AIRPS, Adam/Kris, Kris/Other, various, NC-17
Summary: In which Kris finds a puppy and the laws of probability change dramatically.
Notes 1: AU and crack, crack half and half, if you will. Or well, I'll be honest. This may have hit the full-fat version.
Notes 2: I love jamesinboots for being all "WHEE YES" and talking down my completely irrational panic and petting me until I agreed to breathe again. As she is like that.
Anna likes delicate looking blondes with Southern accents, as it turns out; it's eerie and Adam finds himself staring at Spot a lot, because there is like, coincidence, and then there's finding his PA soulmate in a gay Vegas dancer after potentially almost marrying (or watching Kris marry; he's still not sure which would have been worse) her roommate. The odds are astronomical, and also, creepy.
"Well, yeah," Katy says from France, where she's apparently shooting a film that may or may not be in French, or possibly guest starring in Merlin. "It's Spot."
"I don't get high anymore," Adam tells her venemously, looking at the latest memo from his publicist and blatantly ignoring the most recent recommendations of tracks for his next album. Their idea of edgy seems to be Alanis Morisette by way of Korn, and that's an unholy combination just as a concept--the reality is so much worse. "I have you. It's like an LSD trip a phone call. What the hell--"
"Bradley James is even hotter in person," Katy sighs, sidetracking the entire Spot question. "Check your phone--they had to shower three times today."
Adam gropes frantically for his iphone. "What were you--"
"Well," she says, sounding pleased. "I got a little dirty, too."
"Katy," Adam breathes, scrolling, "didn't they notice--"
"Adam," Katy answers, "go to number forty-eight…"
Adam takes a deep breath and tries to remember how to form sentences. "So that's how you got those pictures."
"They were kind of distracted," she purrs. "Happy?"
"Love you, bye," Adam answers, completely distracted. Spot crawls onto his stomach to glance at the phone with a slight air of disapproval. "You really don't appreciate--huh. So that would not have been my guess for top."
Adam is alerted to the hovering presence of Kris by Spot's cheerful bark, leaping off Adam's stomach (and cleverly knocking the phone face-down on the bed). Despite having lived here for over a year, Kris still acts like a slightly unwelcome guest instead of finally acknowledging his future as a permanent resident, though in the wrong room entirely. That conversation, Adam thinks, is one they should really have one day. "How was the date?" Since it's not close to midnight, Adams' going with horrible failure, because Kris is only slutty enough to tease, not enough to follow through if it's not working.
Spot growls a little as Kris picks him up, stroking his head gently as he sits at the foot of the bed. "Okay, I guess. Kind of--" Kris makes a see-saw motion. "She's. I don't know. Indecisive?"
Compared to Laura the Former PA, anything less than a 'yes, now' is probably pretty indecisive. Watching Kris slump over Spot, however, isn't something Adam can deal with. "Come here," he says, watching in interest as Kris immediately crawls up the bed, sprawling in what should be an awkward tangle of limbs and just isn't. Spot relocates to curl comfortably against Kris' hip, in easy petting range of them both. "You know, you don't actually have to date."
Kris sighs, folding his arms underneath his chin and staring at the headboard pensively. "I'm beginning to see the wisdom of that approach."
"There are tours to be planned, albums to be made, groupies to be--fine, no groupies, don't look like that." Kris sighs, and Adam reaches over, rubbing the back of his neck until he untenses enough to smile, lashes falling shut and bearing a startling resemblance to Spot at his bonelessly happy best. "You'll be fine," Adam murmurs, surprised at the tenderness in his voice, threading his fingers through Kris' hair. "Promise."
"I just forgot how hard this is," Kris murmurs, sinking into the mattress. "Katy and I just, you know? And it worked. I'm not good at this."
"No one is; some people just fake it better than others."
Kris sniffles a little, one hand groping out across the mattress; at first, Adam thinks he's looking for Spot, but when he finds Adam's t-shirt he twines his fingers in it, holding on. "Thanks for--you know. Waiting to make fun of me."
"I'm storing it up," Adam murmurs, following the slight pull of Kris' hand as Spot scrambles up the bed to make himself comfortable on the pillow above their heads. "Get some sleep."
Caroline the Orthodontist is the first time Adam realizes that saying "It's like watching the Discovery Channel" can be less a euphemism and more an actual literal description of events. Spot's reaction--bared teeth, eyes filled with hate--had been worrying enough, and only Adam scooping him up and retreating to the far couch where Anna had set up shop to make a huge mess of his schedule and cleverly get him out of every boring meeting by way of gross incompetence had saved them all from a protracted investigation by LA detectives and a serious cleaning bill.
Anna's reaction had been disturbingly similar; dropping on the couch, Adam holds Spot away from his throat and throws a leg across Anna's lap before she can get to her feet and from the look on her face, commit murder one in the middle of his living room.
Luckily, Kris and Caroline the Orthodontist aren't paying any attention at all, and Adam manages a frantic wave as they leave, shifting his weight until he's half in Anna's lap and half braced against the armrest; fuck, she's unnaturally strong. "What. The. Hell?" Adam hisses as the door closes, dropping Spot and checking his arm to see if he needs stitches. With a heave, Anna dumps him on the floor and goes for her laptop, typing frantically. "Are you--what are you doing?"
"Looking for places to hide her body, duh." Scrambling back onto the couch, Adam looks at googlemaps. "I don't know--who would have better people to cover up a dead body? I'm thinking George Lucas--"
"Are you crazy?"
Anna looks at him with crazy, crazy eyes. "That--are you serious? Did you see her?"
Adam stares his incomprehension.
"She's evil," Anna says, enunciating each word, "and we have to get rid of her before she kills Kris. Okay, you're not rocking Lucas--how about Cameron? Wouldn't be the first time--"
"I'm seriously wondering why I hired you," Adam says slowly, even though he doesn't. Spot returns from staring longingly at the door and plants himself in front of the couch, looking at Adam in horrified disappointment.
"At this point, I'm wondering why I accepted--you need people for this. I really have to talk to your publicist this week," she answers, opening another window. "Here we go--okay, they're on their way to the restaurant. So far so good."
"Are you--stalking Kris?" Adam forgets he's kind of terrified; she's brilliant.
"I bugged his phone's GPS," Anna answers, typing something into a pop-up box he doesn't recognize as part of the googlemaps family of programs. "Yours too."
Adam nods; of course she did. "Kind of figured."
"Anyway, alert set--when they leave the restaurant, we'll be ready to track where they go." Sitting back, she moves the laptop to the floor and taps her knee. "Come on, Spot, it's okay."
With a distrustful look at Adam, Spot leaps into her lap. As he settles under her hands, Adam stares between them and tries to decide what question he wants to start with.
"Okay, so," Anna says, "you are so much less LA than I thought."
"Crystals and astrology, sure, but--couldn't you sense something wrong there? Her aura screams serial killer--I can't believe you didn't feel it!"
Adam opens his mouth, then shuts it. He had to have heard that wrong. "Serial killer?"
"Totally." Scowling at him, she pulls Spot up against her chest, stroking his head. "Don't worry, baby," she coos. "I got it covered." She glares at Adam. "Unlike some people here, I pay attention."
"You think she's a serial killer?"
"Um, yes, and if you'd warned me, we could have gotten through this without Kris leaving the house!" she says, crazily. "Next time, give me two hours and I'll plant some coke in her car or something. We seriously do not need to deal with this kind of shit when it can be avoided. I'm staying here tonight; where's a spare bedroom?"
Adam blinks and points up the stairs.
"Cool. Listen for an alert--she has a one mile deviation, but I don't think she's going to try anything tonight. I'm going to take a shower; yell if it goes off?" Clutching Spot to her chest, she stands up. "Oh, and if Harry from security calls? Tell him I've got it this time. We'll set up a system tomorrow."
"Right." Adam picks up the laptop as she wanders away; he could call the police, but honestly, they've been to his parties. They'll just ask for some of the mescaline. "I'll just--sit here. And wait for an alert."
"We'll talk when I'm done," she calls terrifyingly from the stairs. Yeah, Adam thinks, staring at the two tiny dots--so she bugged Caroline the Orthodontist too? So not a surprise--and wonders if it's time to wake up.
Anna's crazy infects him; by midnight; Adam's pacing the foyer with his phone clutched in one hand and resisting the urge to call Harry and have him go get Kris and carry him home. Anna's enthusiastic agreement had convinced him it was in fact as insane as it sounded, but that doesn't change the instinct; suddenly, the tiny GPS dots are malevolent, and what if they both left their phones at the restaurant?
"They didn't," Anna answers, pointing at a green spot. "That's her car."
"I'm sure," Adam says, "that you should scare me. And yet I don't care."
"Whatever. I'm working for you." Wet blue hair bundled into a clip and face clean of make-up, she looks wholesome and kind of adorable, with a puppy in her lap and a light of vicious hatred filling her brown eyes. "Okay, so--just next time? If you're going to let him do this kind of shit--"
Anna rolls her eyes. "Is this like he's supposed to find himself or something and then realize he's been your boyfriend all this time and didn't notice? Because let me tell you, this is probably not going to be a situation where he's just going to go "oh, Adam, I should have known" though, yeah, he should know, can't fault you for that. This is going to be last man standing, you get me?"
"No," Adam says, but he kind of does.
"And that's why you have me." She frowns. "Okay, we have movement--" Taking out her phone, she thumbs speed-dial five, which apparently is Harry. "Hey baby--yeah, they're moving. It's a straight shot back; give her five hundred yards and then pounce if she deviates, got me? Love you too. Bye!"
Weirdly mesmerized, Adam watches the green dot wind its way through the Hollywood Hills and strangely, right by Cameron's house, which has a lot of space that could easily hide a body and holy shit, he's thinking about this. As the car passes security and pulls into the driveway, Adam fights the nearly irresistible to go outside, scoop Kris out of the car, and hide him somewhere highly defensible, because now that he thinks about it, Caroline the Orthodontist's perfect teeth had been bared in something that wasn't actually a smile.
A heart-stopping ten minutes after the car is parked, Kris comes in, looking at Adam and Anna in surprise. "Hey," he says, taking off his jacket and looking between them before picking up a frantically affectionate Spot. "What--"
"Tomorrow's schedule," Adam answers easily as Spot licks Kris' face with desperate enthusiasm. "Anna, my fridge is your fridge."
"Thanks, Adam!" she says, bright and a little awed, like a PA for Adam Lambert should be and she just isn't, ever. Kris gives her a wave, following Adam up the stairs with Spot locked in his arms. "Good night!"
Kris follows Adam into his room, a faint frown gathering between his eyebrows as he sits at the foot of the bed. "So?" Adam says, busying himself in the bathroom; his evening skin care routine couldn't compete with Anna yelling updates on how she was reorganizing his entire life roster to better facilitate 'handling these kinds of situations'. "Not that this will happen again," Anna had said darkly. Adam doesn't really want to know; he needs to be able to claim plausible deniability in front of a grand jury one day.
"I don't know," Kris answers absently. "I mean, she was nice, but she kept talking about my teeth. Like, a lot."
Adam comes to the doorway, moisturizer clutched in one hand and something in his brain slowly breaking. It feels like sanity. "Your teeth?"
"She's an orthodontist?" Kris shrugs. "She kept saying that a few bleachings, and they could be mistaken for pearls."
"Uh huh." Adam turns to stare at the container of exfoliator with a sinking feeling. "Pearls."
"She was wearing a necklace of them," Kris answers helpfully. "It was kind of neat, though I've never seen pearls that white before. They were kind of weirdly shaped, too."
Setting down the moisturizer carefully, Adam leans against the doorway to avoid falling. "You know," he says slowly, glancing at Spot, frozen beneath Kris' hand and staring at Adam in desperate hope, "I didn't really--get a good vibe from her."
Kris' head snaps up. "Oh?"
"Very much not." Coming back in the room, Adam sits down beside Kris. "Okay, take a shower and come back here; I was working on something and I want--"
Kris' uneasiness melts away immediately. "Sure." Putting Spot down on the bed, Kris gets to his feet. "Be right back."
As soon as Adam hears his door close and the shower come on (it's not beneath him to listen at the door when Kris' life is at stake), Adam creeps down the stairs to find Anna chatting on YIM. "Anna."
She turns to look at him in question.
"Teeth." Her eyes widen as she covers her mouth with one hand. Adam stares at the wall above her head. "Look, I don't want to know, okay?"
Anna drops her hand and grins. "Got it."
"…and then the next day, they find like, five bodies in her basement with no teeth," Adam tells Katy happily. "Close call there, but luckily Kris had decided not to see her again anyway." It had probably helped that Anna had hacked into Kris' voicemail and deleted her messages. Just in case.
"Wow." Katy blows out a startled breath. "How did they find out?"
"I don't know," Adam answers truthfully, since he hadn't checked Anna's computer, and God knows he's not nearly stupid enough to actually ask. It had involved the help of Kris' PA, who had given up autonomy after a two hour lunch with Anna, and now Anna, and by extension, Adam, has access to not only Kris' schedule, but most if not all of his movements. The only real limitation is when Kris forgets his phone, but Anna's "working on that" had encouraged him not to ask. Ever. "Close call, though."
"Yeah," Katy answers vaguely. "How's Kris?"
"Working on his album," Adam answers, less pleased; Kris is in the middle of writer's block and seeing him strumming his guitar with a hopeless expression has become a daily source of heartbreak. "I don't know--maybe I should get him out of LA for a while? Clear his head?" Avoid more accidental dates with tooth-stealing serial killers, which is a goddamn specialized career choice, true, but Adam's feeling paranoid these days. What are the chances of even finding one of those?
"Probably a good idea," Katy answers absently; two new sets of pictures have introduced Adam to more than he had ever thought he wanted to know about Bradley James' cock, and knowing does not preclude wanting to know more. "No, wait, I'm coming back in a few weeks, and I want to stop by and say hi."
Before Anna, Adam was the kind of guy who would not, of course, interfere with Kris seeing his ex-wife, even if he thought it was a.) a horrible, terrible idea and b.) a really fucking bad idea; however, this is after Anna and sudden cosmic powers attached to a laptop and the contents of two 4chan chatrooms, where Anna apparently spends more time than can possibly be healthy and regularly participates in raids on unsuspecting cat-abusers through three separate proxies. She's like an Evil Overlord ™ Minion or something.
He's still not sure what that makes him, but he's uncomfortably aware he can't keep up this level of denial for much longer.
Telling Anna about Katy's call, Anna frowns; she hasn't exactly moved in, more not-left, since she and her last girlfriend broke up and apparently, they share the same online social circles and she's worried about her condo being bugged or firebombed or something. "What flight?" she asks, opening the laptop.
"No." Anna scowls up at him. "She's his ex-wife. We like her!"
"Ex-wife," Anna says, slowly and clearly, like he's an idiot and doesn't know what the words stand for. "I am not feeling the affection."
"She's a small southern blonde," Adam answers dryly, wondering when he authorized Anna to turn another spare bedroom into a working office slash war room for Anonymous.
"And straight as fuck, if these reports are anything to go by," Anna answers huffily; reports? What reports? "Look, far be it from me to interfere--"
"But ex-wife. He's in a fragile place and half the reason Katy even divorced him was that she thought you were fucking him!" Anna answers terrifyingly; how the fuck does she know that? "She knows now you didn't, and Kris is vulnerable, and she's probably feeling all--nostalgic--and presto, we are in a complicated exes situation and seriously, I wanted to take a week off sometime soon, but if she's here there's no way I can--"
"We aren't. Doing anything. To Katy." With a physical effort, Adam doesn't add 'yet', because denial is not merely a river in Egypt but a lifestyle choice. "And anyway, Kris is--" Adam takes a deep breath. "He said he met someone."
Anna tilts her head back, staring at him upside down with an aggravated look. "She coming here first?"
"Yes." Leaning against the doorway, Adam tries to pretend this isn't exactly what it is.
Anna smirks. "See you then."
To Adam's surprise, despite ten minutes of staring at her (Adam keeps the memory of her discomfort to entertain him while Kris is out), neither Spot nor Anna react to Melody the Accountant; after Kris is gone, looking worried and pleased at the same time, Adam turns on Anna. "Okay, what the hell?"
"Well?" Anna exchanges a helpless look with Spot. "She's kind of--laid back?" She raises a hand, tilting it back and forth. "Kind of vanilla. I'm picking up interested in a committed relationship with optional children, three or five. Her work history bears that out."
Feeling betrayed, Adam leans over the back of the couch, staring over her shoulder at the state of California's work registration site. "Thirty and has had two jobs? One is a promotion, that doesn't even count."
"Stay at home mother with a degree in child psychology, father's a lawyer, two brothers and a sister all in creepily professional suburban careers, likes cats and dogs, paid off student loans," Anna drones fatalistically, changing tabs, "no arrests, no indictments, no speeding tickets, with a rock solid credit score and a minor in contemporary music. She also," Anna takes a deep breath, looking faintly nauseated, "has three writing credits with Sony and plays guitar."
"That's--" Adam stares at the screen, appalled.
"And," Anna says, with the look of someone bearing news of a recent death, "she loves American Idol and more specifically you, and has gone to like, half your concerts. She and Kris will have like, four dates of conversation before they get past your awesome, okay? Four. Dates. I mean, the first two won't even get past 2009. This? Is a problem."
Holy fuck, it is. "I really need to lie down."
"You really need to stop being a pussy and do something," Anna answers, snapping the laptop shut. "But. Believe it or not, there is rhyme and reason to the universe; Katy is on a plane back to LA for a surprise visit. Don't look like that. I know everything."
Adam looks down at a fall of pale green and pink-streaked platinum hair; since her break-up, she's been in an experimental color phase with highly questionable results. "So should I start drinking now or wait until I have to see the soap opera unfold in my living room?"
"Oh ye of little faith. Katy visits, sees Kris blissfully happy with a woman who isn't her; default, she's going to hate her. Kris will not be amused by her jealousy, the new girlfriend will not be amused that she's a shorter, less hot, ash blonde version of his actress ex-wife, and with any kind of luck, they'll take care of the problem for us!" Anna grins up at him, pleased. "And I don't have to hack into the FAA! Everyone wins!"
Her smile fades as she turns on the couch, looking at Adam, expression slowly changing from surprise to speculative to something very like satisfaction. "Oh," she says, voice soft. "Really."
Pushing himself off the couch, Adam starts toward the stairs, feeling Anna watching him. "Tell me when they get back."
"Oh, I will," Anna purrs. "And hey, if you have any ideas? I'm always available to listen."
Actual work-work, as it turns out, decides to interfere in Adam's personal life at exactly the wrong time; Adam has just enough time to greet Katy at the airport and watch Kris take her to get settled at her hotel before staring in betrayal at his surprisingly well-scheduled week and wonders why Anna suddenly decided to improve so dramatically in her PA skills.
"Just trust me," Anna answers vaguely when he calls her to ask why she's being a competent PA when really, her charm is that she's just not. "There's a plan."
Between soul-sucking meetings, endless hours in the studio adjusting no more than fourteen seconds of a single goddamn remix, and three horrible parties that would have been improved immensely by the application of PCP and a competent mass murderer, Adam realizes it's Friday and for the first time in his life, the very idea of going anywhere that isn't his bed makes him want to cry.
It's nearly one when Adam gets home to a dark house without a Kris-shaped presence leaving random lights on to facilitate night journeys to the kitchen or an Anna-shaped one to worry him about his own declining moral standards. Flipping on the light, the kitchen is irritatingly clean of cereal bowls and plates from microwave pizza. Between Melody the Accountant and Katy, Kris could literally be anywhere in LA; in fact, he could literally be between them, which he wishes to God Anna hadn't mentioned as a vague possibility because he's too tired to stay awake and that's a vision to haunt his nightmares.
Going into his room, Adam ignores the light switch and the fact he's still wearing shoes, crawling into bed with a low, pathetic moan and--the bed moves, and it's not him that moves it.
Adam thinks about panicking as an academic exercise and then realizes he just doesn't care. "If you're a stalker," he tells the vague left side of the bed before burying his face in a pillow, "I'll be horrified in about ten hours, okay? Just shut up until then."
The bed moves in what feels like embarrassment. "Um," Kris says shakily. "So you might think this is weird."
Adam lifts his head, surprised to find one am is not nearly as late as it was five seconds ago. "Kris?"
"Would you believe," Kris tries, head poking up from the vast distance separating one side of the bed from the other, "that I just mixed up our rooms?"
Levering both elbows beneath him, Adam stares at the Kris-shaped shadow and reaches over to turn on the lamp. It's been a week of near-misses, and apparently, Adam missed a lot more than he thought, because Kris looks terrible. Sunken brown eyes circled in rings like bruises, and a shade of pale more appropriate to those who live underground and call themselves mole people. Well, someone calls them mole people, anyway. "Whoa," Adam says softly. "Come here, baby."
Kris sighs, crawling across the bed to drop beside him moodily. This close, it's so much worse; Kris looks drained and exhausted and maybe a little bit angry, which is new and interesting information that Adam thinks really needs exploration right now. Shifting onto his side, Adam tucks a pillow beneath his head and watches Kris stare up at darkened ceiling fatalistically.
"You look like shit," Adam says, though to be fair, Kris' worst days are still an order of magnitude better than most people's best. Kris grins a little, the corners of his mouth softening in a rueful smile. "Okay, tell me. Publicist, representation, label, crazy fans--"
"Katy," Kris answers, adding with a hint of deeply appreciated spite, "and Melody." Folding his hands on his belly over his threadbare t-shirt, Kris sighs. "They just--" Kris blows out a breath, obviously hoping Adam can interpret that correctly.
Weirdly enough, he can. "National Geographic's Eternal Enemies: Lions and Hyenas?"
"But messier," Kris agrees in resignation. "So you know, I bravely went into hiding."
"As one does," Adam says sympathetically. "Though your problems seem to be those that end up as fantasy sequences on sitcoms, I just want that on the record."
Kris grins tiredly. "It's a lot less fun when you figure out it's not really you at all," he answers. "You know, I get she was a murderer and everything, but Caroline at least wanted me, even if it was just for my teeth."
Well damn. "And that," Adam says, pushing himself up, "is like, beyond a cry for help. Get up. There are times in life that demand pay per view, and this is one of them."
"I think we're out of ice cream," Kris says thoughtfully.
"I'll take care of it," Adam says, working his phone out of his jeans with an effort and hitting speed-dial four. "That's why Anna is the most overpaid PA in LA. Go choose a movie and--"
"Rum?" Kris says, sounding hopeful.
"I taught you well," Adam answers approvingly as the phone begins to ring. "Want anything else?"
Kris grins back. "Hurry."
Spot is draped comfortably over the opposite side of the couch by the time the third movie ends; even more satisfactorily, Kris is sprawled belly down across Adam's lap, one arm tucked under his head and the other wrapped securely around Adam's thighs, bonelessly content beneath a light blanket and mouth faintly shiny from melted ice cream.
Adam looks up at the soft pad of feet and sees Anna's too-short pajamas riding up her ankles and a slight smile on her face as dawn breaks just outside the half-drawn curtains. "I fell asleep messing up next week's schedule," she says with a yawn, looking at Kris with tired sympathy. "Sorry about this week. We're back to regularly scheduled programming."
"Do I even want to know what happened this week?" Kris' version had been low-key and fairly understated; Adam's translation of Southern Laconic-to-LA English is a little shaky but kind of horrifying if he's right.
"What always happens when a person is mistaken for an object," Anna answers tiredly. "And when that person starts to wonder if that's all they are." Crouching, she looks at Kris, biting her lip. "It does something to you, you know, when you're suddenly famous overnight for a pretty voice and pretty face and everyone's defining you by it."
Adam's fingers freeze in Kris' hair, making Kris shift, eyes opening sleepily, blinking at the sight of Anna. "Hey."
"Hey, sweetheart. You up for brunch today or can I cancel it? Because I kind of already did?"
Kris yawns. "If you managed to outtalk Melody, I'm totally buying you a car."
"I like cars," Anna says helpfully. Standing up, she braces a hand on the arm of the couch. "I miss my condo. If Reina doesn't fucking call off her scriptmonkeys, I seriously do not know what I will end up doing in a fit of sleep-deprived rage."
"You look worse than Kris," Adam says critically. "Which is saying something--ow! Bitch."
"Dick," Kris answers sleepily, rubbing soothingly at the place on Adam's thigh he'd pinched. "What are we watching?"
"Um." Adam squints at the TV. "No idea."
"Sit down," Kris tells Anna, gesturing toward the other end of the couch. Spot makes an affirmative sound, and after hunting up a blanket, Anna sits up for all of ten seconds before falling asleep across Kris' legs, Spot curled up in her arms. Kris shifts enough to turn his head, breath warm against Adam's belly through his t-shirt, and Adam cups the back of his neck and thinks about the difference between wanting someone for who they are and wanting them for what they represent. It's pretty easy to mix up the two, but Adam has never made the same mistake twice. He's not starting now.