. He was wrapped in cotton and everything outside the shell of his very skin seemed muffled and far away. The first thing he consciously noted was absence. There was no jolt of guilt that had startled him awake. No lump of dread cramping up his stomach. But there were tiny aches in his muscles as he stirred, flexing and stretching his limbs with eyes closed. His heartbeat quickened as he sent a faltering hand scouting for someone lying next to him. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and see nothing.
It needn't venture far. Something warm and heavy dented the mattress right beside him. Frank opened his eyes and blinked against the morning light.
Adam was lying on his back, head propped up in the crook of his right elbow while his left hand rested on the back of a book that had slipped from his fingers and now lay nestled against his chest. His eyes were closed and from time to time he was snoring ever so softly. Frank let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and sat up slowly, starring at the sleeping man he had never really seen before. Made of less hard lines, less sharp angles, Adam seemed relaxed, content for once. The bitterness that had moved in months ago to squat the corners of his mouth had left. Now the soft curve of lips looked up at Frank invitingly, daring him to come down and claim them. And he found himself wanting so much that it hurt.
Oh no. he thought. Please, no...
It was a useless plea. His body had betrayed him years ago and his mind had yielded gradually over time. And now... well. Gently, he took the book from Adam's limp hand. He smiled as he recognized his old copy of Asimov's I, Robot.
Frank tried not to make a sound that could disturb this moment of peace and just watched the steady rise and fall of Adam's chest, not knowing what to do, not wanting to do anything but drink in the sight before him. To memorize every detail right down to the last freckle, so it would stay with him when his bed was once again empty. As it was bound to happen. All too soon Adam would wake up and go back to being the hero, throwing himself at danger, saving the world and its beautiful damsels, and he, he would go back to his computer screens and his fantasies and with a little luck everything would return to normal between them without too much awkwardness. Time would slow down the emotional roller coaster he was riding, cover its tracks with soft moss and rust and flatten out the spikes. No high-ups but without too deep a Down either. Frank swallowed the urge to reach for Adam, unable to let go of this moment that belonged to him only. Of that Alternative Universe where he could wake up next to this man on a regular basis. Just one more second, one more minute and he would move on. And he would have, truly, but Adam chose exactly this moment to open his eyes.
He was staring into orbs of blue. Not blue like the sky, light and carefree, watching dispassionately from above as he struggled to reach it. But blue like the sea, dark and deep and compassionate. The sea, who had been engulfing him in its quiet embrace, promising to soothe his worries and still his thoughts. He liked it better than the sky now, the far away and never to be touched sky, who told him lies, told him to fly only to watch him tumble towards earth, blazing like a comet as his wings were consumed by fire. The cold sea had caught him. The cold sea had saved him. The cold sea which held so many mysteries but not a single lie. The cold, cold sea...
Shreds of a dream still clung to him. He was too drowsy to shake them off. Two eyes in a face that he had seen in his dream guided him as he made his way towards wakefulness. Confusion faded.
The world resumed its spin.