Work Text:
Below the dark gloom of the night sky, Thatcher stood leaning against the cold brick walls of the MCPD. Besides him, Adam idly sat mindlessly, staring up into nothing. What was going through his head? Thatcher didn't know, he could never figure it out. How could he, when those dull, expressionless eyes held no gaze, but instead, created more questions in his mind?
But still, Thatcher knew for a fact that Adam wasn't like the other alternates. Adam was just as much of a victim as he was -no doubt about that.
Thatcher reflected for a moment, Adam's entire identity was torn away from him, stolen and torn into unfixable pieces. An impact so life-changing and horrendous that Thatcher didn't know how Adam could ever recover.
Thatcher's insides twisted pitifully at him; his hands clenched towards the unforgiving fate the "man" was condemned to.
You've become vulnerable, Lieutenant.
The cop shuddered.
He couldn't get that night out of his head, the events that transpired 3 days ago.
The frightening, daunting image of Adam, laying nude and contorted on his disordered bedroom floor, with an empty bottle of bleach laying besides his abnormal, warped body. He could recall every eerie detail; the boy's dislocated, pale figure, stretched out in an uncomfortable length, specifically his bony arms, twisted legs and his lowly hanging jaw, which barely held on by his drooping skin. He remembered the deafening screams and agonised sobs. His desperate pleas still rung in his scrambled mind, the begging shrieks for death.
It was... a lot of things: terrifying, overwhelming, loud, confusing -but for the most part, sad.
And quite unfortunately, Thatcher was a weak man.
He used to think of himself as a man of his word, except now he couldn't even bring himself to feel any sort of resentment against the pathetic alternate sitting besides him, despite his enraged vows of eliminating all of the demons, those heavy words he promised almost two decades ago, for Ruth... for the Heathcliffs...
Yes, Thatcher was a very weak man.
Tiredly, Thatcher gazed upon the dim sky; taking in comfort from the cigarette between his fingers. Among the distance, the was no sound of anything; no active cars, no people, not even any animals. It was just the eerie lack of anything.
And in Mandela County, that was never truly the case, something was always lurking. Whether it was right in front of Thatcher or in the back of his mind, he could feel it all the time.
Thatcher spared a worried glance at Adam, who was still sat down at the floor, simply peering into the empty distance.
Thatcher continued smoking, and for a few minutes, it was silent, almost peaceful.
"Give me one."
Thatcher looked down in surprise; well, he hadn't expected that.
"You... Want a cigarette." Thatcher stated dully, not even a question. He eyed Adam warily; it didn't seem like a good idea to give it to him. Who knows how fucked up Adam internal system was, hell, did he even having functioning organs? Probably not. He stared down at Adam and-
It was those damn beady, black eyes again.
Thatcher sighed wearily, feeling conflicted.
Begrudgingly, he slowly lent out a cigarette, not taking his eyes off him.
He couldn't help but notice a subtle hint of desperation in his -usually empty- eyes.
And Thatcher had a feeling he wanted something more than just a cigarette.
"So, uh... Any reason you asked? or you just felt like it?" Great fucking job Thatcher, you awkward bastard! How the hell is he supposed to respond to that? You just made it harder for the poor guy to communicate!
Rigidly, Adam looked up, his slit, blinding, white irises were fixed on him. Thatcher felt like he was being put on the spot, despite the fact that he wasn't the one being questioned.
The silence dragged on for almost a full minute, Thatcher couldn't help but awkwardly shift and turn his gaze away. Still, he returned the stare and patiently waited.
"...I, wa..want..." Adam painfully croaked.
"to... feel again." He ended with a shuddered sigh, dropping his head down to his naked chest and folding in on himself. His body went stiffer and his long arms wrapped around his thin legs. The single cigarette was crushed between the pressure of his bony fingers.
Oh.
Oh, fuck, Thatcher thought.
The man let out a sad sigh, staring sympathetically at the ball of misery beside him.
Thatcher tensed up, he had no fucking clue what to do.
He reached his hand out for him, but immediately retreated out of uncertainty. Oh, how he so desperately wanted to comfort him. Instead, he slowly crouched down in front of him.
"And... How are you feeling now?" He made sure to keep his voice quiet and soft.
"..."
"...Empty, as if im starving... But not from hunger." He strained out quietly, still keeping his head low.
Thatcher would be lying if he said his heart didn't shatter again.
"Y'know, drugs aren't the best way to cope, um."
"..."
"BUT, uh, don't take me as an example, alright? I know, I know, it's hypocritical of me." He rushed out the words, hoping that he said at least one helpful thing. Fuck, he was panicking now.
Keep it together, Thatcher, you're not the one who needs help here.
He regained his confidence and sat down on the cold ground in a crossed-legged position, facing Adam.
"Listen," He cleared his throat, "I'm not tryna lecture you, kid. I'm just tryna look out for you, okay? I'm here for you." Adam's body slightly jumped from that. Thatcher relaxed slightly. OKAY, this was a good sign. He continued.
"And I know that things... haven't been the best for us, but, I really do care for you, kid. I'm not scared of you at all."
Adam shivered and trembled; the man could hear the poor boy heaving heavy gasps.
"Stop it."
"Listen, you've had your identity taken away from you, I know how that feels."
"...Shut up."
"And-"
"SHUT UP." Adam shrieked out of anger, his voice distorted at the last word, an eerie silence feel upon the two for a minute. Adam couldn't bear to look at him, his head was facing down in shame. Still, his appearance didn't show any distress, it never did; only the remote, uncanny look was plastered on his elongated face.
It was a strange juxtaposition between his face and voice.
Thatcher shook off the heavy force weighing on his shoulders and scooted closer, he finally reached his hand out again and started to slowly ruffle his hair. He felt a spark of relief when Adam relaxed from it. He continued the soothing motion.
"Adam, you've been wronged by THEM as well; you're also a victim. It's not your fault, you hear me?"
Adam was breathing heavily now, angry pants forcing its way out of his tight throat.
"NO. I AM THEM! I... I WRONGED OTHERS!" He wailed, finally looking up to Thatcher. The bottom half of his face was still covered by his lanky legs but his watery eyes and long nose bridge was visible.
Thatcher ignored the thumping ache in his heart. He was making progress. He could do this. Gradually, he moved his hand to wipe his tears. With wide eyes, Adam flinched in shock.
"Why... Lieutenant?"
"...Why are you doing this... For ME?" He quietly cried.
"Because you deserve it, kid."
"No one should ever go through what you're living right now. You have regrets, I know."
.
. .
. . .
"We can solve this together."
Now, Adam was fully facing him; his body was relaxed. Thatcher continued to rub his face gently.
"You aren't what those alternates say you are, you're human."
"I... have also ruined lives." He thought of Ruth, the Heathcliffs, the Murrays. His fatal mistakes caused by the shackles of the MCPD.
He felt his throat tighten and voice wobble.
"And I will not fail you too, kid." He declared fiercely. His heart pounded hard and heavy but he locked eyes with Adam, and-
Wait.
Adam stared at him with a look of... nothing. The tears had stopped. His face was still as dormant as the day he found him. But... it felt odd.
Wait.
Thatcher dropped his hand down to his side; suddenly feeling a rush of discomfort and unease.
Had he made a mistake?
You fool, Lieutenant.
A tense silence.
You
fool
,
Li
eut
ena
nt
.
Adam lunged at him.
w.
ha
t
.
?
Time had stopped.
Yet,
everyth
ing went so
fast.
Two bony arms wrapped around his torso.
.
.
.
His vision was blocked, by a
flat, thin-
skinned chest.
He felt a surprisingly light weight on his lap.
?
.
"...Thank you... So much, Lieutenant..."
A mumble.
From Adam?
Oh. They were hugging.
Adam was hugging him.
Thatcher's heart overwhelmingly flooded out and bloomed. He gladly embraced him back, feeling his cold, watery back and slightly protruding spine.
Adam eased up in his strong arms, carefully resting his pointy chin on top of Thatcher's head. Thatcher exhaled in relief and... joy."I'm gonna kill this thing if it's the last thing I fucking do."
Love.
He felt love.
Pride
hope
.
The night continued its gloom above their heads; but they weren't afraid.
Not anymore.
Ever since Ruth's death, Thatcher could only feel despair whirl in his heart, his mind, everywhere. But now, he almost... felt like himself back in 1992 -before everything happened- where he was full of hope and determination.
ho p e ?
Everything had changed again, but not for the worst. He finally had a goal now, to protect his kid and to not fail him, not like how he failed everyone else. He stared up at the clinging alternate boy on him, a surge of parental instincts burgeoned in him.
He had a kid.
He had always wanted a kid.
Adam's desperate grip tightened on him and Thatcher reached his arm out full length to pat his head. A genuine smile stretched Thatcher's taut face.
"Come on, kid," He softly whispered.
"Time for bed."