Future Legend

by winterlive

Summary:

The late summer sun is high over the base today, hot and intense. Kris tilts his face up and closes his eyes, pretending the hunters got fresh meat today, and that there are rain clouds on the horizon that'll sift cool, clear water down on all their sweaty heads. Everybody has their happy place these days, but Kris tries to make his attainable. There's no point in wishing the last five years never happened, because they did.

Notes:

Written for the Queen Bitch fic challenge hosted by Lah. Authors were challenged to write a story based on a David Bowie song; I chose Diamond Dogs - though if I'm being honest, I kind of hijacked the entire album. Beta by Setissma. Editing, handholding, audiencing and all necessary eyerolling by Traveller, Yeats and Jamesinboots.

Trigger warnings in end notes.

FUTURE LEGEND

~

NUCLEAR BLAST LEVELS D.C.

- as near as we're allowed to go, ladies and gentlemen. For those of you just tuning in, we have confirmed that the nation's capital has been completely decimated by a ground-level nuclear explosion, and there appear to be no survivors. It's... excuse me. Ted, Jesus, just give me a second. -

Millions dead, U.S. Government in chaos

CIA suspects suitcase nuke; Evidence thin

Reports still arriving

A Nation Grieves: Vigils Across America

MARTIAL LAW DECLARED

- expect to have the new President sworn into office shortly, though who exactly will be taking that oath is yet to be determined -

Wide-reaching police crackdown

FOUR DEAD, HUNDREDS INJURED AT PROTEST IN BOSTON

Riots breaking out across the nation

- reporting live from Dallas where a huge group of civilians have overtaken the National Guard -

MICHIGAN LEGISLATURE ARSON AT HANDS OF MILITIA, THOUSANDS FLEE STATE

Independent unauthorized border patrols forming nationwide

Citizens advised to stay at home, prepare for worst

NEW YORK TIMES CORP. OUT OF BUSINESS?

News giant cites economic problems; Bloggers claim censorship by military

POWER PLANT EXPLOSION IN NJ

THOUSANDS OF RIOTERS KILLED IN KANSAS MELTDOWN

Media outlets shutting down across country

Lights Out, America

- repeat, please stay inside, wash your hands and limit contact with anyone outside your family. This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test. The W.H.O. and C.D.C. have declared a pandemic in progress -

- Hello? Hello. I'm trying every channel, here. If anybody can hear me... if anyone's alive out there, please. Please answer me. -

~

August, 2014
USAF El Segundo, Los Angeles

~

"I can't stay here," Allison blurts out, her voice cracking. She grips Kris's shirt tightly in her fists, and pushes against him almost hard enough to hurt. If he couldn't feel the tears soaking through the fabric, he'd never know; she never makes a sound when she cries.

"Easy," he murmurs, rubbing her back. She spends so much time being tough, spitting back at the grunts on patrol who try to make her stand up straight for inspections, or take issue with her mouthing off. She's never broken for them, even when she probably should have. Would have spared her that scar on her jaw, at least. But now and then, she'll come and cry against Kris's shoulder, and he figures that's fair. She didn't deserve any of this.

None of them did.

Kris doesn't cry for himself anymore. He's learned better, because just when you think the worst thing that could possibly happen has happened, and you're crying as hard as you can, something else comes along: horror on the news, the worst of all your nightmares in a big orange cloud, glass breaking and buildings burning faster than the firefighters can get to them, people dying no matter where you go, people you love, finally staring up at nothing.

So no, he doesn't cry anymore. Instead, he hugs Allison close. "Take it easy, honey."

"Hey," she whispers, lifting her red-rimmed eyes. "There's a plan. I heard."

Kris's stomach drops. "There's always a plan. Someone always tries, and he always gets shot down before he even touches the fence." There's a long, barren stretch of pavement between the tents and the wall, fading streaks of black all along it. They call it a lot of things - no man's land, the border, the killing fields - but nobody's ever confused. The space between them and the outside is important enough for a hundred names. Kris rubs Allison's shoulder and hugs her close. "We can't risk anyone figuring out we're here, Alli, you know that."

"I don't care," she gulps, pushing her face back into his shoulder. "It can't be worse out there, it just can't. I'd rather fucking die than stay in here, I can't even go to the stinking pisshole bathroom without someone looking at me, okay? You don't understand."

Kris sighs; he's never been the best person to argue this point with Allison. His keep-your-head-down attitude never goes over, she'd always rather fight. He glances over her head at Anoop, hoping for a little help, but Anoop's eyes are flat with disgust. "Don't look at me, man. Don't. These fucking fascists." He rubs a hand over his eyes and falls back onto his cot.

Allison goes over there to curl up against the wall by Anoop's cot and whisper about the great escape. Danny was talking to this guy, she says, and maybe they can finally get out, maybe they can all go live together in the canyons and be happy forever.

Well, that's not exactly what she says, but close enough. Kris gets up and heads outside for some air before he says something he'll regret.

The late summer sun is high over the base today, hot and intense. Kris tilts his face up and closes his eyes, pretending the hunters got fresh meat today, and that there are rain clouds on the horizon that'll sift cool, clear water down on all their sweaty heads. Everybody has their happy place these days, but Kris tries to make his attainable. There's no point in wishing the last five years never happened, because they did.

"Hey," says a harsh voice, and Kris feels the barrel of a rifle shove at his shoulder. He tries to keep his breathing even, keep from tensing up. Carefully, he opens his eyes and turns to face the sunburnt, heavily muscled man in front of him. The grunt looks tired and cranky, but he's alone. Nobody to show off for. "What the fuck are you doing?" he demands.

Kris puts his hands in his pockets. "Just getting some air. It's a hundred degrees in there." He tilts his head back toward the tent, casual and inoffensive without seeming weak. Weakness provokes them.

The grunt sticks out his jaw, debating for a second, and then nods. "Go down to the mess and make yourself useful instead of fucking around," he says. He's chewing on a twig, which is what they do now instead of smoking.

"Yessir." Kris nods, and turns in the direction of the mess. They don't need any help there, he's sure of it, but you don't give a patrolman any kind of excuse. Might as well just stay in your tent and hit yourself in the face with a nightstick.

It's funny, he thinks, walking down the neat row of canvas tents. He remembers being overjoyed to see the military show up. He remembers thinking, Thank God, the cavalry. And for a couple of years there, he wasn't even wrong. It was all right for a while, when there was a command structure and orders coming from somewhere. Back when there were still people trying to save them.

He arrives at the mess and pokes his head in. "Civilian. Patrol said you needed help?"

"Fuck off," comes the reply. It's what they always say, because patrol always sends them random civs when they get bored of wandering around posturing, and kitchen has to stop actually working long enough to tell them to get lost.

"Yessir," Kris replies, and turns around to go back to his tent.

On his way back, he spies Meg. They gravitate together, because no woman walks around the base alone even if she is dating one of the captains. There was a time he'd put an arm around Meg or bump her shoulder with his, but of course he doesn't do that now, in case anybody saw him touching her. He hasn't had so few beat-downs in the time he's been here that he's dying for another one. "Hey," he says instead.

"Hey," she replies, her wide, toothy smile as nice to see as ever, even if it does have a bit of desperation on the edges of it. "Going back?"

"Yep. Patrol caught me standing still."

Meg laughs. "They're not that bad," she says. "Just looking out for us."

"Sure," Kris nods, inoffensive. Meg's been with "Bish" for about six months now; he's one of the few officers that survived the mutiny a year back. Ever since, it's not worth the argument to badmouth grunts to her.

Kris takes care to come into the tent before her. He snaps his fingers when he does it, the signal they've all developed for shut up and hide your contraband. It stung like hell, the first time he had to do that on one of their own, but it can't be argued that she's drunk on the Kool-Aid and she's not coming back anytime soon. Alli scrambles off Anoop's cot and onto Kris's empty one, wiping her eyes so Meg won't ask and she won't have to lie. Danny emerges out of the huddle too; he must have come back while Kris was out.

Meg starts brightly discussing the sad little basketball league the grunts make tall civs participate in, and Kris has time to himself to frown about this so-called escape plan. Danny shouldn't be encouraging them. He's just getting their hopes up over nothing.

Nothing changes around here. You get a routine and you stick to it, that's how you stay alive. You don't think about eating rations again, and you definitely don't spend all your time thinking about the things you can't have anymore. You keep your head down, you don't speak your mind and you don't ask questions. When they say you should sing army songs or not fucking sing at all, that's what you do, and you thank God that you didn't end up on your back in the street, staring up at nothing. You don't cook up some ridiculous scheme to escape when there isn't any place to go.

There isn't another word about it until after lights-out. Meg and Allison are back in the women's section, and Mike's snoring in his cot, which almost drowns out Danny's whisper. "Are you awake?"

Anoop's voice is not a whisper, just low volume. "Dude, he can sleep through a surprise inspection."

Danny laughs softly, as does Kris. "Hey, Allen," Danny says.

Kris shifts onto his side, leaning on his pillow. "You guys aren't still thinking about that plan," he whispers.

"Tomorrow," Anoop says softly. "It's going down tomorrow."

"Come with us," Danny urges.

Kris can only sigh. "You guys are crazy. You're gonna get killed."

"We're going under the fence," Danny says. "I've seen the tunnel, it'll work. It's safe."

"Safe," Kris scoffs. "Come on. Even if the grunts don't catch you, what are you going to do for supplies? Where are you going to get water, or food? Or weapons?"

"We can make the canyon in less than a day," Danny whispers back. "There's fresh water there, and we can figure the rest."

"Anything'll beat here," Anoop puts in quietly.

"You're just saying that because you haven't been outside," Kris scowls. "At least we survive here."

"So fucking what?" Anoop rolls over, and Kris can picture his furious face. He's seen it enough times at mess, at rec, whenever Anoop has to spend time with their wardens. "Have you counted the brown people around here?" he asks, his voice a low hiss. "Have you noticed how there's one or two less every few months, every time somebody goes shellshocked?" He sneers the word, like the sick joke it is - people who make escape attempts aren't necessarily insane, but the grunts sure insist everyone says so. Anoop shifts again, and mumbles his next words so quietly that Kris almost doesn't hear them: "I'll take my chances with the fucking cannibals, man."

He can't help but shudder at the mention of the people outside the walls of the base. The patrols tell these stories every time they come back, maybe making themselves look brave and scary, but maybe not. The word "cannibal" refers to an outsider, even though their eating habits are only part of why they're terrifying: thin, filthy people who'd as soon shoot you in the face as look at you, and can, because they're all armed to the teeth. There's murder wherever you go, and rape is like the new national pastime. Something's wrong with their faces out there, covered in dirt and blood and maybe worse. They even cut themselves up for the scars. People have gone batfuck crazy, is the short of it, and God help us if they knew the base had people in it. If the cannibals knew what we had, they'd come and take us all.

Kris has thought about how it would be if he hadn't been brought here, if he'd become a cannibal. Maybe he just wouldn't know any different, if he were crazy. Ignorance is bliss.

Then he gives his head a shake. Danny's voice cuts across his thoughts. "So can we count you in?"

"No," Kris scowls. "You can't do this."

"We're going to," Danny growls. "We're taking Allison and we're lea-"

"Don't you dare," Kris spits, too loud. He claps his hand over his mouth as Mike grumbles in his sleep, turns over. Everyone holds their breath.

After a second, the snoring starts back up, and they slowly decompress.

"It's suicide," Kris whispers. "The canyon's a pipe dream, guys, come on. If it's fresh water, it'll be swarming with cannibals and they will eat you alive."

Anoop is barely audible. "She's going," he says. "With or without us, she said. If we're there, at least she'll be okay for a while."

Kris is silent. His heart feels like it's sliding down between his ribs, aging and sick and heavy. This is all that's left of his family, all he can count for sure are alive and healthy, and if Allison knows where that tunnel is, it's just a matter of time before she makes a run for it. They can't watch her every second, she's so determined, and he couldn't live with himself in here if she wasn't...

"Come on," Danny says, barely there.

Kris wets his lips. "I guess... I guess the worst that'll happen is, we die. Right?"

Anoop reaches over and pats Kris's cot, the closest he can get. "That's right, man."

Kris appreciates the effort. He dreams that night of the bones of his loved ones, empty and bleached on the glaring sidewalk; of sitting over them, feeling nothing and wishing he could cry.

~

The guy with the tunnel is the size of a Mack truck and has a beard like Grizzly Addams. The only reason Kris's instinctive paranoia checks itself is the way the guy treats Allison. "One more time," the guy says, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"Eyes, balls, toes," she repeats dutifully. "Try to stay where the buildings are low and watch the rooftops, not just the alleyways. Never go anywhere alone, not even to pee. My priorities are water, food and shelter, in that order, and anything I want is something I have to carry."

Grizzly looks up at the rest of them. "You guys got all that?"

Danny shifts his canteen strap. "How can we tell if water's clean? We're gonna get everything we drink off the ground, pretty much, right?"

"I'd be surprised if you found a water bottle," Grizzly agrees, and starts in explaining to Danny what their best bets are for decent found water, what they'll experience if they drink stagnant or poison, how to tell the difference based on where the pain hits you first.

Kris puts his arm around Allison and asks for the eleventh time: "Are you sure?"

"You could always stay," she offers, leaning into him. "I know you're... comfortable here."

Kris rubs her arm instead of answering. He could shout at her, he could shake her and try to make her understand, but that'd be pretty much the antithesis of the point. So he kisses her dark hair and hugs her tight. "Place wouldn't be any fun without you," he says softly.

Grizzly interrupts them with a wave of one big hand. "Patrol's due back any minute, guys. Make sure you hide the exit on the other side."

Anoop steps up and shakes the guy's hand. "Thanks, Tom." Danny follows after, and Allison plants a kiss on one of his bearded cheeks. Kris can see the gentle smile on Grizzly's face, and wonders why he stays - if he's got kids, maybe. He shakes the man's hand too, and they trade a serious look that the others don't see. Kris wishes him well.

Then he follows his friends behind an empty crate, and carefully drops down into a hole in the cool, dark earth.

It's narrow, once they get crawling. Kris can feel dirt in his hair, under his fingernails and gritting down into his collar, sifting loose as his shoulders bump the walls. At one point Anoop, who's in the lead, makes a sharp sound. Everyone asks at once if he can see the exit, but he only put his hand down on a rock, so they push on. It seems too long they've been down here, it feels like they've been crawling for an hour and there's no light - that's the worst part, that he can't see Allison's boots in front of him even though he knows they're there, and it's hard to breathe with three people ahead of him all kicking up the dust; he's coughing and coughing and it feels like he just breathes in more dirt. Kris has never had claustrophobia, but if it's like this with your heart hammering in your chest and a vague sense of nausea and panic, panic, he doesn't understand how anyone lives with it.

At long last, Anoop shouts again, and this time it's for real. Kris can hear the others sighing as he does, and suddenly they're all pushing forward on sore hands and knees. Kris sees movement first, and then a shape, and before he knows it he can see Allison eclipsing the light, a bright halo around her. Anoop's relieved laughter is followed by Danny's, and then Allison wriggles away and Kris can see the blue sky.

When he first pulls himself up and out of the ground, the wildflowers and trees are like a painting, unreal compared to the gray concrete base. A little ways away there's a row of houses. Danny and Allison are chasing each other through the grass to stretch their legs, and Anoop is sprawled like a starfish, making a man-sized dent in the underbrush.

Kris closes his eyes and breathes deep, with nothing over his head or pushing at his sides.

"Wait," Danny says, his voice suddenly low and urgent. "Do you hear that?"

Kris drops into a crouch and listens as hard as he can. When long minutes have ticked by with only the wind in the trees, they come together and get serious. They promised Grizzly that they'd hide the entrance, which they now figure means trying to erase the fact that they were here. Allison, as the fussiest of them all, is tasked with trying to get the grass to look like it was when they emerged. When she's satisfied, they troop out of the field toward a nearby stretch of road.

The road is a highway, as it turns out. There are cars all along it, smashed wrecks. "Hey," says Anoop, pointing at a sign. "It's the PCH."

"Too close to the water," Danny says, shaking his head. "There'll be cannibals."

Anoop squints down the road, and Kris can almost see him engaging the small unit tactics courses that the army gave everyone, right when everything was starting. "If we head that way, I'm pretty sure we'll hit the freeway. That'll get us straight up to the canyons and keep us up off the street. We should be able to see anything that might come at us."

They look at each other, trying to think of any holes in the plan, and then nod. "Me and Danny up front," Kris says firmly. "Allison behind us, on watch, and then the smartest guy in the back." He grins at Anoop, who winks back at him. It's the first time he can remember seeing Anoop do that in... God. Maybe since Before. It makes him seem brighter, somehow.

Allison bumps Danny's shoulder with her own. "We're cannibals now, too," she says. "We're outside."

Nobody has much to say to that, but she doesn't seem to mind.

They form up and head down the highway. It's flat and clear, and when they hit Sepulveda they decide to turn north. It's the fastest way, Anoop is sure, and Allison agrees because of this shop she used to love, back in the Before. She says it was over that way, just a couple of streets. They'll be hemmed in by the shopfronts, but it's a huge boulevard, so Kris figures they can risk it.

At first, every twitch of the palms in the breeze makes them freeze up, but as they walk, they get used to it. There's almost no sound, though as they make their way down the road, a rusty old door blows open and the scream of it sends all of them into an instant panic. They spend five minutes hunched together against a car, arguing in fierce whispers over whether they should be making it a priority to find guns.

Then the door blows open again, and this time Allison spots it. They all laugh until tears run down their faces, and by the time they've got their breath back again, the sun's a little lower and it's time to get moving.

They make it all the way to Fox Hills before anything finds them. They're just crossing under the freeway, enjoying the shade, and Kris has taken the opportunity to stretch his neck without the sun blinding him. That's why he's looking in Danny's direction when something moves beside the tire of a car, right by Danny's foot. "Danny," he calls softly. "C'mere."

"What's up?" Danny asks, veering over. He must see the look on Kris's face, though, because halfway there he turns around to see the rattlesnake following him, already raised up with its black eyes fixed on his legs. Danny freezes like a rabbit.

Allison and Anoop have stopped moving, but Kris can hear Allison breathing heavy. "What do we do?" she whispers, terrified. "Shit, what do we do?"

The snake's head swivels to her and it hisses, longer than Kris thinks it should have breath to do. Its scales have a slick shine to them, like it's been rolling in motor oil.

"Need a stick or something," Danny says, strangled and low. He turns to look around, and the snake swings back to him and puts its head down a little. It looks pissed. Danny freezes again.

Suddenly, a low whistle comes floating through the tunnel. Kris can't help but glance, because Jesus, what now?

He sees nothing, but there's a ticking sound, and Kris spies the pebble jumping down the street toward them.

The snake hisses at it, looking around at them, getting madder and madder, and just when Kris thinks he's gonna start shrieking like a baby if they don't do something soon, one of the loudest sounds he's ever heard comes ripping through the tunnel and the snake's head explodes.

Kris clutches his chest, digging his fingernails in, because if he doesn't his heart is going to leap out of it.

"Get back," comes a rough shout from the other side of the overpass. "It's mine."

Kris spins around and sees a man standing there, and he's got a gun pointed right at them. Kris puts his hands up and backs up. "Come on, come on," he whispers urgently, but he doesn't have to because Danny's already going and Anoop is pulling Allison. As they hit the far wall, Kris gets a look at the shooter.

His hair is cut short, blond and red, and tucked under a visored army hat. He has a bit of a beard, but not enough to hide the grim set of his mouth. His eyes are narrow on them, and Kris doesn't doubt the guy would shoot any one of them dead with hardly a thought. He's wearing what was probably once a nice white dress shirt, but is now stained to hell with dirt and sweat and blood. It's rolled up to his arms and tucked into his jeans, and his tough black boots are laced over the top of that. They used to lace their boots like that in Vietnam, Kris remembers, his brain kicking out some old Discovery channel. It was so the creepy crawlies couldn't get you. On the man's belt is a bunch of stuff, but at least two knives that Kris can see.

Cannibal, whispers a voice in his mind.

With ease, the man walks up to the snake and lifts it. Keeping a suspicious eye on the four of them, he tucks his gun into a holster on his belt and then twists the remains of the snake's head off. He drops one bloody handful on the ground, and the body of the snake he slings over his shoulder, holding the stump away from his body so the blood can drain onto the ground. "Well?" he says, lifting the gun out again with his free hand on his jeans. "I don't know you. What're you doing in Culver City?"

Nobody knows what to say for long enough that finally Anoop's instinctive curiosity takes over for them. "I thought we were in Fox Hills."

The man looks at them skeptically. "Fox Hills has been Culver territory for the last three years. Where are you from?"

Danny takes a step forward, a breath in. Kris is just barely fast enough to get a hand on his shoulder and pull him back. "We're from south of here," he says. "We're sorry, we don't know much about what's up north. It was a bad situation."

Behind the car, Allison looks at him like he's gone crazy. He ignores that, because if the man's going to talk to them like a real person, then he might as well talk back. He can lie, and Danny can't, and the decision's made now; too late.

The man eyes him for a minute more, and then seems to relax. He scratches the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Well, you sure don't look like you've been on your own for long. What happened to your weapons?"

"We brought what we could," Kris says. "Would you know a place we might be able to scrounge up something extra?"

The man frowns. "Depends. Everything along the freeway'd be picked clean. You could try looking west of it, but there's always a chance you'll run into hunters out there. Where are you headed?"

"...The canyons?"

The man lifts an eyebrow. "Well, why you'd wanna go there, I don't know, ain't nothing but forest. But if you're dead set on it, it's gonna take you straight through the Dogs." He pauses for a second, and then shudders deeply. "You don't want to meet up with the Dogs, trust me on that. Those fuckers are crazy."

"Where's their territory?" asks Danny.

"North of ours," the man says. "All the way up. I don't ask, man, I wouldn't go there if you paid me. Some people, after, you know. They just went psycho." He shivers again, lighter this time.

"And there's no way to the canyons that isn't through their territory?"

"Not unless you wanna get up to Los Feliz and Silverlake. That'd take you a while, though, and there's not much for cover." The man picks at his nails, talking about their future as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

"So," Kris says tentatively. "Any other place you know of that we could stock up on things we might need? Maybe just find some food?"

The man shrugs. "All the territories share food, but only with their own. I'd offer to take you into Culver, but, no offense, I don't think you wanna be with us right now. There's some debate over the current leadership, and you don't wanna be handy when these punks want to try to make a point to our boss. It's pretty Lord of the Flies in there."

Kris presses his mouth in a tight line. "I appreciate the advice," he says, because that much is true. "Good luck with them."

The guy looks at him and chews his bottom lip. "Look. You seem like a nice bunch of people, so I'm gonna give you some free advice, okay? Stay off the freeway and major roads, because you'll be easy pickings for the border patrols. Stick to residential streets. If you're looking in houses, ignore the ones with the flag out front, because they were stripped bare. You'll have better luck finding common stuff in other houses - knives, clothes, bandages, that kind of thing. People lump together out here, so anyplace you don't see people, you're probably okay. Once you cross Venice Boulevard, you're out of Culver territory and you're not my problem anymore. I gotta go check in, so take care of yourselves, okay?"

He turns away, and then turns back, digging a hand in his pocket as the dead snake flops on his shoulder. "Hey you. Miss."

Allison peeks around the side of the car at him.

He pulls something from his pocket and tosses it. It comes thumping over the hood of the car toward her - a battered juice box. Kris stares at it for a second, because it's been about four years since he saw one. Then he motions to her to take it, which she does. "Thanks, mister," she calls, stuffing it into her pocket.

He waves over his shoulder, already leaving. He's gone the next minute, no trace of him left except the pool of blood on the pavement.

~

Kris drops down beside Anoop on the couch, and though a spring is poking him in the ass and his nose is full of thick dust, he relaxes like it's Club Med. "We're stopping for a while," he announces firmly, as though it were in some kind of dispute.

"Thank God," Danny says fervently, collapsing to the floor. Allison is in the bedroom looking for new shirts for them all - the ones they have are soaked through with sweat.

It's taken four hours and most of the rest of their daylight, but they've made it to a little bungalow by the Sony studios. That's the best they can do for now - they've checked gas stations and houses for maps of the area, but there's absolutely nothing, so they're relying on the direction of the sun and the graffiti tag system that Danny claims to "kind of understand a little". It's better than nothing.

They've seen people a few times now. Sometimes they looked like patrols, like military lookouts, which at least is familiar. Sometimes they just looked like people, and Kris couldn't tell from looking at them if they might be dangerous. Even so, their little group had to backtrack a block to go around, and be extra careful at the same time that they weren't going toward more people.

It was slow going at the best of times.

Once, Allison tripped on a broken piece of the road and it startled a shout from her as she hit the ground. There was an answering shout from maybe a block away, and they had to run like hell until they found a building to hide in. Kris's mind had been filled the whole time with the patrol stories, things they said were out here in the ruins. He'd always tried not to believe them, but in the dim old building with his heart pounding in his chest and his friends clutching him and each other, waiting for someone to come and kill them, he'd thought it was over. They were Steve McQueen tangled in the barbed wire fence, but instead of the Nazis after them, it was a pack of Freddy Krugers.

And then, bit by bit, the noise had died away.

Leaving that building again - hell, standing up - was one of the hardest things he'd done in years.

Flopped on the couch now, twilight settling over the house, Kris rubs a hand across his face. "I think we should stay the night here. The best direction sense we have right now is the daylight; we should head out in the morning."

"Good idea," Anoop agrees.

Danny sighs on the floor like someone just gave him his own tropical island. "Sleep would be nice."

"I think I got us covered!" Allison calls from the hallway. She comes in and tosses clothes at them, shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans. She's found a faded t-shirt and new jeans of her own. "They had a girl my size," she grins. "I feel almost human."

Over the course of the day, she's taken to making cannibal jokes. Danny flinches, not for the first time.

"Keep it down," Kris gently admonishes her, as he tugs off his damp t-shirt. "We're still in Culver territory, I think, and I don't want any attention."

"How many beds?" Anoop asks.

Allison sits down cross-legged beside Danny. "Three. There was a futon in the office, but the mice ate it. The others are okay, just a little holey."

He looks at Kris. "Rock-paper-scissors for the share."

Kris puts up his fist, but Allison interrupts. "I'll share with someone. I don't... I don't want to be by myself." She draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them.

"Me either," Kris says, and surprises himself by meaning it. Snakes and cannibals, crumbling buildings, vines digging into the pavement - this is a far cry from life at the base. It's been a long day.

They dig out the few supplies they carried with them. Danny found a berry bush a while back and they wrapped as many as they could carry in a bandanna. They have Allison's juice box and the breakfast rations they pocketed on the way out, so all in all, it's not bad. They divide things up and promise one another there'll be more soon.

Privately, Kris promises himself that if they can't find food within a day in the canyons, he'll take them back into the city and find them a group to join up with so they won't starve.

They talk, while they have the light. In low tones, they lean against each other and go over the events of the day. Anoop thinks he remembers the names of some of the streets they passed; in the Before, he'd gotten lost looking for a hotel and driven around for an hour before he broke down and called someone. Kris tells them about a group of butterflies he saw in an alley they passed, hovering around an old pile of ratty neon clothes, and the colors picked up in their wings. Danny's next in the circle, and he shrugs with a soft smile. "I don't know," he says. "I wasn't really thinking of anything nice like that. You guys keep going, though, I want to hear."

Allison reaches over from her spot on the couch to ruffle Danny's hair. Kris notices the few specks of gray in it now, and swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. "Um. I don't know how nice it is," he says, nervous laughter bubbling up. "I don't know how nice it is, but I swear when that guy shot the snake, I pretty much peed myself."

"Oh, fuck, me too," Anoop says, smiling hugely as he laughs. They all get to giggling, and for a minute it's really nice.

Allison leans her head against Kris's shoulder. "You know who would have really loved this," she says wistfully. "This whole running around, gangland stuff."

"Matt," Danny supplies.

They're all silent for a minute. Kris pulls Allison tightly against him and kisses her head.

Finally, the light is gone. "Let's turn in," he says. "Danny, you need anything?"

"A shower," he says, and Kris can hear the smile even if he can't really see it now that the sun has set.

Kris talks with him for a minute more, so Allison can change, and then follows her into the room. He's as gentlemanly as he can be about it; it's been years since he slept in the same bed as a woman, and even though he never thinks of this little girl as anything but, the years do go by. In the end, the smell of her hair and the warmth of her body only puts him in mind of being home, and he can sleep.

Soon enough, Danny comes to get him for his turn on watch. It's mostly uneventful but for the giant bird he watches out there, swooping around in the night sky. It's bigger than any bird he's ever seen in LA. Maybe the base was too near the coast for these types. It drifts around on gentle, silent wings, and then it cries out and falls. Not dives - falls, lifeless. Far away, Kris hears howls of joy and triumph, brute and wordless.

It's to the north, he's pretty sure.

When the moon's down, he goes back to bed and wakes up Allison. She rubs her eyes, groggy and tired, but dutifully marches out to her post. Kris lies down and tries to relax, but it's hard to come down off high alert. He listens to the sound of Alli wandering around in the living room, and the low-grade noises from Danny and Anoop's rooms. He's slept beside those guys for the last five years, so maybe he's just imagining he can hear them through the walls of this house, but it does the trick anyway; he drifts off between one hypothetical snore and the next.

"Kris?" Allison's voice is hushed and urgent. "Kris, wake up!"

"Mmh?" He blinks. It's not really light out, just a kind of gray gloaming outside the window. Allison looks wild around the eyes, leaning over the bed with her hair in her face, and Kris's adrenaline kicks his blood into gear. "What? What's wrong?"

She pushes his bag at him. "Company. We gotta go, come on."

"Crap." Kris slings the bag over his shoulder and drags his shoes on.

"Move," hisses Anoop from the front door. "They came outta nowhere, man!"

Danny's the last one out of the room, and the four of them crowd near the door. "We can't see them well," Anoop says, as they peer through the curtains. "But they can't see us either."

Immediately, Kris understands what he means - the morning fog is crazy today, heavy with yesterday's heat. "Let's run for it. They'll never be able to find us in all this."

"Yeah," Allison says immediately. "We can get past them."

"We'll get lost," Danny counters.

Anoop narrows his eyes. "Come on, man, we're already kind of lost. Let's just follow the street we came off yesterday. We'll be okay once the sun comes up."

It's as solid a plan as they're gonna get, so they carefully open the door and take off into the swirling clouds.

They're spotted only halfway down the street, shouts going up behind them. Kris's heart is pounding in time with his feet; he can hear their pursuers calling back and forth to figure their position and he knows his guys don't have any tactics for this. All he has is Danny's backpack ahead of him to follow, and the hope that Anoop knows where the hell he's going. His breath is too loud, his running footsteps like gunshots, they'll be found for sure -- and then Danny stops dead in his tracks, and Kris slams into his back. They go sprawling to the ground, cursing, and Allison's hands grab at them, trying to drag them up. Kris's palm is skinned, stinging, and then Anoop appears, followed by four people coming out of the fog. They're surrounded now, four of them in a ring. They're all armed, and with one exception, they're all pointing guns at Kris's family.

He starts to get mad.

Kris stands up and dusts himself off. He faces the one whose gun is still in the holster, a tall woman wearing basically the same thing as the guy by the overpass. He can't see her face very well, with her cap pulled down. "Listen," Kris says evenly, trying to keep a leash on his temper. "We didn't mean any harm and we're not looking for trouble. We're just passing through."

She glares at him, arms folded over her chest. "I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Yeah," Kris fires back. He waves a hand at the other three, gestures at his own clothes. "We don't have anything, look at us. We're so fresh off the truck that we don't have guns or even decent food. Come on, I mean... we just want to get out of your hair and be on our way. Is that so hard?"

The woman doesn't move, that Kris can see. She stares at him for a long, hard minute, and then rubs the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Move."

"Ma'am?" asks one of the guys with guns, surprise and anger warring on his face.

"Follow me," she says, ignoring him, and walks into the fog. She's going north, which is toward the canyons, so Kris gestures to the others to follow - and to hurry. Danny gives him a look like he's crazy and Allison tries to whisper to him, but Kris just speeds them along.

Maybe this woman's nuts. But maybe she isn't. Kris is putting his money on the latter, and hoping like hell that his parents were right about people.

They walk together for maybe two blocks, not far at all, with the gun-toting dudes bringing up the rear. Then the woman stops. She points up at the street sign: Venice Boulevard. "This is the north edge of Culver territory. The other side of this street is not my problem. Move."

"They'll come right back." It's the same one who spoke up before. The others have holstered their weapons, but this guy's got it out and his finger at the trigger. Kris motions the others to get behind him, start crossing the street. Allison tugs at his arm, but he ignores her.

The woman in charge plants her hands on her hips and stares her guy down. "Are you questioning my authority here?"

"No," he grits out. "But with all due respect, Rosy, the protocol is-"

"Protocol addresses threats," the woman shouts back. She points in Kris's direction. "Does that look like a threat, Jer?"

Kris puts his hands up and tries to look as inoffensive as possible.

The guy argues, but somewhere between his commander reaming him out and him trying to sound like less of an asshole, the four of them slip away. They head straight up the street, away from Venice. It's the right direction, and it lets their escort see that they're leaving.

They make it maybe three blocks before they're stopped again.

Looming up in the middle of the street is a blockade. Cars are piled up on top of each other, dents and scratches all along them. In some places there are punctures in the metal. It's like Godzilla was playing with blocks, and only just left. The jumble of fiberglass and steel stretches right across the road and onto the sidewalks, blocking even pedestrians. It's maybe three cars high, too, so a person wouldn't want to climb over it - too risky. But that's not the weird thing.

The weird thing is, the entire blockade is painted black. Windows, tire wells, door handles - everything is thickly coated. In some places, paint tracks down the tires to make dark pools on the concrete, like old blood. Finally, in perfectly squared off red lettering eight feet high, the blockade reads: DOGTOWN.

The "keep out", Kris figures, is implied. And with the fog settled heavily over everything, he really doesn't appreciate the spookiness.

"Jesus," Danny breathes.

Anoop, staring up at the word, nods slowly. "You said it, man."

"I think it's cool," Allison says, running her fingers along one of the blackened door handles. "Like art."

Kris tugs her back into their circle. "Better not touch it. Could be unstable." He looks up and down the street they're on and then picks a direction he thinks might let them circle around. "Come on, guys. Gotta keep going. Come on."

Though his friends linger on the bizarre structure, one by one, they start to move. Allison keeps looking back at the sign, until Kris has to remind her to pay attention to the rooftops.

It's Danny and Anoop on point right now, and Danny spots a sign through the heavy fog. "Hey. Gas station."

They head for the doors only to stop dead at the swirling red and black design painted over the door - and the walls and the windows to either side of that door. It's a big set of eyes, slitted like a cat's but shaped like a human's, mutant and alien. There are no words this time, but it's clear who did it, and what it means: we're watching.

"Let's just keep moving," Kris says quietly, and this time the others follow him without a word.

He leads them into the residential streets, like the man from the overpass said. The markings seem to multiply as they move, on the pavement and on the cars, splashed across the houses. As they passed through Culver they saw plenty of graffiti, but the meaning of it was clear: simple spray-painted messages to give directions and warnings. Here, tentacles grip technicolor corpses, twisting down the sidewalks and spilling their grisly contents at Kris's feet. It's indisputably art, of course. Everything is immaculately portrayed, except when it's intentionally not. (Wet splats of red paint over a horrified face, black and green globs oozing and running together down a mural of the Before -- a brightly smiling man buying a soda at the In & Out Burger.)

But the streets are dead silent. Nothing moves in the gloom, the gray fog swallowing the details away, and though every hair on Kris's body is standing on end, he knows there's nothing that paint can do to him.

They push on.

Crossing under the freeway is beyond tense; it's completely open and they still can't see anything. There are no shadows of buildings in the haze this time, just overgrown train tracks disappearing into nothingness.

They hurry. When Kris next looks back, Allison is holding hands with Anoop and both of them are white-knuckled.

A bird starts to sing over their heads as they move down the next street, and Kris almost laughs in relief. A bird means that dawn is coming, and the sun will burn off this goddamn fog and show the regular world again. He whispers as much to the others and they give him hopeful smiles in return.

"I hate this," Allison whispers, glaring at the sky. "When we settle down I'm gonna sleep until noon every day so I never see it again."

"I hear you, baby girl," Kris smiles, and hurries back up to join Danny on point with that thought warm in his mind.

"Hey," Danny murmurs, waving him over. Kris goes, and Danny leans in his head as they walk. "Why haven't we seen any people yet? If this is supposed to be Dogs territory, shouldn't we have run across a patrol?"

"I don't know, man," Kris shrugs. "Let's count our blessings. And turn here. We can follow this road north."

"How can you tell?" Danny asks, peering at the road that disappears up a hill. "I don't want to end up in a dead end again."

Kris points to the pavement at their feet. "Yellow line. It's a major road."

Danny stares at it for a second, then pulls off his glasses and rubs his hand over his face. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm just tired, I guess, I."

"It's okay, man," Kris says, clapping his shoulder. "It's okay. We're all rattled. Come on, forget it. I hear in the canyons they have pie; did you hear that?"

They start walking again as Danny groans. "You're a cruel bastard."

"And Lay-Z-Boys, and the Razorbacks on high-def plasma."

"In the canyons," Danny smiles.

"You got it," Kris smiles back.

A pebble pings off Kris's shoulder. "Shut up!" Anoop hisses, and Kris obeys, but he flips Anoop a middle finger and a grin for his trouble.

After a few minutes, Kris starts to get a feeling. It's a heavy, hard feeling in his stomach, like he just caught -

"Do you smell that?" whispers Allison, lifting her face to the fog. "It's like... bread. Or grass."

"I smell dirt, but it's fresh, like it just rained," Danny says. "That way."

They turn, because they haven't eaten breakfast and fresh earth means things growing, and some of those might be food. The smell gets stronger as they go, and it definitely seems good now, heavy and rich and ripe. They pick up the pace, following the smell past twisting streets and little houses that are all painted now, every concrete surface covered in purple and green and blue, images of faces and landscapes, abstract vines and spikes and words. It's on rooftops and porches, it's on the sidewalk and the road, under their feet and all around them, like a new world is settling onto their skin with the morning dew.

Finally, at the end of a street, something changes. Ahead, floating about seven feet up, there's a yellow glow in the fog. As they approach they see it flickering; closer, and it resolves into an old gas streetlamp. It's sure and certain proof that somewhere, someone is definitely here.

They pass by it silently, watching every corner for movement. The light is coming up, it's getting easier to see, and as they round the corner they're stunned into stillness.

Spreading out before their eyes is a field of lush, green vegetation that can't be an accident. The bushes in front of them are raspberry and blackberry, laden with fruit, and as Allison and Danny run up to start gathering them, Kris can't help but think that it's smart to put the thorny bushes on the outside of your field - keep the squirrels out. It'd take planning to do that. Allison pops a blackberry in her mouth, and her eyes roll back with pleasure.

Kris lifts his face to the breeze and smells meat cooking. "Where are the people?" he murmurs to himself.

"Right here."

Kris spins around so fast that he gets dizzy, his heart hammering in his chest, and in front of him is a person from a storybook.

He's tall and broad, his ink-dark skin shining in the amber light of the streetlamp. His boots are heavy and black, red stitching running through the leather, and over them is a canvas skirt - a skirt - that splits on the sides right up to his hips. A vest covers his heavy chest, and it's a patchwork of what Kris thinks has to be vintage concert t-shirts and fur. He's got at least three weapons that Kris can see on his waist and strapped to his thigh, and that piece of bamboo across his back has to be for hurting people somehow. Even his arms are lined with thin strips of leather that criss-cross all the way down to his wrists, and there seems to be no purpose for those, none whatsoever. His face is strong and handsome, bottom lip pierced with a gold ring, and his eyes are painted in bright and smoky colors that Kris forgot could be part of a human being. His hair hangs around his shoulders in long braids, and in those braids Kris could swear he sees diamonds glinting in the light.

Movement catches his eye, and from around the corners of the trees and houses come people just as impossible and terrifying as the man in front of them. They slide from their hiding places as though they were there all the time. All the shaded, colorful eyes are narrowed at Kris and his friends; these people know exactly what they're doing.

Kris's skin goes cold. His breath stops in his chest and he can't move, even though his mind is screaming RUN RUN RUN.

"We're going now," says the storybook man. His voice is a rumbling basso profundo, and he points down the street with an elegant gesture.

Consciously, Kris takes in a breath and lets it out. It's shaking, he can hear it. "Listen," he starts. "We didn't mean any harm."

"We know," says the man, and smiles at him. It's not friendly, this smile, and Kris takes a step back before he can think. "Walk," the man tells him, and his gesture gets less elegant. "Now."

Kris turns around and goes to his friends, fighting back nausea. "No choice for now," he whispers. "Too many of them."

"Yeah," Anoop nods, hoisting his pack and starting off in the direction the man is pointing. He looks shaken, with wide eyes and thin lips. "We'll fight later, when we have a shot."

The storybook man follows close behind them, watchful and ready. Kris feels his friends' elbows and shoulders bump against his as they walk clustered together, feels the fear amping itself up between the four of them. As they walk, the glittering throng forms up around them, and Kris can't help but look.

Not two of them are alike. He sees a woman in a headdress that makes her six inches taller, beads and feathers and teeth dripping from it to scrape her shoulders. Another girl is six inches taller because of her boots; they are shiny and deep green, like her pajamas and her hair. Far ahead of them is a lanky boy in a beefeater-red jacket and a matching feather boa that flutters in his wake, like a warm light in the mist. One feather floats down to the ground, and another man picks it up and runs ahead to give it back to the boy. Kris notes his pants, black and yellow zebra-print, and his shirt, which is just a length of bright fabric tied around him at strategic points. There are blond streaks in his black hair, which is straight as a pin, and his legwarmers are made of jagged, patchy black fur.

Almost all of them glitter with fantastical makeup. Kris has to double check to be sure, but it seems every last one of them is displaying diamonds. Maybe they're not real diamonds, but close enough.

Of course, they're all armed to the fucking teeth. There are quivers of arrows and more bamboo, wicked hooked knives and lacquered sheaths for swords. Kris spies gun holsters everywhere, and one girl is carrying a sniper rifle strapped across her shoulders.

Kris would like nothing more than to put his back to a wall.

The group of them walk quickly, pushed along when they go too slow. Some of the people ahead of them pick up a light song, and others in the back start a different one. It's softly done and nobody's talking very loud, so Kris figures there are others sleeping nearby. This is already more people than he'd imagined, maybe twenty-five or thirty, and there are more?

The farm is enormous. After a while Kris starts counting, and he figures they've passed about six blocks by the time they turn and head into the greenery. It must be an old golf course, he thinks, as they pass by a big building covered in green vines and leaves. A few people come out of the building to watch them, and Kris can't help but watch them back - these seem to be dressed in more normal clothing, but only if they're in the sixties. There are broomstick skirts, overalls, flowers in their hair and docs on their feet. Not one has hair that stops above their collar. Kris spots some sparkling jewels here, too, but they seem more inclined to color - rubies, emeralds and sapphires winking at him.

Eventually they emerge onto another street, and Kris tries to shake off the shellshock. He needs to pay attention, try to get some kind of advantage, so he goes back to studying the people accompanying them.

He counts ten faces, which is less than there were before. Some of the others must have fallen away, back to whatever they were doing - or maybe they're not allowed to go where Kris is going. The ones that are left talk amongst themselves about the party last night at Rosie's, about whether they're going to class on Wednesday, about visiting Zane in the hospital.

They must be insane, Kris thinks. They're pretending it's still the Before. There are no schools anymore. There are no hospitals; if you get sick, you heal or you die. People don't throw goddamn parties. Kris finds himself gritting his teeth over it, resentful that he has to live in this world and care for the people in it, and these lunatics probably don't even know how lucky they are, to be so nuts.

After another few minutes of walking, they encounter a stone wall, and a few minutes after that, they reach a wide, heavy gate. It's black, wrought iron, and backed with a metal sheet (also black) that hides the other side. The storybook man steps up to it and knocks.

"Who's there?" asks a voice inside.

"It's Emzieh," announces their escort, or that's what the name sounds like. His voice is strong and powerful, and out of nowhere, Kris wonders what it'd sound like if he sang. Cowell probably would have loved it. "We have outsiders."

There's a moment's pause, and then the gate cracks at the center. Slowly, the two sides creak inward to reveal a man in a top hat, a full three piece suit and a pair of red sunglasses. He looks the four of them over with the same gaze he might use to look at a bug on his dinner plate. "They don't even look hurt."

"Didn't have to," Emzieh shrugs, and gestures toward Danny. "Look at them: no weapons, skin and bones, old clothes. They're rabbits." He lowers his voice so Kris has to strain to hear. "He'll have questions for them about Culver."

"Fine," says Top Hat, in a brisk, officious tone. Turning from them, he directs a much more respectful look at Emzieh. "You going to join us for the audience?"

"I think I will," Emzieh says, looking at Kris with that same unfriendly smile. "Maybe they're not all rabbits. We might get a show."

Kris feels his blood go cold. He has no idea what that means, but his mind fills in all kinds of unsettling possibilities.

"Well, let's get it on," says Top Hat, and the whole bunch of them troop inside: Kris, his friends, the storybook man, and the nine other crazy people that followed them here from the blackberry patch. Inside, Kris spots two women at a winch by the door, and just beside them, a row of bicycles leaned against the stone wall. He watches them over his shoulder, paranoia crawling up his spine; the women close the gate all but a few feet. Then, one of them selects a bike, hops on and pedals off through the gate at top speed. When she's gone, the other girl closes the gate the rest of the way and secures it.

"Holy moly," Allison breathes, and Kris's attention is drawn back to the path they're on.

The second he looks, he understands, because spread out in front of them is a two-story mansion that sprawls over the grass like a relic of another age. The entrance is a giant monolith of a door, bracketed by pillars that hold up a shade roof. A driveway curves in front of the house, black as tar and mostly unbroken, and a stand of young trees across from the entrance all bear fruit. Kris expects a butler with an English accent to open the door for them.

There is no butler, but that doesn't mute the grandeur of the foyer. There are sitting rooms to either side of them, but Top Hat leads them straight ahead to a set of broad double doors. He opens them wide, and they all walk together into a James Bond movie. There are dartboards and leather wingback chairs. There are tables with heavy crystal ashtrays. There is an enormous bar dominating the center of the room, with so many bottles packed into it that they won't all fit under the counters. There are clusters of them on the bar, cases on the floor and along the walls.

There are goddamn cocktail napkins.

"Holy moly," sighs Anoop.

Danny nods fervently.

"You like the accommodations?" asks Emzieh, spreading his arms wide with a big grin. "I wouldn't get used to 'em."

"That's not your decision," notes Top Hat, and Kris immediately decides to like him.

Emzieh appears to feel differently. He glares over his shoulder, hands on his hips. "I don't remember asking, Charlie."

"Well, good thing I don't need your permission," Top Hat says calmly, moving behind the bar. He takes two glasses in his fingers and flips them before setting them down on the varnished wood. "Where's the priests? They're always here for fresh meat."

"Patrick'll be communing with the morning," Emzieh smiles, gently mocking. Charlie pours two fingers into each of the glasses and slides one down the bar; Emzieh catches it without missing a beat. "I don't know about Katie."

Kris flinches hard. Happens every time he hears that name; even though he's tried to train himself out of it, it always sneaks up on him. Still, there's nothing to be done about that now, and he fights to pay attention.

"She should be here," Charlie frowns, sipping from his glass with a worried line forming up between his eyebrows.

"I'll go," says one of the crazy people that followed them here; he slips out the door where they came in.

Emzieh turns toward Kris and his friends. "Sit down," he instructs, and someone pushes Kris into a chair. His friends get the same treatment, so at least they're nearby. Kris locks eyes with Anoop, and they trade worried glances. There's no way out of this, not right now. If these people don't drop their guard at some point, it's not looking good.

Two solidly muscle-bound guys loom over them, and everybody else goes to flop down in the leather chairs They start talking amongst themselves again, and it's the same as before: who's dating who, gopher problems on the twelfth hole, and what about the upcoming theater festival? It's so surreal that the words start to blend together.

After a while, one conversation catches Kris's ear. It's the boy in the red jacket; he's draped over a chair as he talks with a girl sitting on the floor. "I hope he gets here soon. What do you think he'll wear?"

The girl is picking at her nail polish, glittering pink raining down on her crossed legs. "I hope it's that one with a high collar. I love that one."

"Ooh, you mean the one that goes all the way up to the back of his head? God, yeah." The boy flops over the arm of his chair with a lusty sigh.

Emzieh leans back against the bar. "He looks so fucking hot in that one. I'd do him in that one."

Kris glances at his friends. Danny's hands are white-knuckled on his chair and his eyes are closed tight, so he heard that. Kris has known him long enough that he can practically read his thoughts. Right now, behind Danny's eyes, he's seeing himself being raped or eaten or probably both. Kris feels a slightly hysterical laugh threaten at the back of his throat, because as insane as that idea seems, it probably isn't out of the realm of possibility here. Shit, these people are wearing feather fucking boas and they probably think there's a Lakers game tomorrow.

Beside Danny, Anoop is looking over the people here for weakness or inattention, for anything to exploit so they can get away. Thank God for that, because Kris has been on an adrenaline high for the last two hours and no matter how hard he tries, he's too fuzzy; he can't focus.

He looks over at Allison. Her head is down, her hands folded in her lap. Kris touches her shoulder and she looks up at him, her cheeks tracked with tears.

He takes her hand and holds it tight, and she clings back hard.

A sound breaks into his thoughts - a distant rumbling, floating in through the window.

"Shit," Charlie says, putting the highball glasses away and straightening his suit. "Where the fuck is Katie?"

Right on cue, the door edges open and two people duck inside - one is the guy that went looking for the priest, and the other is an pretty, elfin woman with a black buzz cut and a sleeveless black dress. Tattoos trace all the way down both of her arms, and every finger has a ring on it. Kris can see what he's pretty sure is a real talon-and-teeth necklace around her neck, and a white belt is wound twice around her slender hips before draping down into the folds of her dress. The belt is studded with round black stones that glimmer at their depths. She's only wearing eyeliner for makeup, and she looks like she just stepped out of a silent movie.

"Finally," Charlie grouses, and she flips him off with a sneer curling her lip.

Someone stands up out of their chair and holds the back of it for her. There's a general flutter in the air, everyone brushing off their clothes and making sure they're arranged just so. The priestess perches in the offered chair and tugs her hem into order, and the young man who stood for her takes a seat at her feet.

Out in the hallway, someone shouts loud enough to be heard through the whole damn house. "The king approaches!"

Kris's heart leaps into his throat, choking him. King?

All eyes turn to the door. People sit forward eagerly in their chairs, and in the breathless silence that falls, Kris can hear the heavy thump of boots in the hall. Then, with a startling crash of sound, both doors open.

The man that enters is draped in pure white. His arms are bare, but the rest of the jacket flows gracefully around him from shoulder to calf. His wrists are cuffed in white leather, his legs sheathed in black, and the boots are heavy and dark. True to rumour, the collar sweeps the back of his skull. The whole of the jacket is traced with embroidery, ivory thread making a tapestry of shifting images that seem to change as Kris watches. Each design is sparkling with diamonds and silver.

The only splash of color on the king is the stripe of turquoise in his hair, and the sparkle of blue around his eyes.

"Oh my god," Kris breathes. He's hallucinating, obviously; there's something in the air here that makes everybody go crazy. It has to be.

The king goes to the bar without looking at them. Charlie pours him a drink easily, and presents it with a flourish on a red napkin. The king picks it up and takes a careful sip.

His fingernails are oil-slick black.

Beside Kris, Allison leaps out of her chair. The man behind her catches her by the shoulders and yanks her back, slams her down. "Now, now, rabbit," he laughs. "Nowhere to hide, anyway."

She fights his grip, but he won't let her get up, and Kris jumps out of his chair ready to pop the guy, fuck it, who cares anyway since he's going crazy.

And then the king is there, and he's not a king at all.

"Stop it," shouts Adam, grabbing the guy's hand and throwing it off Allison. "Don't fucking touch her!"

The guy backs away, shocked, with his hands in the air, and the second she's free, Allison slams hard into Adam's chest. She wraps her arms around his waist and pushes her face into his shirt and she cries: deep, wracking wails. Adam holds her tight, rocking slowly back and forth from one foot to the other, a hand in her hair. "Shh," he says, stroking soft. Her hair gets caught in his rings.

Danny and Anoop come up and touch him, his arms and shoulders, like they're not sure he's real. Kris can only stare.

"Shh," Adam croons, kind of at all of them, and then turns his head to the side so his dumbstruck followers can hear. "These people are mine," he says, clearly and distinctly. It sounds like something he's said many times before, like a ritual. "An offense against them is an offense against me. Will anyone speak against them?"

Emzieh steps forward, his face open and confused. "Um. Nothing against them, but... can you tell us who they are? They came in just like you see them, no weapons, no nothing. They stole food and they didn't even try to hide it. We thought they were crazy."

Kris laughs. He can't help it, it just comes out high and crackling, and he claps his hand over his mouth to hold it in but it's there, it's taking him over and it sounds wrong, something's shaking loose inside, something's wrong in his head and it's hurting his throat and his chest but he can't stop -

Hands grip his shoulders, strong and wide. It's the touch that brings it home; he remembers the span of these hands and the way they pulled him along, helped him feel better and try harder even when he thought he couldn't take another step, before he even knew what pain and fear really felt like. He falls into Adam's arms and pushes his face against that shoulder, he feels diamonds scrape against his cheek and he doesn't care. He just doesn't care anymore.

"Nobody touches them," Adam tells to the room, his voice like a sledgehammer. "If anyone even looks at him wrong, I'll kill them with my fucking hands. Is that clear?"

The room is silent.

"Is that clear!?"

"Yes, king!" comes the chorus, voices all around them. Kris buries his face in the same old cologne, grips the white fabric against his face, shuts his eyes and desperately ignores everything. All of it.

Adam rubs his back. "Take these others, give them some food and a place to sleep. I want them close to me." In a lower voice, meant for Allison, Danny and Anoop, he says, "I'll check in with you guys later, I promise. I'll explain everything."

Danny is the first one to speak. "Okay. We'll... we'll wait for you, I guess."

"We thought you were dead," Anoop blurts out. Kris can't see him, but if he could he's sure Anoop would be crying. He's one of those people that just gets tears on their face and that's the only way you know, they don't sound like other people do when they cry.

"Me too," Adam says, his voice hoarse. "I have to take care of him now, but I'll see you soon."

Allison's knuckles brush Kris's back as she grabs Adam's hand. "I missed you so fucking much," she whispers.

"I know, baby girl," Adam says, and it's almost worth Kris pulling his face away to see the smile.

He stays buried, and thinks he probably could stay this way for the next week. Or year.

Adam has other ideas. He steps back from Kris, gently separating them. It takes a minute of soft prodding before Kris realizes that his hands are still crumpling Adam's jacket, and he lets go. Adam turns to the room once he's free. "I know you want an explanation," he says to the people staring at them. "You'll get one, I promise. The first harvest bash is in two days, and I'll make an announcement to everyone. Katie, I need you to come with me to the Tower now. Charlie, take charge of our new people."

"Okay," Charlie says, a pointed commentary loaded into that one word.

Emzieh paces away to the windows, his arms folded across his chest.

Adam rests his hand on the back of Kris's neck so they're still connected, and whispers. "We're going to go home now. Okay?"

Kris just keeps his head down, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He wants to sleep. He wants all this to go away, no, seriously, to just go the fuck away.

Hand still firmly on the back of Kris's neck, Adam starts them walking. The priestess falls in beside them as they head toward the double doors. "Was that really necessary?" she asks, her voice as soft as the hem of her skirt looks.

Adam shoots her a look over Kris's head, but Kris can't be bothered to figure out the meaning. It's been a long, long day, and it isn't even past breakfast yet. He's lost and alone and maybe hallucinating, and it just needs to stop.

They walk quietly, one foot in front of the other. Kris couldn't say where they go, what they pass; he gets vague impressions of concrete and glass, of white light. All that matters is the warmth of Adam's hand and the low sound of his voice. Kris can't make sense out of the words and doesn't want to try, but the sound of it is nice. Adam takes him down sidewalks, through doors and up stairs, and then they stop walking.

Adam tries to take his hand away, but that's not acceptable. Kris needs him, he's the only real thing right now, so he grabs that hand and holds on. Adam's soft voice wraps around him, the right thing after so much wrong. "Just a second, honey, I'm not going anywhere. Give me my hand for a second, okay? I'm right here."

Kris hates it, but he pries his fingers loose. Adam's gone for a terrible moment, but then he's back again with just his bare chest up against Kris's cheek and his arms heavy around Kris's shoulders. "See? Not gonna dig a hole in your cheek now."

Kris puts his hands on Adam's back and holds him tight. He just needs to sleep for a while, just sleep, and then he'll wake up from this dream and get back to the ugly, bland and ordinary world where nobody dresses in crazy costumes, and you don't ask, don't tell if you're gay like Adam, or too smart like Anoop, or if you like to sing.

"I don't want to go to sleep," Kris murmurs against skin. It's darker skin now than he remembers, the freckles submerged under a deep-stained tan, and if he goes to sleep he'll lose it. He won't be able to feel his lips drag against it; he won't rub his nose over the softness of it or smell the cologne - so funny, what you remember.

Adam rubs his back in slow, heavy strokes. "We don't have to. We can stay up if you, hey. Hey."

Kris is moving his mouth along Adam's collarbone; it's been forever since he had anyone's skin under his mouth, let alone anyone so familiar and bright. It feels good, feels like something will happen, and it's just a dream, anyway. Adam pulls gently back and brushes his thumbs over Kris's cheeks.

It just seems natural to lean up, to put his hand to the back of Adam's neck and draw him down. A kiss would be perfect.

"No," Adam says, voice scraping as he turns away from it. "Don't. Kris, not now, I..."

"Sorry," he offers, pushing his head back against Adam's shoulder, since that seemed to be okay. "I just wanted to..."

"I have to go," Adam says, stepping back. Kris tries to hold on, but he's too tired to close his fingers and Adam slips away. He goes to a closet, pulls out a shirt and tugs it over his head. "I'll be back, but I have to. This is my house, okay? You're safe here. Just... look around, eat something, get some sleep if you want. I'll be back, I just have to... I have to go."

And without waiting for a response, he's gone.

Kris feels numb, and sits down on the floor to wait.

~

He doesn't remember either falling asleep or moving, but as Kris wakes up it's apparent that he did both. He has a terrible headache and cottonmouth, like a hallucination hangover, and he curls up on his side to try to will it away.

He's under a sheet, he realizes. On a bed. A fresh, clean bed with a mattress that isn't poking him anywhere.

Tentatively, he opens his eyes. There's an endless lake of black sheets. He's lying on black pillows, and there must be a dozen of them spread across the bed.

Okay, he thinks, staring across the expanse. So maybe some parts of it were real.

Next in Kris's field of vision is smooth wood sticking out at the side of the mattress, like a shelf pushed right up next to the bed. There are candles and matches on it, a couple of books, a carved wooden box and an ashtray with ashes in it. Kris sits up to get a look over the side, and it turns out that he's about three feet off the floor. His head spins with vertigo and he has to sit back.

Kris rubs his heels of his hands into his eyes, willing his stomach to settle back down. It only takes a second, and he breathes deep and full before sneaking another look.

He's in a wide, clean, well lit room. Soft daylight pours in through the wall of windows behind him; it's an overcast day, but bright. Along the walls are armchairs, bookshelves crammed with books, a bunch of armoires, a desk littered with paper. The furniture is beautiful; some of it looks like it could be antique. There's a door to the side, a bathroom, and another door in the center of the bedroom that probably leads to the hall. It looks like it wasn't always a bedroom, though. Kris can't explain how he knows that, maybe something about the door handles and paint? It looks unfinished, somehow.

Over one of the chairs is a pair of leather pants, and the belt threaded into them is the one with the silver wings on the back. Kris remembers that belt from Before, remembers standing backstage and watching Adam slink around the stage using his hips and his voice to have sex with twenty thousand people simultaneously.

He turns around to look out the window, and sees the wide-open vista of Los Angeles sprawled below him, a hundred feet down, all her broken buildings and burnt-out shells like a million scars on her face.

Kris almost hyperventilates. It's been so long since he was at anything like this height; they had no buildings at the base over two stories except the military buildings, and civilians weren't allowed in there. All his hair standing on end, he creeps down off the bed. What looked to be a shelf is actually four matched wooden desks, bolted together with some kind of cast iron decoration twisting over it. The mattress sits in a hole that's been precisely cut from all four of them. Kris sits down against one desk, draws his knees up to his chest and closes his eyes.

Okay, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. Start at the beginning.

He isn't crazy. He isn't dreaming, either; he couldn't make up something like this. So he really is in Adam's house - apartment? Penthouse? Tower? - and Adam really does have an unnumbered pack of crazy people who think he's their leader.

"Okay," Kris says aloud, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. At least there's no guard in this room.

He goes over the things Adam said, or what he can remember of it. It seemed weird in places, but mostly sensible: go here, do this, talk to this person. So it's possible that Adam hasn't gone crazy, that he's just Adam. Even the crazy costuming takes on a kind of rationale with Adam, because there's no reason he shouldn't dress the way he likes now that he doesn't have producers to impress. Or middle America.

Kris opens his eyes, stands up and crosses over to the chair with Adam's clothes on it. He runs his thumb over the silver wings, feeling the solid bumps and lines of the feathers. It's been years since he really touched someone else, felt the need to get under their clothes and map them with his own hands. Just before Adam left last night, it was like that: an itch in his palms and his fingertips. The skin under his mouth, before Adam had pulled away, tasted like sharp salt and sweat, and Kris had wanted more. He remembers that.

He feels like it ought to be weirder. It's been so long since he even saw Adam; he must be different now. Changed.

But under Kris's hands last night, he'd felt the same. The smell of him, the steadiness, the fierce confidence - he'd felt like Adam.

Kris goes to one of the armoires and finds a black t-shirt, a faded logo across the backs of the shoulders. Adam always wore thin stuff a bit small, so it fits Kris just right. He folds his old shirt in half and, after a minute's debate, puts it on the chair with Adam's leathers. It's a good trade, if he has to leave, and if he doesn't... well, Adam must do laundry somehow. Kris can always ask.

Kris goes to the hall door then, determined to get some things done. He needs his friends, he needs Adam, and he needs answers. But first, he's absolutely got to find some breakfast. Being the guy who got to sleep in the royal bedchamber (or whatever it's called) has to come with some kind of privilege.

He opens the door.

It's like stepping into Wonderland. Kris expected a hallway or another room, maybe some stairs. Well, there are stairs right in front of him going down, but this building is apparently enormous and there are no walls in it. It's just a huge open space studded with support pillars, the high sun pouring through the windows to illuminate everything. Each pillar is coated with art, both painted directly onto the concrete and hung from it. There's art on the floor and the ceiling from one side to the other, and all over the room there are projects in various stages of completion. There's a bench with tools and what looks to be a soldering table, there's a paint-covered easel and a pottery wheel with metal shelves full of fired work (they have a kiln?), and books litter absolutely every surface.

He turns around to look at Adam's bedroom and the walls are somehow blatant from this side, as though there's only one reason for those walls to be in this giant, empty space, and that is privacy. Indeed, they're all painted a forbidding black on this side, and Adam's door has a gold crown stencilled on it so that nobody could possibly come in by mistake. You'd need to be invited.

Kris blushes all the way down to his bones.

There's more here, a lot to explore, but no people and no food that Kris can see, so he tries the stairs. There's a rope hanging from the ceiling down the empty center of the stairwell, knotted at regular intervals. It reminds him of gym class, a lifetime ago, and wonders if they have workout drills here or something, so you can climb trees to get away from the mountain lions. He watches it as he circles on his way down, past three more floors of that same big, empty, hollowed out space. It's nice, actually, because there's so much light coming through the glass walls that he can see where he's going; unusual for being at the middle of a big building like this. He wonders if it's for tactical reasons, if this tower is like their final retreat in case of attack, and the sight lines are marked on the walls.

He hits the main floor, and it's dark. To his right and left are closed hallways, lots of doors along each side. Some of them are just doors, and some have shining padlocks in the doorjambs. Ahead of him is a bright, wide-open space with marble floors and light pouring in the windows.

Cautiously, Kris ventures onto the marble and looks around.

There are pristine black leather chairs in conversation-friendly groups. Against one wall is a piece of sculpture, iron and rebar twisted together in an ugly microcosm of the broken city outside. Clustered around its base are candles in cups, jewels and smaller statues and art, and even bright ribbons tied around the lower parts. The high, wide marble wall behind it is papered with photographs. Kris doesn't look too closely, but he knows what those pictures are for, who they're of. He turns his face away, trying to be respectful.

"Oh hey."

Kris turns to see the woman from the audience room, the one they were looking for who came in at the last minute. Her dress is a light blue today, and Kris can see a pendant in the middle of her chest that looks a pocket watch that melted. She smiles at him, her little face sunny and kind, which is about the first time Kris has seen that since he got into this mess. A part of him thinks about relaxing. "We thought you'd sleep longer," she says. "You looked pretty beat."

Kris tries a smile. "You're Katie, right? Is that with a Y, or..."

"An I-E," she corrects, smiling easily.

Kris feels his shoulders relax a bit, and reaches out his hand. "I'm Kris."

"Nice to meet you." Her grip is firm and solid, which is surprising for such a little girl.

"You too. Is, um. Is your king around?"

Katie grins at him, mischievous and playful. "You can call him Adam, it's okay. I do." Kris finds himself smiling. She gestures at him to come closer, come with her. "He's gone right now, but we're supposed to give you whatever you want. If you're hungry, we're just having lunch."

She mentioned food, and he's curious who we means, so he follows her around the corner where he walks into a round, open room. The first thing he notices is a lean, waifish man lounging in two of the chairs - feet in one, ass in the other - eating snap peas out of a huge bowl in his lap. His coat has a collar that Kris could swear is chinchilla; it's enormous and fluffy and vastly impractical, especially as he's wearing no shirt underneath. Plastic, bedazzled sunglasses are perched on top of his blond head and his jeans are so skinny that they're practically painted on. He is exactly like the people in the audience hall. No, more so, or older, or maybe... Kris isn't sure. The only thing he's sure of is that half the people he's met have been trying to dress like this guy.

Pea pod halfway to his mouth, the guy pauses to look Kris over from head to foot. He raises an eyebrow at Kris's companion. "Oh my God, seriously?" It's a little nasal, a little lisped. Kris hasn't heard anybody talk with that specific sort of accent in years, let alone so aggressively.

Katie comes over to the table, pulls out a chair next to the guy and sits down. "Be nice," she admonishes, and selects a piece of jerky from a plate. She makes a little face as she sniffs at it, and then sets it back down.

The smile the man levels at Kris is about two times too sweet, all his teeth showing. "Well come on, then, honey, sit down. Meet the in-laws." He brings his feet down off their chair and pats the seat of it.

Kris sees no option, and comes around to perch on the edge of the chair. The guy keeps beaming at him, and Kris's defenses are solidly up - but he's still hungry, is the problem, and there's a hell of a spread. Kris's eyes keep getting drawn by the bowls and plates full of nuts and fruit and vegetables.

Katie pushes the jerky plate over to him. "Here, eat some of this. I keep trying, but a part of me rebels."

Leaning back in his chair, the chinchilla-collared guy points another pea pod at Katie. "The High Priestess here was a vegetarian, back when you could buy lentils and chick peas at the store."

Kris takes a piece of jerky and takes a measured bite, instead of cramming it all in his mouth at once. Eating too fast makes you sick, and being sick wastes food. It's gamey and tough, but he's used to that, and it tastes pretty good, even so. He thinks he tastes spices, pepper.

"I want to try growing lentils in the hothouse," Katie says, grabbing a bunch of grapes. She puts her feet on the chair, curled up in an easy ball without any apparent effort.

"Disgusting," frowns the guy, "but I suppose nutritious." He waves one hand in a delicate gesture, and Kris spies the same glittery pink nail polish that was on the girl in the hall. He smiles that same sugar-sweet smile at Kris and extends a hand, much as you'd expect Scarlett O'Hara to do. "Since nobody asked, I'm Brad. And you are?"

Kris hastily swallows his jerky and wipes his hand on his pant leg before taking Brad's fingers. He picked Scarlett, so Kris plays Rhett, bending a little bit over them. "Kris Allen. Nice to meet you."

The gesture makes Brad's eyebrow rise high. He looks at Katie over his shoulder. "Seriously?"

And maybe it's the profile view he gets out of that, or just the tone of his voice, but something in what Brad did just there pings in Kris's memory. He lets go of the hand and squints at Brad's face, trying to place him. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Brad looks at him, and the razor sharp intelligence there is startling. Intimidating. "I sincerely doubt that. You're a little too wholesome for the sordid likes of me. Didn't you have a little girlfriend when you came in here?"

Kris has the feeling he's being tested. Or maybe already judged. "There was a girl with me," he says carefully, trying not to give away how much he feels. "But we're more like family."

Brad giggles high in the back of his throat. "Oh, I bet you're thick as thieves. And what about Adam, where do you know him from?"

"I knew him Before," Kris says flatly, reaching for something that looks to be dinner rolls and tearing one in half. He's trying to like this guy, but he's not making it easy, and Kris is getting irritated because he's really trying to fit in, here. He doesn't want to make waves or cause any trouble for Adam.

Katie throws a grape at Brad's head. "Enough inquisition," she says, loftily ignoring the way he glares at her. "Eat up. We're supposed to take you on a tour, if you want. Show you the house we found for your friends?"

Kris perks up at that. "Sounds great," he says, and spies a bowl of carrots which he immediately devours. It tastes so good, fresh and crisp and nothing like pesticide, which is a long way from the food at the base. There are other things here, too, an actual variety of food instead of regular rations, and even Brad's witty remarks can't stop Kris from filling his plate. Only once he's approaching being so full that he can't walk, does he push himself back from the table.

Katie beams. "Bet that beats the hell out of whatever they had where you came from."

"No kidding," Kris says, smiling at her as he pats his stomach. "I'm probably gonna have a sore stomach pretty quick, but it was worth it."

"Aren't you cute," Brad murmurs, toying with a bit of leather on his belt.

Katie stands up. "Come on. We'll go see your friends now. I'm sure you want to check up on them."

"You can say that again," Kris says, climbing to his feet. "They've been fed too?"

Brad pushes his chair all the way back to the wall. "Don't you fret, darling," he says, with an obvious, mocked up twang in his voice. He picks up one of the heavy boots leaning against the wall, and starts strapping them onto his feet. "We done you children up right."

They go down a heavy marble staircase, and Kris stares at the wide, beautiful lobby, the huge wall of glass. "What is this place?"

Katie shrugs. "It's the Tower. Adam lives here, and a bunch of others. People that need to be close to Adam."

"Do you live here?"

"Oh, no," she smiles. "Me and Patrick live at the Temple. It's nowhere near as grandiose as this, but it's nice."

"It's fifty thousand square feet and it has a bowling alley," Brad says, rolling his eyes. "Some of us make do on a little less."

"And some of us have office hours," Katie fires back, but she bumps her hip against his like dogs at play. He bumps her back, and they chase each other outside, laughing. Kris shakes his head and follows after.

The courtyard in front of them is full of bushes and plants, a miniature of the farm. Perhaps two dozen bicycles rest against a nearby wall, and Kris raises his eyebrows. "What do you need so many bikes for?"

Katie shrugs. "They're how you get around," she says, climbing onto one and testing it for height. "Go on, take one."

Brad's found one, so Kris walks down the line until he finds one he thinks is good. "Aren't you worried someone will steal them?"

Both of Kris's escorts laugh brightly, and it's Brad who answers as they start pedaling. "Sweetie, this is Dogtown. Maybe people steal from each other where you're from, but here we actually like each other?"

"Plus," Katie adds, "there's, like, four bikes in Dogtown for every person. If one breaks, we take it to a metalsmith for fixing and we get another one. Usually people only have two or three at a house or something, like for a whole family, but here we have a lot of messengers that need to go out, so we get a bunch."

Kris thinks that over as they coast through the streets. People are out now, and the closer they get to the farm - the Garden, they called it, and he thinks it's best if he speaks their language - the more people they see. Most are on their way there, carrying empty baskets and backpacks. Some are done up as grandly as the first ones Kris met, but even those who look more normal have things that mark them out. Whether it's makeup or jewelry, clothes or even just the people they're with, everyone is a little bit bizarre. Every one of them is doing something that would get them stopped for questioning, back at the base. And the biggest thing is that they all wave and call out as Kris and his escorts pass.

"Witch Queen!" shouts one, and Katie waves back. "Bless the morning, sister!" cries another, and she tosses him a kiss. Brad's greetings are more mysterious: "Thanks, Brad!" "Put me on your dance card, baby!" And once, someone calls out, "God save the King!"

Brad coasts down the street with his hand up, waving magnanimously like the Queen of freaking England.

"I thought Adam was the king," he says, riding up beside Katie.

"He is," she nods. "Brad's kind of like an extension of Adam, for them. It's... complicated. It's probably best to ask Adam about it."

Kris doesn't understand, but he nods anyway.

At the end of the street, Kris recognizes the gate to the audience hall. Katie leads them left, and shortly after into a residential area. They stop at a house not even a block in, and lean their bikes against the garage door.

"See?" Brad smiles, batting his eyelashes. "Safe as houses."

Katie goes up the steps and knocks on the door. "Hi!" she calls. "It's Kris and his entourage!"

Kris blushes, but he comes up the stairs to stand beside her, so his friends can see it's him. Behind him, he can feel the glare.

The door swings wide, and Allison flies through and slams against Kris's chest. "My God, oh my God, oh my God," she mumbles against his neck. "I didn't know if we were gonna see you again, omigod."

"Right here," he says, hugging her tight. "I'm fine, everything's fine. This is Katie and Brad."

"Hi," she mumbles, giving a vague wave behind Kris's back.

Kris can hear Brad's feet on the steps, coming up a bit. All the falseness drains out of his voice and his kindness is genuine, which is how Kris knows he's talking to Allison. "Sweetie, I don't want to break up the love fest, but can we possibly do it inside? I am gonna get old and die on these steps."

They pry apart and go inside, where Danny and Anoop are right there to bump into and hug and reassure that everything is okay. When he manages to tear himself away from them, he can see that Brad is already in conversation with Allison and that she has been thoroughly charmed; she's laughing at the way he sips at his water and talks about how much of a trial it is to be awake this early, Jesus. Kris would glare at them, but Danny and Anoop are peppering him with questions about Adam and he's not sure how to explain that he didn't manage to ask any of that when they were together.

Luckily, Katie saves him. "Being King sounds like easy work, but I promise you, it's a pain in the ass." She sits down on the couch, bringing her feet up under her again. "I sure as hell couldn't do his job. He's the law, you know? If one guy says this other guy stole his batteries, Adam's the one who has to go in and figure it out."

"I thought you didn't steal from each other," Kris says.

"We don't, as a rule," she says, her face twisting up. "But it happens sometimes, usually with new guys who don't know what you can get for free, or where the market is. I couldn't be the one to say, okay, throw this guy to the lions." She shudders, her eyes sad for a moment, and then she sighs. "It's not like they don't know the rules, though. Everybody's told, right guys?"

Anoop nods. "We got the rundown earlier. No thieving, no blood, no rape, and no lying to the King. You do any of those, and you're out. There's more, but those are the big ones."

"Bingo," Katie says, touching her finger to her nose.

Danny sits down near her, looking a little uncomfortable, but also excited as he catches Kris's eyes. "They have so much stuff here, man, it's amazing. They have a hothouse where they grow out of season fruit and super-veggies."

"They're awesome," Katie enthuses. "We're trying to enrich them with some of the vitamins and stuff we don't get anymore."

"Yeah!" Danny aims his wide brown eyes at her, and then at Kris again. "There are warehouses full of stuff, like, stuff that hadn't been shipped out yet when it happened? And they're indexing it all. They have supplies for years here, and there's stuff they haven't even opened yet."

"There's a school," Anoop says. "They took over part of UCLA. And just a few blocks north of here there's a hospital with a generator and a couple of real doctors, not just medics."

Katie shrugs. "They're not worth a lot without the drug companies and an army of nurses, but they can set a bone."

"They're growing penicillin," Anoop says, seriously impressed. "Kris, they're really doing it, here."

Across the room, Brad slings an arm around Allison and gives the most genuine smile Kris has yet seen on his face. "It's just a little place we like to call home," he says, in a sing-song little voice.

Allison loops her arm around his waist and beams at them. "We already picked out rooms," she informs Kris. "I took the one over the garage, but I saved you the master."

"She thinks she saved you the master," Anoop says, smiling wide. "I already rolled around in all the sheets. You're sleeping in the basement."

"Oh, thanks," Kris drawls, rolling his eyes, but there's happiness bubbling in his chest. It's so fucking good to see them happy.

Until he notices Brad and Katie trading a significant look. Brad shakes his head no, but Katie sets her mouth. Brad huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes, giving up. "Don't get too excited over your lovely basement suite," he says. "You won't be coming back here. At least, not to stay."

Allison looks at him narrowly. "What do you mean?" she asks, easing away from him.

He gives her a sad smile and brushes her cheek with his thumb. "He's Adam's now, lamb chop. Rapunzel's going to the Tower."

Everyone stares at him. Kris sure stares at him. Allison makes a thoughtful face, and absently cuddles up against Brad's side again.

"Do I get a say in this?" Kris asks Katie, not because he really minds but because he'd like to be consulted.

Katie makes an apologetic face, and she's about to answer when there's a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Brad sings, and goes over to open the door. "Auntie Em," he grins. "Come on in."

Emzieh steps inside and scowls at him. "Don't call me that."

"You stop wearing plaid aprons and maybe." Brad goes back to sit by Allison, and she ducks under his arm without any prompting.

Emzieh walks into the room and stands there with just as much presence as he had in the early morning. He faces down Katie with a stern look. "Did you tell him the rules?"

"He's got the basics," she shrugs. "He'll pick up the rest as he goes, as much as it'll apply to him anyway."

Brad purses his lips. "Well, I managed to learn them."

Emzieh gestures in Brad's direction pointedly. "He learned them. Why can't he?" This time, the gesture is at Kris.

Katie scowls. "Adam specifically said we're supposed to go easy on them. I'm not about to go against Adam just because your panties are in a wad."

"How is explaining the rules making it harder?" Emzieh demands. "Knowing the rules makes it easier!"

"Easier to get into trouble," Brad notes.

Kris is getting a headache, and goes to sit down, but that just makes Katie point at him. "See?" she hisses. "Chill the fuck out, okay? Go have a smoke and relax before you make everybody nuts, Em, I'm not even kidding."

"You're not the fucking king, Katie!"

And then, horror of horrors, Danny steps between them. Kris is up out of his seat immediately, just about the same time as Danny's saying, "Listen, guys, I know everybody's upset right now, but why don't we just take a deep breath and calm down..."

Emzieh puts a hand in the middle of Danny's chest and shoves him back down onto the couch. It's got force, it's hard, and Danny isn't expecting it so he isn't braced, and it's just the right force and angle to crack his head sharply against the wall.

"Danny!" Kris is moving before he knows what he's doing, getting a shoulder against Emzieh and shoving him hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground. He gets in beside Danny, whose eyes are blinking vaguely. "Danny, are you okay?"

"Fine, I just, I knocked, I'm..."

Emzieh is back on his feet and coming toward them. "Shit, is he okay? Man, I'm sorry..."

Kris has had too fucking much in a day. He can't even hear the words, he just sees the guy coming, balls up his fist and clocks him. His ears are ringing, he's half blind with fury.

Allison is there, and Anoop, and they have his shoulders so he can't go forward. Katie's behind them and she's looking at Danny, asking him how many fingers; she's okay. All Kris can see is the anger and shame warring on Emzieh's face, and he's wondering which one will win and if he can shake off Anoop and Alli long enough if it's the rage. "You stay the fuck away from us!" he shouts, fighting the grip.

And then Brad is there. Right in front of his face, smiling that sugar-sweet smile just out of reach. "How nice it must be," he simpers. "To be so fucking self-righteous. One of yours got hurt. That's such a shame! I'm sure Adam will love to hear how you punched the warleader and let us down again."

"Fuck you," Kris snarls. "I don't know what your fucking problem is with me, but-"

"Oh, don't you?" Brad asks, and the sweetness falls away from him leaving a knife blade behind, bright in his eyes and the curl of his fingers. Every word is precise and cutting, aiming for the vein. "I suppose you don't remember, then? When the nice men with guns came and took you out of the streets, where people were bleeding all over each other, and you left him behind. I guess he just didn't count, huh? Didn't think of him? You have no fucking idea what we went through out here when you were safe and sound. We ate rats and we drank piss, we cleared the corpses off the street, we had to fight for every minute of every day and you fucking left him out here to do it! We were the ones who were here for him, not you, and no amount of sucking his dick can make up for that, so don't talk to me about your precious little family! Don't you even fucking look at me, bitch, because I will end you."

Brad slaps him right across the mouth, so hard that Kris's ears ring again. Then he storms out of the house, and the windows rattle with the force of the slamming door.

There is silence in the house for a long minute. Kris tongues the split on his lip and feels blood drip from it, and the sting takes his mind off Brad's words etching themselves into his head.

"I should get him looked at," Katie says, in a wavering voice.

"I'm fine," Danny says, but she just pats him.

Kris shrugs Anoop and Allison off. "It's okay," he says, and goes over to Emzieh to offer him a hand. "Sorry, man. I went a little crazy. You okay?"

Emzieh hesitates only a moment before taking Kris's hand and getting up. "It's cool, don't worry." He leans to the side to meet Danny's eyes. "I'm really sorry, Danny. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm fine," Danny says, and tries to get up, but he's too dizzy and falls back down. Katie holds his head, wincing.

"Can you take him to the hospital?" Kris asks.

Katie rolls her eyes. "He'll do better at the temple. It's a concussion if it's anything; he just needs somebody to sit with him and keep him awake. Let him hurl if he's gonna."

Kris turns to Allison and Anoop. "You guys go with him."

"Way ahead of you," Anoop says, going to slide his arm under Danny's. "Come on, big man. We're going to church."

Allison starts in one direction and then stops. "I guess we can leave stuff here, um. This is our house now, right?"

"You got it," Emzieh says, and Kris finds himself abruptly liking the guy.

"Then I guess I just need to bring... I don't know. A book? Anoop, your notebooks?"

"Yeah," Anoop says. "You can always come back if we missed anything. Temple's just on the other side of the garden."

"So weird," Allison says, shaking her head as she goes to get under Danny's other arm.

Katie goes out in front of them. "I'll walk the bike and just lead you, I guess?"

"Cool," says Anoop. "Kris, are you coming?"

Kris shakes his head and turns to Emzieh. "I have to see Adam. I don't care where he is or what he's doing, I just-"

"No problem," Emzieh says. "I'll take you."

"Thanks."

"He's probably at the refinery with Mamazun," Katie offers. "They were having some trouble getting people to work the oil well."

"You gotta be kidding me," Kris says.

Emzieh smiles, huge and pearly. "I know, hey? What are the odds they'd find oil under a golf course? But it was all there when we showed up, just as pretty as you please."

They ride together. Kris asks about the well to keep his mind occupied with learning new things, and Emzieh fills in all the blanks. It seems he'd rather not think, too.

They head to what Kris learns is called the East Garage, where they used to store the lawn mowers for the golf course. The gravel area now houses the hothouse, a big white tent that Kris is dying to look at when he's got time, and the refinery, which is a fancy word for a bunch of drums and hoses buzzing with people in lab coats. Emzieh says they're looking for Mamazun, who gets all the geniuses working in the same direction; she turns out to be a beautiful black woman with her lab coat dyed pink and gold. She says Adam's already been here, and promised them he'll talk to the engineering guys on their behalf. Apparently, Adam has engineering guys.

Kris and Emzieh take a twenty-minute ride to the UCLA campus. They pass a huge farm that looks bigger than even the garden, and Emzieh says it's referred to as the country club by the people that live around here - and further, that those around here live primarily in the Playboy Mansion. "They even have the pool fountains working," Emzieh laughs. "Though you probably shouldn't swim there."

"Do they accept visitors?" Kris grins back.

Emzieh shakes his head, smile turning wicked. "Anything for the King."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kris mutters to himself, blushing again.

They ride together through the streets, and hit the edge of the campus. It's not much of a change, except for how there seem to be trees bursting out of everywhere. Roots have come through walls designed to hold them in, and the streets are more broken by growing things. Emzieh leads them through the paths, and when they arrive outside a lumbering brick building, he pulls up and jumps off his bike. "This is our stop," he says, parking it along the steps where a dozen others are leaning. Emzieh gestures to them. "That's more than usual. Our man's probably here."

Kris follows him inside, up stairs, around corners. They pass a dozen weird little signs and warning labels and notices from the years gone by, untouched. One door has a piece of paper tacked to a notice board beside it, claiming to commemorate the birthplace of the internet. It's scribbled all over, notes from Before: Manny was here! He digg'd it!

It gives Kris the screaming mimis, and he hurries past.

At the top of the stairs, the door opens out onto the roof. A smaller extension of the building is up here that's a little nicer, like a penthouse. Emzieh leads Kris across the gravel, and Kris spots people through the windows. His heart picks up, knocking against his ribs.

It's quiet in the penthouse as the door opens, but it's the kind of silence that's a pause in a conversation. Four people stand in a loose circle with Adam, and they all turn to look at the source of the interruption.

"It'll wait," says Emzieh softly, and stands back against the door.

Kris does the same, and Adam directs a long and serious glance at Kris before turning back to his group. "I'll accept that," he says, picking up where he left off. "But you need to work the rig yourselves." There's a flurry of objections, and Adam raises both hands to halt them. "No, I know, but I won't accept any other solutions. Now, believe me, I'm the last guy to try to turn you into something you're not, and I believe in the pursuit of science even in our circumstances, but you gotta work with me. I need healthy people, I need all of you to have exercise and sun and the ability to lift heavy shit so you can club people over the head with it if you have to. Every Dog defends our territory, even you, and this solves all of your problems! The refined gas you'll get in trade can power your generators for hours of computer time. Think what you guys could do with fucking computers!"

The pack of geniuses around Adam flush slightly with lust.

"It's a good deal," Adam tells them, clapping the shoulder of the one nearest to him. "Can I tell Mamazun you'll see her Monday?"

"I can tell her," mumbles one guy, staring at his shoes. "I'll be seeing her at the Roxy tonight."

A woman next to him raises an eyebrow high. "Is that so?"

He shrugs, blushing hard.

"Well, I'll see you there," Adam says firmly, and then smiles at the rest. "Wouldn't kill the rest of you to show up, you know. You're always welcome."

There are some noises made about time and duty and being tired. Adam accepts it with good grace, and then tells them all goodbye. The four of them fall to talking amongst one another, and Adam comes up and slings an arm around Kris's shoulders. He squeezes, like a hug, and Kris turns his face into the curve of Adam's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Adam's waist.

He breathes deeply of the cologne, and the surreal static of listening to him give sensible commands to people that could probably program an iPhone fades away and there's just him and Adam here, safer now that they're together. That in itself is surreal, but Kris can't resist the sense of relief that washes over him when Adam closes the hug, shutting the world out. "Hey," he murmurs into Kris's hair. "What's up?"

"This one wanted to see you," Emzieh says, tilting his head at Kris. "It's been a weird day, man."

"Mmph," Kris agrees, his face pressed to Adam's soft, dark jacket. He's gripping the back of it, pressing Adam to him, feeling the warm weight of the body in his arms.

Adam holds on a little tighter. "What happened?" he asks over Kris's shoulder, his voice hard. "That cut on his lip, is that from today?"

"My fault," Emzieh says in a contrite voice. Adam's body goes taut with fury under Kris's hands, and Kris's safe zone starts shaking. Emzieh doesn't seem to notice. "There was an argument at the house and I lost my temper, but-"

"Get out," Adam snarls low in his throat. It's gone from him holding Kris to Kris holding him, blocking Adam with his body. Adam clutches him with one arm, and the other comes up to jab violently toward the door. "Get out!" Adam shouts, and the sound ricochets through the penthouse. "Does it look like I'm playing with you motherfuckers?! Leave us alone!"

There's a sudden clatter as people make for the door. Kris is braced against the floor, holding onto Adam's jacket so he can't go anywhere, can't pull away and murder people, because that's what his body's saying, loud and clear. "It's okay," he says, though he's sure Adam's not listening.

The door closes, and the penthouse is still.

Adam pulls away enough to see, hold his face in two hands and inspect the cut. Kris tries to turn away, face burning. "Adam, it's fine."

"Just hold still," he says, his hands firm. The cut stings a little as Adam touches it with his thumb, and Kris licks at it without meaning to. Adam's eyes go black with hate and he lets go, pushing toward the door. "I'll fucking kill him."

"No!" Kris shouts, grabbing Adam's arm hard. "No, Adam, Jesus! It wasn't his fault, I'm the one who hit him."

Adam gives him a look. "Why?"

"...Well, he hit Danny. But Danny was asking for it, you remember how he is, Adam, come on. He doesn't know when to leave it alone, come on." Adam's furious all over again, trying to leave, but Kris jerks at him, digging with his fingernails, anything to keep him in the room. "Stay, Adam, I can't fight anymore. I want to talk with you. Please."

There's a kind of hiccup in his movement, a pause.

"Please," Kris repeats, and tries to force him to turn around. "Look at me."

Grudgingly, Adam turns. Now that they're up close and the distractions are gone, Kris can see the hard line that Adam's mouth is set in, the tightness around his eyes. He can see scars that weren't there before. Kris tries to touch, to smooth these wrong things away, but Adam catches his wrist, pulls it away. "Don't," he says, his voice hoarse. "Kris, you don't... you don't know what it's been like out here. It can't be like it was."

Kris's heart trips, making his chest hurt. "I know," he says, gripping Adam's arms and praying for the words to come out just right, so Adam will believe him. He wants to apologize but it seems trite; he chokes it off and tries to explain instead. "They just took us. We didn't have any choice, they just marched us off. I asked about you, Adam, I swear I did. I tried to make them wait."

Adam's blinking at him, shock opening his mouth and shortening his breath.

Now that the words are coming, Kris can't seem to stop them. The memories are as sharp as if they happened yesterday, the panic and worry about so many people. "They said they were picking up everybody, not just us. They said they sent cars all over town, they had this list and your name was on it, so we were supposed to look for you when we all got to the base. We looked and looked, Adam, I asked everybody, I asked every truck that came in. And then they wouldn't let me leave, they wouldn't let any of us leave and they had guns, God, Adam, I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry-"

Adam's pulling him in, Kris's words dying against his shoulder. "Shut up," he murmurs. "Don't say that, don't ever say it. You don't ever apologize to me for that, it wasn't your fault."

Kris gropes around his back, catches his shoulder. He pulls away just enough to tilt his face up, and finding Adam's mouth with his just seems like the logical next step. He needs to make this stick, needs to prove it to them both, so he grips Adam's hair to hold him for it, presses his lips against Adam's hard enough to open the split again. His lip is throbbing and Adam's mouth is soft and giving, so Kris closes his eyes and takes.

He can feel Adam panic under his hands, feel surprise and a little bit of fight. He pushes past it, hauling at those shoulders until they're glancing off each other at the stomach and hip. It starts with Adam's hands curling into the back of Kris's shirt, and then he falls on Kris like an avalanche. They stumble together until Kris's back hits the door, making it rattle. Adam's hands curl, scratching along Kris's back until he finds the curve of Kris's arm, the small of his back to pull at and hold down. Adam tilts his head and pushes his tongue into Kris's mouth, and Kris forgot that that's how it feels to really kiss. It's been a long time.

He opens up, and his head bumps against the door under the force of Adam's assault. It's a massacre, he thinks giddily. I never stood a chance.

Adam breaks away to kiss up to Kris's ear, where he bites and sucks on the shell of it. "Why," he murmurs, pushing his knee between Kris's, holding his wrist against the door. "Wait, you know what? Never mind. I don't care."

"Jesus." Kris addresses the ceiling, panting as he tries to brace his legs a little further apart. "I just wanted..."

"I don't give a damn what you just wanted," Adam growls against his neck. He bites there, too, hard enough that it stings and throbs like Kris's lip and ear, and Kris groans at the rush of desperate need. Adam grabs Kris's hips with both hands and shoves them against the door. "There's only one thing I want right now, and you knew what it'd be. You always knew."

Kris tries to hold on, to be as encouraging as possible - not that he can move much. "Anything," he says, and means it. Even if it'd hurt. Especially if it'd hurt - the more real, the better.

"Don't say that," Adam says, his voice cracking as doubt comes into his eyes. He starts to pull back, his smile is hard and too small. "It doesn't work like that."

Kris uses his free hand to grab the back of Adam's head and grip. He's never pulled anybody's hair before on purpose, but he thinks if there were ever a time to start, it'd be right now. As intended, it makes Adam's eyes drift closed and draws a shuddering hiss. "It works like that today," Kris tells him. He tries to sound serious and sure, but he's shaking and his breath keeps hitching. "All right? Right now. Free pass. So, what you wanted, you should just... take it."

The way Adam looks at him, Kris thinks he can feel the hunger seeping into his skin. Adam pushes him back against the door again just to hear the rattle, because it's not like Kris moved. They're close enough to kiss, close enough to feel hot breath against skin. "Kris," Adam murmurs.

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna suck your dick now."

Kris didn't know he was hard until right this second, but he is painfully, eagerly hard. His dick strains against his pants and he can't really breathe. He bites his lip, nodding. "Yes please."

Adam's kiss is bruising and quick, and then he drops to his knees in a move so fluid that Kris's delirious thoughts flick to superhuman powers granted by totem animal, by radioactive spider bite. The tug at his zipper is just fast enough. Adam pops the button and drags everything down to his thighs in a fast yank, and first it's one broad hand in a rough stroke, and then the overwhelming heat and pressure of his mouth.

Kris watches it happen and still can't believe it. Adam's mouth is red and glossy; he plants a hand on Kris's body to keep him upright as he uses his other to grip, to slap the head against the flat of his own tongue. Kris groans, the shocks of pleasure ripping through him. "Fuck, fuck, you're kid, kidding me, ohh, fuck..."

Adam doesn't so much as look up, no, Adam dives down and jerks his hand fast. He flicks his tongue at the slick ridges, gets it in his mouth and sucks, and his hand never stops moving which just means he's cruel, he's a cruel son of a bitch.

"Adam," Kris moans, holding onto his hair with both hands. "Oh, Adam, I'm. Stop, I'm so, I'm so close, you, oh, oh God..."

Adam pulls back from the impossible thing he was doing with his tongue and sits back on his heels. "Stay standing," he instructs, and takes his supporting hand away. Kris braces himself against the door and watches Adam suck two of his fingers, tongue flicking between them. Then he's back on Kris's cock, sucking hard and fast and moving his hand, which is, God, yes. And without any kind of warning, he pushes his hand up between Kris's legs and presses those two slick fingers inside.

It hurts. Kris is in the middle of trying to crawl vertically up the door when Adam pushes his mouth all the way down to his fist, and without warning Kris is coming and coming. He loses track of everything but the blistering white pleasure searing his body, and the feeling of falling; he isn't too surprised when opens his eyes and finds himself gasping for air in Adam's lap, boneless and shuddering.

"That's my boy," Adam is whispering into his hair, holding him tightly. "That's right. Did you like that, baby?"

Kris tries to answer but it comes out an incoherent mess, so he turns his face against Adam's shoulder. His fucking pants are still around his knees.

Adam holds him a little too tightly, fingers digging in. "Yeah, you do. That's good, you just... it's okay. It's okay now."

It takes a minute for him to get his body into some kind of working order, but when he's coordinated enough to try to move, it takes some convincing. Adam's fingers are twisted in the t-shirt, his face pressed against Kris's neck, and Kris has to pry and urge and gently push to get them untangled. "I'm not going anywhere," he finally promises, and Adam unclenches.

Kris tugs his pants back on and tries a tentative hand against Adam's belly, but Adam just smiles and pushes it away. "I'm pretty sure we can do better," he says, quirking an eyebrow. "Just... sit with me for a minute? Sue me, I like to cuddle."

That's no kind of hardship, so Kris shuffles along beside him and leans against his shoulder. His body's still buzzing, his head loose on his shoulders. He forgot this kind of feeling was possible, and it's bringing back memories but right now they're all good ones. Adam tugs at him a little, and Kris goes with it until he winds up lying in Adam's lap again. "Damn," Kris laughs, rubbing a hand over his face. "That was... oh, that was amazing."

Adam's amused chuckle makes Kris's heart trip. He can't remember the last time he heard it, and when he wracks his mind for the last instance, it's shrouded in Before - late nights on the tour bus, whispered conversations in the bunks until Scott, with deadly accuracy, threw a pillow. Kris hasn't heard Adam laugh since he's been here, not even one time. It's mostly been shouting and threats.

He reaches up to touch Adam's shoulder and gets his neck instead, but it's nice to curl his fingers there anyway. "You should laugh more," he murmurs, half to himself. "I missed you like that."

"I missed you a lot of ways," Adam smiles, and then smiles wider. "Really? That's what it takes to flip you, is me threatening someone's life? I should have tried to kill Danny ages ago."

Kris feels like a shit for laughing, but he can't help it. It's funny. Adam makes it okay, somehow.

"So," Kris asks, "you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but I have to ask. How did you do all this?" He waves his hand in a gesture meant to encompass pretty much everything.

Adam pushes a stray lock of hair out of Kris's eyes. "You mean what they're doing, or that they made me their leader? Because I didn't have anything to do with the first one."

"I kind of meant the second part, anyway," Kris says. He looks up and sees streaks of makeup hidden under Adam's chin.

He shrugs, being humble. "I wasn't really trying to be the guy in charge or anything. I didn't want the job, it wasn't a case of I'm so much better, listen to me."

Kris smiles and reaches up to blur the streaks with his thumb. "I know that."

"You can't blend right without sponges," Adam frowns, rubbing at his chin.

"Just tell me the story." Kris folds his hands on his stomach and settles.

Adam leans back against the door, crossing his ankles, and lays his hand over Kris's. "We had a king right at the beginning. Everybody loved her."

"Her?"

"She was a fifty year old drag queen called Bambi of Finland." Adam grins wide, warmth in his eyes. "I don't know if she actually was from Finland, but it was her name. And when things went to shit, people started trickling into West Hollywood because we thought, that's where we're going to be safe. Y'know? We knew people would protect us and cry with us about everything, instead of being jock cunts about it and lynching us when they got bored."

Kris winces. Right at first at the base, people cried all the time and it was just how it was, but it didn't stay that way. People started getting hit for it, men and women alike; the grunts were annoyed by the sound, felt it was ungrateful.

Adam sighs wistfully. "Bambi had a shotgun and stilettos and the keys to this bar, and people just came. That's how we started."

Kris turns to face him and moves Adam's hand up to rest on his hip. "So what happened?"

"Beverly Hills," Adam sneers. "Most people got taken by the military, with you. But there were a bunch of assholes who stayed to guard their fucking estates, you know? They had guns and they were gonna take over everything. They started with us because, surprise, surprise: they figured the faggots wouldn't put up much of a fight."

"Did you kill them?" Kris asks, surprising himself with how much he hopes the answer is yes, and bloodily.

"Most," Adam says softly. "But not before they... well, they killed Bambi, and I don't really think you need to hear the rest."

Kris's mind can fill in the blanks, and he hates them all so much. They might be dead, but God, he's happy about it. There was a time in his life when he would have fought to repress that hate, to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but it's different now. Everything's different. "You killed them," he says firmly.

"Not all," Adam allows. "We let all the kids live, and anybody who wasn't actually firing on us was allowed to join us if they wanted."

"Generous," Kris says dubiously.

Adam gives him a tight smile. "Wasn't my call. We had our second King by then, a guy named Troy, and the Beverly Hills people were completely licking his ass even after all the shit we went through to get him to attack back in the first place. I don't want to tell you about some of the shit he pulled, but nobody loved Troy more than Troy. After a while some people started saying we needed a new king, and suggested to me that if someone were to get rid of the old one, nobody'd be sad about it."

Kris looks up at him, wide-eyed. "You mean you killed him?" It's easy to picture; Adam done up all in black and holding a silver gun.

"Kind of." Adam shrugs, and the lines around his eyes are back. He looks like the new Adam now, serious and hardened. "I went to the royal court - I swear to God, he made people call it that even though it was just the fucking back room at Bambi's bar - and I announced that I was the new King. I told Troy's bodyguards to strip his ass and throw him into the canyons, and that if anybody saw him again, they had my permission to kill him on sight."

Kris blinks, drawing it in his mind. "Why the canyons?"

Adam rubs Kris's hand. "Mountain lions, honey. Just for a start."

There goes that option. Kris nods, hesitant. "So, what did Troy do when you said that?"

"Oh, he was having a full on diva fit. His whole face turned purple. What are you waiting for, kill him, cut off his dick, I want him fucking dead!"

"And?"

"Well, the guards looked at me, and they looked at Troy. I looked fabulous, of course. They figured I was the better choice, so they did what I told them, and I've been King ever since. They liked that I let them pick, they told me that later."

Kris nods, processing that.

"So that was three years ago," Adam volunteers. "More or less. We took over Beverly and Century City, and firmed up the borders in WeHo. There are still people living there, I mean, it's our old home and it's where all the makeup and clothes are. But I moved most of us out here once we found the golf courses for farmland. We even did some city planning, made plans for our future. There's way more of us now than I ever thought there would be and we're growing all the time. I think we're the biggest gang in L.A."

Kris is going to say something to that, but a sharp knock at the door cuts him off. "Adam," says Emzieh on the other side, his voice urgent. "Adam!"

"I haven't fucking forgiven you yet, Em!" Adam calls back lazily, running his fingers through Kris's hair.

"There's hunters at the fucking 405, man, just thought you might want to fucking know about it!"

Adam pushes onto his feet and jerks the door open, all his anger gone in a flash freeze. "Who's on deck?" he asks, his voice perfectly calm as he starts to run.

Emzieh is beside him, and Kris has to scramble to catch up, to hear. "Cherry's team was up there, we should be good. But Vima says they were acting weird, they're coming right up to the pillars. Cherry was gonna keep an eye, but it might get ugly fast."

"Fuck." Adam shouts, slamming through the crash door. "Fuck it, I'm coming."

Kris shouts as they head down the stairs. "I'll go too," he says. "I'll help you."

Adam barely manages to throw a look over his shoulder. "No offense, but until you take boot camp, you'd just be in the way. The tactics are complicated."

He feels a bit like a fifties housewife, but Kris slows down. "Okay," he says, calling after the thudding steps. "I'm gonna go to the Temple!"

"Meet you there after," Adam shouts, and then he's too far ahead to hear clearly anymore.

Kris stands alone for a minute, catching his breath. It's more from worry than exertion - where he comes from, hunters are a good thing, and he catches himself picturing Emzieh and the kid in the red jacket facing off against cannibals on the freeway.

Only there aren't any cannibals, Kris thinks, making his way downstairs and out to the front of the building. Or if there are, they're all right here.

It's silent here, not a sound but the scratch of a squirrel, the rustle of a bird in the trees. There's no humming generator, no shouts or laughter or talking. Nobody's on the shooting range and no one wants him for anything, and in the afternoon sun, Kris closes his eyes and listens to the wide, empty nothing in Los Angeles.

When it starts to get creepy, he climbs on a bike and speeds off through the trees. He remembers the way back to the garden, and the wind in his hair and the thump of tires as he flies through the streets is cool and nice. He hopes they have a little spare bathwater at the Temple, it'd be nice to wash his face.

When he arrives at the garden he discovers that he doesn't remember which direction the Temple was supposed to be in. As he stands there looking first one way and then the other, a little girl comes up to him and tugs on his shirt. She's got a yellow sundress on, and she's wearing a necklace made of polished bone. Her big green eyes are wide, and he can't help smiling at her. "Hi there."

"Hi," she says, looking shyly up at him through her bangs. She can't be more than four years old. With a hesitant hand, she reaches out and touches his fingers like he's some fantastic, exotic creature she's never seen before.

Kris turns his hand over, palm up, and she snatches her fingers back and giggles.

"Arizona," calls a warm voice. Kris looks up and sees a woman that must be the girl's mother; she's such a close resemblance. The little girl turns and runs toward the woman, and scoots behind her legs the minute she reaches her. "Sorry," the woman says, smiling warmly. "You must be Kris. I'm Penny."

Kris gets off his bike and goes to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You're new," she explains. "Ari doesn't meet new people very often. None of us do."

Kris smiles. "Understood. Listen, since I'm bothering you anyway, do you think you could tell me which way it is to the Temple?"

"Sure, I'll walk you."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Kris objects, but Penny's already shaking her head.

"Please, did I not just say you were new and interesting?"

Kris laughs. "I'm not that interesting."

Penny lifts an eyebrow at him as they start off, Arizona beside Penny and Kris walking his bike. "Mind if I ask where you come from? Originally, I mean."

"Arkansas."

She smiles. "Small town?"

"No," he says, "not unless you're comparing to L.A. Why do you ask?"

Penny shrugs her arm, which makes the little girl swing their joined hands. "At last count, there were just about six hundred and twenty people in Dogtown. Now there's six-twenty-four, and only one of the new guys made the King go crazy."

Kris looks at her, startled, his stomach down around his knees. "Everybody knows?"

"Near enough," she says gently. "Sorry, but you sure are the most interesting thing around here in a long time. I mean, not only that, but you tied some pretty serious knots in the Consigliere."

"What?"

Her face colors and she lowers her voice. "Um. Brad. You met him?"

Kris tries hard to keep the scowl off his face. "We had some words."

"Yeah, I guess you did," Penny says, biting at her lip like she's embarrassed. "I heard he came storming out of the new place and wouldn't talk to anybody, just went straight to the Bat-cave and locked himself in."

Penny has this habit of finding topics that are incredibly uncomfortable to think about. Kris looks for a segue that can take them away from the cute nicknames that everybody has for Brad, and most definitely away from the place where Kris's family lived. He worries at his lip with his teeth and it stings like a mother, not just because of the cut Brad gave him, but because of Adam's bruises covering those.

That's not a better topic, Kris thinks, heat rising in his face.

"So, um. I guess you heard there were hunters spotted out by the freeway?"

Her eyes widen and she stops in her tracks, puts a hand on his shoulder to turn him toward her. "Hunters? You're sure that's what they said?"

"Yeah," he says, suddenly worried. "What, isn't that usual?"

"Happens now and then," she says absently, and leans over to swing Arizona up into her arms. "Listen, thanks for letting me know. I gotta go warn the others. You should get to the Temple; people will be showing up there soon. It's just at the intersection, to your left. Can't miss it." She points, and there's a big wide crossroads just up there, yeah, and people crossing into it from all directions.

"Thanks," he says. "I'll be seeing you around, I guess."

"You bet. Bye, Kris," Penny says, and hurries away. Over her shoulder, Arizona waves, and Kris waves back to her before jumping on the bike to hurry down the street.

There are lots of bikes outside the walls of the broad, terra cotta colored building. They're crushing the long grass, and the fresh, clean smell of it is in the air. People come on bikes and on foot, and they all head straight through the front doors. Kris earns a few looks for his plain clothes and simple haircut, but they must all know who he is because they let him go along like he belongs here.

Kris steps into a huge foyer lined with candles. It smells like incense and smoke, like herbs and oil. At the entrance, everyone takes their shoes and socks off and leaves them piled at the sides of the doors; there must be a hundred pairs here. Kris does likewise, wanting to be respectful, because there's a sense in the air of waiting and nervousness. People cluster in groups, some hugging warmly while others talk amongst themselves. Some kneel in front of one or another of the altars that line the walls - there's an icon of the Virgin Mary absolutely littered with red candles, and next to her are Ganesh and Shiva with a table full of offerings. Down the line, Buddha shakes his big belly at the gold crescent and star across the hallway. Kris spots dozens more, sometimes four religions represented on one table.

Halfway down, Kris spots the crucifix, and says a prayer. It slides easily off his tongue, and a blur of faces slide past his eyes like they always do. He can never bring himself to hope they all survived, because that seems like too much to ask, so he just hopes they're happy wherever they are, forever and ever, Amen.

At the end of the hall there's a huge stairway, and beyond that a row of French doors stand open. People sit on the grass out there, and Kris carefully pokes his head out, not wanting to intrude. The first person he sees is Katie, the priestess. She's talking to a group of people, crouched down beside them, and he waits until she pats a nearby shoulder and stands up.

"Hey," he calls out, as gently as he can, crossing the lawn with his hand raised.

She smiles to see him. "Hi, Kris. Your friends are in the infirmary, if you want to go check on them."

He does, but he feels a certain responsibility first. "Adam said there were hunters along the freeway," he tells her, certain she'll know what to do with the info.

But Katie's already nodding. "I know, we got word a few minutes ago. Don't worry about it," she says confidently. "We've done this a time or two."

Of course they have. Kris feels silly and ducks his head, but Katie just laughs and points him in the right direction.

What they're calling the infirmary clearly started out differently, maybe a small ballroom. The beds are real beds, not cots or stretchers, mismatched and pretty along the walls. The only one occupied is Danny's, Allison and Anoop sitting on the next bed over. Danny's sitting up and awake and he looks fine. The flood of relief in his chest at seeing them all alive and well is surprising, given that he left them all more or less okay. "Hi," he says, coming up between the beds.

Allison pushes his shoulder the minute he gets in range. "Hi? That's it? What happened with Adam?"

"He figured out the problem with the oil rig," Kris deadpans, and sits down beside Danny. "How you doing, big man?"

"I'm fine," Danny insists, scowling. "Nobody'll listen to me, but I really am fine."

"What did you say?" Allison demands. "Was he mad? Kris!"

"Alli, seriously." Kris bites back: none of your business. "We have other concerns right now, okay? Adam said there were hunters at the freeway."

There's an explosion of questions, and Kris explains what he knows. Danny says it's commendable that so many people come to pray for the fighters, and Anoop mentions that it sure is handy, what with it being the same place they take injured people, for the families to just be right here.

Maybe twenty minutes passes, with the four of them sitting and talking, demolishing Danny's lunch tray. Allison is on fire for this place, she loves everyone she's met so far and she's excited about, in her words, bringing back the good parts of the Before. Kris has no desire to argue with her about living in the present, so he just sits back and listens to her. Danny almost pipes up with stern warnings a couple of times, but by some miracle (perhaps he's drugged) he just decides to stay quiet.

Anoop seems to have the same kind of reservations and suspicions that Kris does. It's not anything specific; so far Kris hasn't seen the people here do anything to earn the reputation they have, but it must have come from somewhere. Adam might be their leader, but he's changed. Kris reminds himself of these things, of the wariness he learned through long experience, and trades looks with Anoop when Allison says something especially pie in the sky, like they could even have set up showers.

Then, from the hall, a shout rises. They're here, people shout. Kris distinctly hears someone say he's hurt, get back, and he's moving before he thinks. The question burns in his brain in big black letters: What if it's Adam? And his heart is thumping hard as he pushes the doors open and looks out into the great hall.

Katie and another guy are kneeling over someone on a stretcher. They both are examining him, poking and turning and murmuring at him, does that hurt, does this hurt, can you move. Standing over them are the team members, and Kris scans the faces quickly. He recognizes the Asian woman because of the sniper rifle across her back; her face is streaked with blood and tears and she looks miserable. There's a man next to her with an arm around her shoulders, and Kris is sure, absolutely sure that it's Adam.

His face, neck and part of his head are covered by a big black mask. The features are like somebody mixed together a human being and an exotic-looking dog; Kris is put in mind of pictures in the pyramids. It hides Adam completely in black leather, cloth and metal, and only his hand on the sniper's shoulder shows that he too is streaked with blood.

Kris circles the group to get to Adam's side, but he grabs the free hand and inspects it. Adam allows it, but says nothing, and so Kris runs a hand over his chest, his ribs. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Adam says, quiet and serious. "He is."

Kris looks down and sees Emzieh's face. He's the guy on the stretcher, it's his blood on Adam's hands and on the sniper's face. "Oh, my God," he breathes.

"We gotta get him to the hospital," Katie pronounces. "I don't think anything's broken, but he needs antibiotics for the shoulder and he shouldn't move until they know if he has internal bleeding. You'll have to carry him."

Adam squeezes Kris's hand and then lets go to step up to the side of the stretcher. The team immediately arrays around him, and they count off. "One, two, three."

They're trying to be careful with him, but still Emzieh grunts in pain.

"You're gonna be okay," the sniper tells him as they carry him away. "It's not far, just relax as much as you can."

As they head out the doors, Kris barely catches the answer: "Yeah, baby, I'll give that a try."

~

They stumble through the door of their house all together. Allison's already inside, and Anoop and Kris are on either side of Danny, helping him in. He's trying to squirm away, and Kris and Anoop have to struggle to keep up.

"I just tripped," Danny's insisting.

"You went down like a sack of bricks," Anoop says, and Kris can hear him roll his eyes. "You fainted."

"I didn't faint," Danny complains, as they dump him on the couch.

Kris is tired. He's tired of this argument and of Danny's injury. He's tired of the house, even though this is the second time he's ever been in it. He's tired of this fucking day, this day can be over any time now.

"Here," Allison's saying, coming up to Danny with a bottle of water. "Try and get some of this down."

"Don't drown," Anoop says dryly.

Danny takes the water. "Thanks, mom."

Kris turns to look at them and tries to keep his face expressionless. "I'm gonna go see my room. Maybe lie down for a bit."

"That's a good idea," Allison says, her worried face strained. "None of us slept much any..."

He's already walking away, and he can hear the awkward pause behind him followed by whispered conversation. He can't hear the words, but they don't matter anyway. His family will be safe for a few hours, and that's all he can bring himself to care about.

The only room upstairs that doesn't have anything in it is small and simple, a guest bedroom. It's bland and boring, a flowered quilt and lacy curtains on one square window. The walls are white, the bedside table has a doily on it and the furniture's from IKEA.

Kris hates it. He lies down on the bed anyway and stares at the ceiling, and the red sunset light draws pictures in the stucco up there. He reads it like a Rorschach test, hoping for some kind of insight, but there's just mountains and a running dog. No answers.

Lying there, his head pounding, Kris wishes he was done. After everything that's happened, it feels like things should be changing. Maybe he should be changing, but he isn't. His heart's like dead weight in his chest unless he's with Adam, and then it hurts all the time.

Well, not all the time. But Adam can't stay in bed all the time, and neither can Kris, and it's hard to justify enduring the relentless onslaught of misery and fear that is getting through the days in this hell for just a few minutes of bliss.

It's a sin to think of throwing away God's greatest gift to him. Kris has seen people in worse situations than this doing better with it than he is. There are people in Burma and South Africa who've lived under worse conditions all their lives.

Maybe Kris is just weaker than he thought.

He presses his hands to his eyes and breathes.

A hollow knocking pulls his thoughts back to the surface. Kris listens, hears the door open and Allison's high-pitched happy voice. There are other voices too, then, masculine ones, and Kris can't pick out the new guy but it's definitely a guy. Then there's a pause, and then Allison screams. High and long and loud, she shrieks her head off, and Kris sits up and is almost off the bed when he hears the laughter, the guys laughing, the sounds of joy.

Maybe Adam sent us a car or something. Whatever it is, Kris isn't interested. It's probably nice and everything, but he just can't handle it, so he lies back down on the bed and curls on his side. The latest burst of adrenaline is making him dizzy and sick.

A minute or two goes by, and then there are footsteps on the stairs. Kris listens to them come up to his door, and then there's a soft knock.

He pretends he isn't there, pretends he's sleeping.

"Kris," says Adam's gentle voice. "It's me."

He sighs. "Come in," he says, sitting up wearily.

Adam slips through the door and closes it softly behind him. He's changed and freshened his makeup; this is all black with his arms bared, fingerless gloves that wrap up to his forearms and things hanging off his belt that Kris doesn't want to spend too long looking at. His eyes are ringed in red and gold, and Kris figures he knows why.

"How's Emzieh?" he asks, as Adam takes a seat beside him.

"Better," Adam sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting his head drop. He stretches his neck, slow and stiff. "The doctors tell me he'll be fine. He's got a little bleeding inside but they say it'll probably just clot or dry up or whatever. He'll be okay."

Kris feels a little tension uncoil, just under his ribs. He doesn't like Emzieh all that well, doesn't even know him, really. But he is grateful that he's not badly hurt. "What happened out there?" he asks, resting a cautious hand on Adam's shoulder.

It's firm under his fingers. It feels good to touch like this.

Adam allows it, leaning into it a little, but his voice is hard and distant and he won't look up. "It was a bunch of fuckheads who usually stick to Venice and Santa Monica. They kill whoever they come across, steal whatever they find, and they have an endless supply of weapons. The Marians have had trouble with them from the start, but they know the hunters are too tough for them to handle. They just go to ground when they pass through. Usually, hunters are too spooked to come anywhere near Dogtown, but today it was like something lit a fire under them. We couldn't scare them off, so we had to fight. Em got tagged as he was jumping between rooftops. If he hadn't hit the fire escape, and if Siouxzen hadn't been right behind him to pull him up, he'd be splattered all over La Grange right now."

Adam rubs his eyes, and Kris thinks he can feel the same heavy weight in Adam that's in his own chest right now. Only it must be worse for him, because Kris is only responsible for three people, and Adam has the life of every single Dog on his back. Adam has little Arizona's life to look after, because without him she'd be starving and homeless and afraid, and with him she might have a life. It won't be much of one, by comparison, but a Dog's life is the only one she gets to have.

"You did drive them away, though," Kris says, feeling certain of the answer. "Cherry's team and you."

Adam smiles at him, a little quirk of the mouth. "How do you know Cherry's team was there?"

"Emzieh said it as you were walking away," Kris shrugs. "I have a good memory."

Adam sits up and slings an arm around Kris's shoulders, uses it to drag them both down onto the bed. It's way more comfortable this way, actually, so Kris is only too happy to throw his arm across Adam's chest and push his face into its spot.

"We did," Adam confirms, wriggling around to get comfortable. "Took three of them down before they escaped, but they managed to take two with them when they fucked off. We only got one."

Kris feels a stillness settle over him. "What did you do with him? The one you caught?"

"You have to understand," Adam murmurs. "A lot of us came from Santa Monica. There have been hunters there for years, in Culver and Inglewood and I think south of that, too. A lot of them have family who were killed, and hunters don't spare kids. Women are lucky to be killed before anything else, you get it?"

"It's okay if you killed him," Kris says, surprising himself. "I understand."

Adam shakes his head. "He's not dead. Murder is still murder, here, even for hunters. He was out cold."

Confused, Kris lifts up on his elbow so he can see Adam's face. "But then what will you do with him? You won't let him be a Dog." He's horrified by the thought.

"No, of course not." Adam's distaste is serious, angry. "I don't protect monsters."

"Good," Kris huffs. "But you won't just let him go, will you?"

Adam rubs a thumb along Kris's back, watching him closely. "No, we won't. There's this tradition we have. Every night, there's a fire at Roxy field; it's this one piece of land we didn't turn into farmland. People get together and talk and sing and just be together. There's a baseball field there, and sometimes people do that. Just whatever." He shifts a little under Kris's gaze, biting at his lip and lowering his eyes for a second. "Because we got attacked today, there'll be a bonfire. Security shifts will double, babysitters go on duty and everyone else will get together and have a party. It's the way it's done."

Kris is starting to follow. "You'll bring him to this party."

Adam nods. He starts fucking with his nail polish, chipping flecks of it away with his thumb. It's what he does when he's nervous, Kris remembers.

"I understand," he says, and surprises himself by meaning it. "Your people need it, I understand."

"They need justice," Adam says tightly. "There's not enough of it anymore, not nearly."

Kris lies back down and puts his head on Adam's shoulder. He breathes deeply, and tastes Adam's sweat and makeup on the back of his tongue. He imagines the scent of blood under that, and feels himself relax.

He couldn't say what rouses him, but it's dark when he opens his eyes. There's a woman's voice just outside the door: "I know, but I've waited as long as I can." Then comes the tentative knocking. "Hello? I don't want to interrupt, but it's time."

Beside him, Adam stirs. "Hmm? Oh, fuck me, what time is it?" He sits up and yawns hugely.

"Don't know," Kris mumbles. "I fell asleep."

"Shit, my makeup."

Through the door, that voice calls. It's nagging at Kris's brain; something about it sounds familiar. "No more red in the sky!"

"Shit!"

The two of them roll out of bed, and Adam hurries into the bathroom. Kris hears the flick of a lighter. "Okay," Adam mumbles to himself. "Okay, this is salvageable."

Kris takes a minute to smile in the dark. He got his ten minutes with Adam, so he makes his way downstairs. "Guys? Sorry I was such a grouch before, but I..."

In the living room, a table full of flickering candles lights up four faces. Three of them, Kris knows very well, and they are all beaming at him. The last belongs to someone he never thought he'd see again.

Lil stands up and gives him a warm smile. "Hi, Kris."

"Oh, Jesus," Kris says, and he's laughing before he can help it. He circles the table and wraps Lil up in his arms. He lifts her right off her feet, he can't help it. He's laughing, everybody around him is laughing and talking, and Lil is real and warm in his arms, not dead and cold in some unmarked grave, and seriously, this day could not get any fucking weirder, but right now that's okay.

"I missed you too, short round," Lil groans, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. "Now put me down!"

Kris does that, and holds her at arm's length to look at her. She's got dark red leather and black canvas all over, and now that Kris is paying attention, he can see the fantastical makeup and the heavy red boots. Her braids are hung with trophies and colored extensions, all caught back in a huge ponytail, and she's got piercings running all the way up one ear. Every one of them bears a heavy, sparkling diamond.

"I have so many questions," Kris says, memories of a polished lady of jazz fading in his mind.

Lil pats his arms. "I know, baby. I have 'em too. But we really do have to go, and if Princess Adam isn't down here in ten seconds, I'll go up there and beat his ass!" She shouts the last over her shoulder.

"Keep your panties on," Adam says, coming downstairs. He looks as perfect as he did when he came in, and the two of them together are obviously a matched pair.

"You guys," Allison says hesitantly. "I don't have anything to wear."

Kris blinks. "Are we going?"

"Of course," Adam says. "I told you, it's tradition. Everybody goes."

Meanwhile, Lil is touching Allison's chin and examining her face critically. "Don't you worry, baby girl, we'll get you fitted out backstage."

Allison's eyes go wide. "There's a stage?"

Lil laughs. "Baby, who do you think you're dealing with, here? Of course they have a stage!"

They get themselves together in pretty short order, as they don't have much they need to take with them. When they step outside, there are lots of people already moving up the street, carrying candles and torches with them like a river of light. The crowd spots them, and Adam waves to the sudden cheering of Long live the king!

They all walk along together, through the crowds. Anoop touches Kris's arm and then falls back a little to where Danny's walking a few steps behind. Kris joins them. "What's up, you guys?"

Anoop pitches his voice low, acting casual. "Nothing major. I just think maybe we ought to be careful. I know it's Adam and everything, but the more time I spend talking to people, the more rules I find out about. Did you know you're not supposed to piss in the backyards?"

"Why?"

Anoop narrows his eyes. "That's the weird part. They won't say. Like, they just say it's complicated and it has to do with rain. It's not a crazy rule, but they're evasive."

Danny nods. "I'm just saying that, I mean, we know Adam. But we don't know a lot of these people, and they don't seem exactly normal. I just think we should keep ourselves back. Not be so friendly right away, until we know more."

"For sure, there are things they're not showing us." Anoop shrugs. "Let's just... step lightly."

It sounds like sense, but Kris can feel something off about it. Something in him rebels against it, and he's not sure why. He ignores it, and nods along with them. "I hear you, guys. We won't commit, I guess."

"That's all I'm saying," Anoop agrees.

Kris goes back up to the girls. He takes Lil's hand and holds it firmly, and she bumps his shoulder with hers. "Hey."

"Hey," Kris says, and allows himself a smile. Behind him, Danny is murmuring at Anoop, but it's quiet enough that Kris can ignore it.

They arrive at the edge of the park and follow Adam and Lil through the swarm of people. Light is everywhere, in gas lamps and torches strategically placed along the paths - more light at night time than any of them have seen in a good long while.

Kris's eyes are everywhere; there's so much to see in the crazy outfits people have put together. Two people chase each other through the crowd on stilts, of all things, and the crowd shouts greetings up at them.

"You wanna go check on your brood?" Adam asks Lil, and she nods and leads them off to the left. The trees are gorgeous here, willow and lavender, full of blooms, and they come on a huge playground chock full of kids. There are dozens of them, and adults all over the place helping and playing and laughing with the children like they're kids themselves.

Lil comes up to one guy, thin and manic looking, and taps him on the shoulder. They carry on a conversation while a toddler is using the guy like a jungle gym, and when Lil comes back she's smiling. "Ernie says they have plenty of volunteers and the kids are having a great time. Everything's fine."

"Lil's the head Mom of our village," Adam smiles proudly. "She's in charge of anything kid-related - school, babysitting and the... well, I guess you can't call it a maternity ward." He looks at her askance.

"More like six midwives that live in the same neighborhood," Lil admits, rolling her eyes. "But women have been making babies for a long damn time. We're pretty good at it."

Adam raises his hands in surrender. "Your department, not mine. Anyway, she does so good with it, you guys, I can't even tell you. I've had moms tell me it's easier on them now, in terms of child care, than it was Before."

They all ooh and ahh appreciatively, and Lil rolls her eyes and pushes Adam's shoulder. "You can quit that right now. Go on, they need you back there."

"True," Adam says. "Okay, you guys just relax, get comfortable. The fire's on second base, and the show's gonna get rolling in probably twenty minutes. Say hi, relax, that's how we do it." He leans over to Kris, and before Kris can think to do anything about it, Adam's bent his head and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

Then he's gone, and everybody is looking somewhere near their feet, except for Lil, who's got her hands planted on her hips and is scanning the crowd with what appears to be complete disinterest in what Adam just did. "Where the fuck are the priests?" she mutters to herself.

Kris clears his throat. "Um. Is this a religious thing, too?"

"Hm?" Lil glances at him. "Oh, well. Kind of. It's like a universal religion, in a way? People have their shrines and icons at the Temple, and that's for their people. There's lots of people who're Catholic or Christian or Hindu, you know. This that we're about to do, though - this is just for us. Nobody else ever saw it and nobody ever will."

"Do we have to do anything?" Danny asks. "I mean, if it's religious..."

Lil smiles at him fondly. "No, Danny, you just listen to the music and dance. That's all."

"Oh."

Lil leads them through some more trees, and on the other side Kris immediately spots the pile of wood across the wide expanse of grass. There's a hive of activity around it, people stuffing kindling in the pyre and loading on more sticks. Some of the wood looks like it's from trees, and some of it is certainly ex-furniture. Kris can see some structures behind them, remains of the baseball diamond they're on.

They cross the outfield, the five of them, and Lil waves to groups of people. The place is packed; must be two or three hundred here, with even more knotted together out past the first baseline. Kris squints over in that direction and thinks he sees some familiar faces. "What's over there?" he asks, pointing Lil at it.

"That's the stage," she says absently, scanning the crowd. "Listen, I'm gonna park you guys at a table, okay? There's someone I'm looking for and I don't see her."

There are indeed some picnic tables in the far outfield, and the minute they get there and Lil leaves, Allison is standing up. "I'm gonna go explore," she says. "Adam said I could come backstage, so."

Danny's half out of his seat before she's even done talking. "I don't think that's a good idea," he says firmly. "You should stick close until we know a little more about what they're doing, here."

Allison's brow knits, just a little. "What do you want to know? It's a party. How long has it been since you were at a party, Danny?" She's warming to her topic, getting excited. "How long since you had anything to party about? We're alive and we're safe, and we found Adam and Lil! It's like they're back from the dead! I'm gonna go find him, okay? So you guys can just chill."

She turns to leave, and before Kris can do anything about it, Danny's caught her arm and she's yanked it away, furious.

"You don't even know who these people are!"

"You're just scared, Danny, you always hated Adam and -"

"I did not hate Adam!"

"Lie all you want, but everybody heard -"

"Allison, just sit down, you need to listen -"

"No, you listen!"

They're just shouting over top of each other now, and Kris can't listen to it anymore. "Shut up, both of you!"

He's standing. He didn't realize he'd stood. People around them are staring.

Kris lowers his voice to a more human level. "Alli, let's go find Adam. Danny, you and Anoop stick together."

"Hey, I don't need a babysitter -"

"These people aren't -"

Kris puts up his hands and they both go quiet. "I don't want to argue. I don't. Aren't we supposed to be having a good time?"

They both look away from him.

Anoop, thank God, pats the table. "Come on, Danny. We'll keep an eye on things from here."

"Ugh, whatever," Allison says, rolling her eyes as she grabs Kris by the hand and drags him toward the stage.

As they're walking, Kris hears Danny mumble something to Anoop about just wanting her to be safe. He empathizes, he really does, but at this point he's pretty sure Adam's people respect him enough not to bother the new blood, and he just doesn't have any patience left. Sorry, Danny.

The faces do get more familiar, the closer he gets to the fire. He sees most of the people who were in the audience hall with them, and Brad's near the front, blithely ignoring a knot of admirers. The stage itself isn't much, just a raised platform nailed together out of raw lumber. It's been varnished, though, and covered with the sigils of dead bands. Kris can see, when they get close, how the top of it's been worn smooth.

'Backstage' turns out to mean the literal area behind the stage, no security or exclusive areas. There are at least as many trunks and crates as people, and Kris actually spots an old fashioned travel trailer parked by the road with a name scrawled - artistically - on the side: Lucent Dossier. Someone comes out of the trailer just as he's looking at it, a guy in a top hat and a handlebar mustache, his knee-length technicolor coat sweeping behind him. One of the guys on stilts stops to chat with him. The trunks and crates are a picture perfect complement to the people here; together, they seem like some kind of after-the-bomb circus.

Allison pulls away from Kris's hand then, and goes darting through the layered stockings and fur vests. "Adam!" she shouts, and Kris watches her leap into the arms of someone that's probably Adam, given how he swings her around. Kris ducks past a guy with a three-piece suit and blond dreadlocks, and sees Adam and Allison crouched over an open trunk. "This," Adam's saying, holding a length of fabric up for her.

"I don't know," Allison says, squinching her nose. "On me?"

"You'll look like a princess," Adam promises, and straightens up. "Medina! Got room for one more?"

An older woman with a fortune teller vibe looks over at the two of them with a cool gaze, and then waves Allison over. Adam presses the bright fabric into her hands and shoos her.

As she races off, Adam makes his way over to Kris. He leans down for another kiss, and this time it isn't as much of a surprise; he grips the front of Adam's t-shirt to get him closer, and Adam hums approvingly against his mouth. A sting of a bite blossoms on Kris's bottom lip, and he wants to take Adam away somewhere and get down into him, away from all this theater. Like, the theater is great and all, but Kris's skin is prickling underneath and he's sure Adam is too; their time on top of UCLA was too short and there's a lot more to know about what's happened in between. Kris wants to get into every corner of Adam, so it'll be like they never left each other.

"Gotta get ready," Adam sighs, laying soft kisses against Kris's jaw. "You should get tricked out, like Alli."

Kris nods, tilting his head back to give Adam better access. "I guess. How long do we have to stay?"

"I'm first up," Adam tells him, pressed against his throat. "But we should stay for a while after and listen. I want you to see."

"You'll be with me?" Kris says absently, threading his fingers into Adam's hair and holding tight. It's hard to even listen to his words, but whatever he wants, so long as he doesn't fucking leave again, it'll be fine.

Adam makes a fist at the small of Kris's back. "God, you're so fucking hot. I haven't wanted this in a long time, but you..."

Kris presses his hips forward, up against Adam's, and feels the hard, answering pulse there. Adam groans and pulls back, his eyes gone narrow and black with heat. "Later," he promises heavily. "I'm gonna fucking get you."

"That was kind of the idea," Kris bites back, frustrated and jittery.

Adam turns and stalks off through the crowd. Kris watches him go over to the guy with the mustache, and the guy on stilts leans down for a conference. Kris notices a few people around him whispering behind their hands, glancing at him, and can only imagine what's going on back there. Best get away.

He goes over to one of the trunks and peeks in it, hesitantly lifting a piece of silk. Adam said to get dressed up, so maybe he could? He doesn't want anything too fancy, though. He'd look ridiculous.

"No offense," says a soft male voice, "but I think you'd need more time than you have to do drag." Kris looks up and sees a slender, serious-looking guy in pinstripes, dark bronze lipstick and sideburns that belong in the seventies. "I'm Jonny," the guy says, holding out a hand.

"Kris," he answers, automatically. Jonny has a nice firm handshake, and he's just about Kris's size, which makes Kris feel about sixteen times better. "If you could give me a hand, man, I'd really appreciate it. I'm completely lost, here."

"You're kidding me," he deadpans, a warm, lopsided smile on his face. "Come on, we'll find you something tasteful."

It's a short trip, with most of the trunks clustered together. Jonny trades Kris's blue jeans for a pair of soft, high thread count slacks. They're pinstriped; Jonny appears to have a thing about those, but Kris can't honestly object because it doesn't look bad at all. Jonny tries to get him to give up his t-shirt for this straps-and-leather thing, but Kris demands real, opaque fabric. Jonny squints at him for a minute before demanding Kris stand still for a minute, and when he comes back it's with this long, deep red jacket that has diamonds on the collar. When Kris puts it on, it flows around his knees and hugs his sides, and there's no buttons on it but it's just a thin strip of skin down the front, so he figures he'll live.

Jonny pulls a little kit out of a trunk, and convinces Kris to accept a gold ring and a soft leather wrist cuff. In fact, he manages to be convincing all the way through glitter hair gel and lip gloss, which Kris thinks speaks well of Jonny's bullshit abilities. He does call a time out when Jonny aims an eyeliner pencil at him, and Jonny is kind enough to put the cap back on even though he insists that one day, Kris will look fabulous in it. Pleading a need to find Allison, Kris escapes into the throng.

Eventually he does find her. In the time since he left, Medina has managed to turn Allison's hair a deeply nostalgic shade of magenta. She's wearing something Kris has to wrack his brain to identify as a sari, and while it is emerald green and flowing and lined with gold leaf, and while she looks absolutely regal in it as promised, it is modest enough that Kris takes a moment to thank Adam in the silence of his mind.

Then she turns around, and Kris sees her bare midriff, V-neck cleavage, and the gold bells around her hips. In his mind's eye, he's seeing a foul-mouthed seventeen-year-old that's always thought she was ten years older.

"I look amazing," she says, lifting a warning finger. "Don't even start."

"You're very pretty," Kris scowls. "Get under a blanket now."

"You first!" Allison retorts, looking over him with glee. "Damn, boy. Who knew?"

Kris blushes to the roots of his hair and tries to pull his jacket closed.

Suddenly, the activity level around them rises. People have started to swarm on the stage, lighting a long row of thick candles along the front of it that are hooded with white glass, to throw light back at the stage. People bring up stands and instruments and cables. There are guitars, electric guitars, a massive drum kit and a microphone. And then, lined up along the sides, Kris can see a whole pile of the weirdest shit: a dobro, violins, a whole wind instrument section on racks, a washboard with spoons and he's pretty sure that's a didgeridoo. High at the back of the stage, a stand holds up a single floodlight.

Then, a short distance away, Kris hears Adam's voice. "Okay, hit it!" A loud, mechanical roar grates its way into the air, and Kris hears a familiar sound: a generator humming into life. The air crackles with static, and a strong, red, electric light floods the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a huge voice says, pouring out of a pair of high mounted speakers on either side of the stage.

The crowd roars, orders of magnitude louder than the speakers. Allison grabs his hand and drags him around to the front of the stage, and Kris hurries to keep up with her; he never got his shoes back, and it's just cool grass under his bare feet.

Behind them, a huge creature looms, and Kris veers around just in time to see one of the guys on stilts climb up onto the stage in two sweeping steps. He opens his arms wide and there is noise everywhere, more noise than the firing range in the afternoon, unbelievable. The guy on stilts puts a microphone to his mouth, lit by the candles like a spook from a horror movie, and opens his mouth to give a leering, toothy smile to the audience. "My name is Cassidy Haley, and I am your host for tonight's festivities."

A round of applause, and his name shouted back at him. This is a star here, Kris can see. Allison shouts beside him, her fist raised high, getting into the spirit.

"As you all know," Cassidy snarls at the crowd, "we fed the ground today with our blood."

The crowd snarls back at him, angry and mean. Kris could swear he hears somebody snap their teeth.

Cassidy makes a fist at them, crouching over his stilts. "But we did what we do best. We fought back."

The crows snarls again, pushing forward. Kris stumbles a little as the guy behind him presses a hand to his back.

"We survived."

Again, and stronger, the fury of the group assembled rips at the air.

"And tonight we will have justice!" He shouts the last word like a rallying cry, and the people around Kris raise their faces to the sky, and as a group, they howl. It's a deeply chilling sound, backed with scratchy shouts and human wailing, but it is most definitely a howl.

Two people drag a man up on stage, his head covered by a black hood. He's in shining handcuffs and leg irons; he's not going anywhere. They throw him on the stage and he lands hard on his knees, and the crowd's snarling is suddenly peppered with laughter, like hyenas.

Kris feels terror settle hotly in his stomach. He can't stand here and watch them kill this man, even if he did hurt Kris's friends. He just can't do it, and he can't imagine being with people who could. If it were him on that stage, he would be pissing himself.

Cassidy stands tall again, which for him is about ten feet. "Now remember!" he shouts into the mike, his voice ringing across the field. "The law of this land is No Blood! Anyone - anyone who breaks the law will be exiled without mercy! So says the King!"

The crowd's answering call is calm and firm. So Says The King!

"Anyone who wants to escort this piece of shit to the canyons after the party's done can apply with Siouxzen." Cassidy points to the left of the stage and the sniper steps up to wave in the floodlights. She gets a few catcalls of her own, and she bows with a flourish to them, which makes the crowd laugh. The man is dragged back off the stage, and people start talking and shifting.

"Where are they taking him?" Allison asks.

Beside her, a familiar voice grates along Kris's nerves. "To the lawn bowling green, of course. They'll tie him to a stake, where the Dogs will strip him and beat the fuck out of him. But they'll untie his hands to give him a fighting chance, don't you worry." Brad's arm is around Allison and he's smiling the same fake, brittle smile at Kris that he always does. Kris fucking hates him in that second, for being able to say that with a smile.

Allison is wrinkling her nose at him too, though she's got her arm around his waist. "Seriously?"

He looks at her and his whole demeanor softens. "Seriously. Hunters have been in this area for years, and some of the Dogs are former Marians or have family in Santa Monica. You don't want to know what they've been through, honey, I promise you that. This isn't justice for them, but it'll be justice for Emzieh, and for the Dogs that've died to defend us before. I mean, shit, if I were king, I'd have the fucker hogtied."

Allison lays her head on his shoulder. "I guess. I mean, he did hurt Emzieh."

Brad kisses the top of her head and hugs her shoulder. "Don't you worry, kitten. Adam's a better king than me. He's always fair."

Up on stage, Cassidy stomps one stilt. The thunderous thump brings all eyes front. "Time to kick this thing off right! Bow your heads, children - the preacher's come."

He stomps his foot again and again, setting a slow, heavy beat. The crowd takes it up with their hands, and Kris joins in because it seems like the thing to do. And as they all watch, the light changes to bright white and someone comes up on stage. It's the guy with the red mustache from backstage; his top hat is tilted crazily on his head and he takes the mike from Cassidy with no ceremony, just a gentle touch. Cassidy goes down off the stage as the priest sways in the beat, eyes closed.

Kris looks around. The faces of the people around him are peaceful, even blissful, turned up to the stage with eyes half-lidded or closed.

"Dogs," says the preacher, his voice is unexpectedly sharp and light, "are not vicious. Today was a good day, because we didn't lose anybody. Emzieh is going to be fine."

A few scattered words come from the crowd - Amen, brother, ya Allah, peace.

The preacher lifts his hand out to the crowd. "No losses," he tells them. "And four additions!"

The crowd shouts its approval in those same staccato bursts. Somebody claps Kris on the back, and he can see Allison shaking someone's hand with a wide smile on her face.

"That's really something," the preacher continues. "Especially for people who started off like anybody else: poor, and cold, and fucking tired. Dogs are humble. Dogs aren't any better than anybody else, except for how far we went to take care of each other, man, that's where we're different than what's out there."

The people next to Kris sling their arms around each other, trading warm smiles. Up ahead, people are holding hands. Allison scoots under Brad's arm again.

"Our packs are growing every day. We have more, and we're learning. So I need all of you to keep making sure that's who we are. We don't have any room for bullshit anymore. We have to do this thing together, or we're fucking nothing. Brothers and sisters, every one of us, because if you can't trust the person beside you, you're gonna fucking die, and so are they. We're family here. We're better than that."

People are cheering over him now, some of them singing together. Hands are in the air, neighbors kiss one another. Some people at the front throw flowers onto the stage.

"Dogs survive," the preacher shouts into the mike, shatteringly loud.

A hundred fists fire into the air, and the voices join up together. TOGETHER.

The preacher lifts his fist in the air. The light sparks off his huge diamond ring, and he murmurs something into the mike that's lost to Kris's ears in the deafening cheering that follows.

"Together, kids," the preacher murmurs, over and over as the crowd settles. "Together. We're all in this together, you all know that. And to prove it, tonight they tell me we have something pretty special to show you. It's kind of last minute, but..." He glances over his shoulder to check something, and then looks back at the audience with a huge smile. There's a big gap in his teeth, crooked and chipped out. "Okay, Dogs. Time to meet your maker."

He puts the mike on the stand. It groans a bit of feedback, a thump and rattle, and whispers rise around Kris's ears like the tide. This is new, he gets it. This is unexpected.

Four people come on stage: drummer, guitar, bass, and a girl with a sitar. They sit down and tune up with a few quiet notes, a scale here and there, and then they go silent and look at each other. Kris spies nervous smiles, uncertain fingers, but the drummer gives them a nice, slow count and they start together.

The backbeat is a fast hand drum, hollow and light. The sitar plays around over top of it, and maybe it's not quite a sitar? Sitars usually have a bit of a whine to them, and this is rounder. It's been a while since Kris bent his head to listen to something, turned his ear so he could catch it just right, but this is worth it.

The guitar comes in with the rhythm, holding a single heavy note as the sitar starts to take off, and the bass comes in behind that to deepen the sound. With the sitar on it, it sounds kind of Eastern Europe, maybe Turkish, and that's something Kris certainly hasn't heard in a long, long time. They play with the rhythm for a while, and people beside Kris start to sway with it. It's good, and as they warm up to it, they seem to agree to up the tempo a little between one bar and the next.

Then from backstage comes a high, fluttering falsetto that soars over the crowd. It's quiet, not yet reaching the mike, but Kris can hear.

Beside him, Brad and Allison go still. Kris glances over and sees Alli with her hands in front of her, breathless with delight. Brad looks like he just saw a ghost, but his eyes too are glued to the stage.

It's a slow progress, Adam approaching the mike. As the light falls on him, it glows redder and redder: Adam is dressed head to toe in it. His boots are lipstick, his pants are fire engine, his coat is a rich, glowing cherry. The only black on him is his hair and his shirt, and even that is shining with a flame decal. His open mouth glistens pink, and red flashes around his eyes. His fucking wrist bands are red.

As he paces toward the mike, it starts to pick up the notes he's singing. They're just like the song around him, Adam's own scales and minor notes, hinting at the edges of a melody. In his fingers, Adam has a tiny pair of cymbals that he uses in a ringing, celestial counterpoint to his own voice.

The crowd is silent, and the song forms itself in the air above them.

It's Ring of Fire. Kris knows it before Adam does a single word. It's been years and years, but Kris's memory offers every phrase, every note up for his instant recall. The way Adam steps into it is different now, his voice stronger and firmer, more mature. Kris remembers every vocal turn he took on the Idol stage, every playful scratch of the throat and slide of the notes. They're all different now - Adam isn't playing anymore.

He sings the fuck out of that song, and around the first key change, people start remembering that they're allowed to do something. None of them know the cadence of the words, but they all know how to dance; they let their hips and shoulders carry them together and apart, twisting in the song's momentum. Back on second base, someone lights the bonfire, and Adam raises his hands as flames lick their way up the pyre into a hot, bright roar.

When Adam grips the microphone stand and presses it against his thigh, singing his heart into it, Kris feels his own lurch in his chest. He can't breathe. He can't move.

The song winds up into its finish, and Adam sings higher and higher. Everyone pushes their hands up to the sky together, reaching with him, and when he hits an ecstatic, final high note, they start to cheer. The song is over then, whether the musicians like it or not; people are screaming and whistling, stomping their feet. They can probably hear this in Culver, Kris thinks, as he claps until his hands sting.

Adam bows graciously, has the crowd acknowledge each of the musicians one at a time, which they do with delight and abandon. Then he bows once more, and waves, and heads to the back of the stage.

People are shouting and hollering for an encore. Kris is doing the same when someone grabs his arm hard.

Brad's eyes are red and his face is wet. He leans in close, which makes Kris stiffen, but Brad ignores him, getting up next to his ear. "I still don't like you," he says, loud enough to be heard over the din. "But he hasn't sung since Bambi died, not in public. So I swear to God, if you hurt him, I will make you wish the hunters got you."

He turns on his heel and stalks off through the crowd, leaving Kris to stare after him and wonder what in the fuck happened between Adam and Brad that made them break up. Not that it makes too much of a difference, as Kris has no intention of giving up the little bit of happiness he's found. Still, that sounded like an ex who'd very much like not to be, and Kris hates to think how tough it must have been to give even that much grudging approval to a new guy. Given how much pull Brad has with the Dogs and with Adam, it seems like it'd be smart to keep him as happy as possible. It would be wise make more of an effort with him.

He back burners that plan for now, though, because he has another priority. Kris pushes his way through the crowd toward the back of the stage, and has a double-take moment when someone excuses themselves from his way with a sorry, Highness. Still, he doesn't have time to correct them on whoever they think he is, so he keeps going.

Backstage, Adam is talking earnestly with the sitar player. Kris doesn't need to be able to hear them over the next group of musicians starting up to know what Adam's saying: That was so great, you're really amazing on that, no, it was totally perfect. Kris walks up behind him and wraps his arms around, squeezing as tight as he can.

"Oof," Adam says, slapping a hand over Kris's. He only allows the quiet for a second before turning in Kris's arms and taking hold of his shoulders. "So? What'd you think? Was it okay?" he has the balls to ask.

"Brad said you didn't sing anymore," Kris tells him seriously.

Adam winces, rolls his eyes, tries to make it less than it is. "Oh, only kind of. I still sing, I just haven't performed, and you know, I don't have a whole lot of time anymore." He's picking at his nail polish again.

Kris takes his wrists and pulls them apart, ducks his head to catch Adam's eyes. "You were incredible," he insists. "That whole arrangement was new, I remember, and I bet you just threw it together backstage."

"I had help," Adam says, and Kris could swear he's blushing under the makeup.

"They were crazy for you, Adam, and not 'cause you're their king." Kris steps close and feels his own face go warm. "It was sexy. If I'm any kind of judge."

That's got Adam looking. He's so intense, his thumb skimming along Kris's cheekbone as they search each other's eyes. "Is this okay?" he asks softly. "I never really asked you."

Breathless, Kris nods and crushes Adam's red wrist cuff in his fingers. "I probably woulda said something if it wasn't."

"There's so many things I should ask," Adam murmurs, just a secret between them. Nobody could hear them anyway; the band on stage is slamming, the crowd caught up in the frenzy. People are all around them, but for once nobody's paying them any attention. Adam brushes his fingers around Kris's ear like he's pushing hair behind it, but of course there's none there. "We should probably talk."

"Don't," Kris decides. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know, but just... ask me later. Okay?" He tugs Adam closer, trying to push against him without being presumptuous or imposing, which is harder than it sounds.

Adam just laughs, puts his hand at the small of Kris's back and plasters them together all the way down. It's heated, electric; Kris shivers and braces his feet to take whatever pressure comes.

This time, the kiss is serious. No more fleeting touches, no more hello-goodbye. This time, Adam licks at Kris's lips with deliberate slowness, and Kris shivers down to the bone and opens up for him.

Kris expects to be shocked. This is the first time he's thought about it before he did it, and he's sure it should be strange to feel Adam's strength against him, to tilt his head back and up as he kisses someone else. He's sure that the gnawing, ferocious urge in his gut to get Adam down on the ground and get into his clothes should freak him out, but it sure isn't stopping him from pushing his hands into that jacket, gripping Adam's shoulders and using them for leverage as he shoves his hips closer.

"Shit," Adam groans, tearing away from his mouth and getting an arm around his back, hauling him right off his feet and turning. Kris slams against one of the trunks, Adam between his knees, and he hoists himself up onto it so he's on the right level to get his kiss back. It's fast between them, too fast, and Kris doesn't want this to end so quick again, but the kissing really can just go on forever so far as he's concerned. Adam tastes like strawberries and smoke, wet and hot and ready, and Kris pushes a hand into his hair and holds him there, just right.

It goes on too long, until Kris is dizzy and his pants are embarrassingly tight. Adam's dragging the red jacket down Kris's shoulders, face buried in his neck, and Kris knows the point of no return when he feels it biting his collarbone. He still has a little modesty, thanks very much, and so it's with a pained groan that he has to push Adam away. "Not here. It's too, um. Too many people." He tugs his jacket back up his shoulders as Adam steps back, breathing heavily.

"Okay," he's nodding, shoving a hand through his hair and completely messing it up. "Okay, okay. Of course. Okay. Tell me it's not Katy."

Kris blinks as the world rocks sickeningly underneath him. "What?"

"Just tell me what happened to your wife," Adam says, coming up to him again and gripping his shoulders. "I need to know, okay? Just tell me, where's Katy?"

Kris wants to hit him. He wants to scream and shout about it, wants to kick Adam right in the gut and beat him bloody for even saying her name. He's sure it all shows on his face and he doesn't care.

Adam just holds on, watching it all rising in his eyes, and waits.

"Katy's dead," Kris says, and doesn't recognize his own hollow, empty voice. "She got sick when... when people got sick. I stayed with her, they didn't want to let me but I stayed, and I didn't... I didn't get sick." It was in their brand new house in L.A, before the riots started. He'd ignored the quarantine and stayed to hold back her hair and help her wash up after. In sickness and in health, God said, and he'd honoured that vow. He'd been there every minute of the last days of her life because he loved her enough to die with her, and God took her and left Kris here alone. "They said I was immune," he tells Adam.

"Shh, baby," Adam is saying, arms around Kris as they rock gently back and forth. "Shh, I'm so sorry for asking. I'm sorry, it's okay now, I promise."

Kris feels like a black pit has opened up in him, a nasty hole that holds all the worst things. He knew better than to talk about Katy, but it's too late now; the things coming out of his mouth are out of his control now. "Matt. He wouldn't listen to the guards, tried to stop them from hassling this black girl? Matty always thought he was invincible, you remember."

"I know," Adam's saying, hand warm and heavy on Kris's back, his voice thick. "I remember Matt."

"You and Lil, we never saw you again, after. I thought. And then Scott..." His voice breaks on the word, and he feels hot tears on his face. Adam is holding him so hard that he's sure he'll have bruises later.

"Go on," Adam tells him softly. "Get it out."

Kris starts talking and the words slur together, faster and faster. "They kicked him out. They said he didn't, he couldn't contribute, and they hauled him out the gates and then they just left him there like the fucking wolves were gonna come get him. And then they wouldn't let Todd go with him, they said he was strong and he had to stay. Todd broke a guy's nose but they held him down. We tried, Adam, we tried so fucking hard..."

"Motherfuckers," Adam murmurs against Kris's ear, petting his head and his back in long, soothing strokes. "I'll kill every one of them for you, I swear."

"No," Kris hiccups, as immediate terror comes pouring into his mind. He sees Adam dead on the tarmac at the base, sees Dogs crumpled in heaps as the soldiers fire into them and laugh. He sees diamonds stuck in bloody boot heels. "No, no, no," he breathes, clutching Adam's shoulders. "Don't go, Adam, don't you take these people. Don't. You stay here, you stay safe, please, please, don't go."

"Okay," he answers, soft and gentle. "It's okay, baby. We're okay now. Things are gonna be different this time."

They stay there together for a long time, three songs worth. It's safe in here, hidden behind a wall of light and noise, just the red wash of their clothes to keep them separate from the night. Then somebody clears their throat a couple of feet away and they have to pull apart and pretend they were just making out.

The guy who interrupted them tells Adam it's time to pick out the hunter's escort party. Kris pastes on a smile and assures Adam it's okay - in fact, he's just realized he lost track of Allison and he probably ought to find her. Adam tries to object, say he'll go along and Siouxzen can deal with the escort on her own, but Kris won't hear it. They agree to meet up later by the stage, and Kris goes wading out into the crowd, focused on magenta hair and a green sari.

Allison is dancing with a big crowd, maybe twenty people in a loose circle. Kris spots green cloth billowing around her in a wide arc; unwrapped from her upper half, she's holding it out in one hand to catch the breeze she makes.

The guy with the blond dreadlocks is plastered against her back with his arm around her waist, and somewhere along the line he lost his pinstriped jacket and anything that might have been under it.

She's smiling so wide that Kris is sure it's hurting her cheeks.

Carefully, so she won't notice, he eases back out of the circle of thrashing dancers and finds a spot he can see her from. If she needs him, he'll be there in a second, but since she doesn't seem to right now, well... maybe it'll be okay just to have a good time. Maybe he can sit here and listen to some music - some real, live, honest to God music - and Alli can dance and flirt with some guy she just met, and nothing will happen.

The Dogs on stage are cooking in the light. Kris can see sweat dripping off them, sparkling in the air like the diamonds on their fingers and ears. There's a blonde girl on the bass that reminds him of Megan, and he wonders how she's doing right now. This time of night, she'll be in the officers' mess with her boyfriend, and maybe Mike will have got there by now. He was trying hard enough. Kris hopes they're having half as good a time as Alli, and he hopes Anoop and Danny like the music. He could go check - he probably should go check - but there are rules here, rules that make sense. Nobody's going to hurt them.

For just a minute, Kris allows himself to wonder what it'd be like if they all stayed. What if his family just merged into Adam's family, and Danny got to help out at the Temple and do some farming, and Anoop got to solve problems with the other smart people. He lets himself picture recruiting Adam to keep Alli from joining boot camp, and of course they'd fail because she knows what she wants and it's why they love her. He imagines having breakfast at the Tower with Adam in the morning, fresh bread and eggs, they have to have eggs somewhere. What if.

The band rips into a faster song, something hard and sharp, and two people come crashing out of the sudden barrage of flying knees and elbows. They slam right into Kris and all three of them go tumbling down to the grass.

"Oh my God," says the girl, extricating herself from the knot of limbs by shoving at Kris's chest. "Oh my God, I am so sorry, Highness, we didn't even see you there, I, I'm sorry."

Her boyfriend is under Kris's back, pushing gently at him. "Yeah, seriously, we just got shoved by this guy in the mosh pit..."

"It's cool," Kris tries to assure them, while making a solid attempt to climb off the guy without digging into any major organs. "And I'm not who you think, I'm nobody important. It's all good, don't worry."

They all haul one another to their feet. The girl brushes at Kris's jacket, picking it clean of green, and her boyfriend hesitantly helps. "I hope we didn't stain it," the guy says nervously.

Kris doesn't get it. Both their outfits are just as crazy as the one Kris is wearing, and he tries to back away from the hands without seeming ungrateful. "I'm sure it's okay," he says. "It's just a jacket."

"Well, it's your jacket," the girl says absently, reaching out to pick at the shoulder.

Kris has to grit his teeth to not push her hand away. "I told you, I'm not who you think."

The guy snorts. "Like somebody else would have the balls to wear red on a blood day."

Kris is about to ask what that is, but the girl interrupts, a skeptical look on her face. "All due respect? But you're a smaller guy, cute, short hair, and I've never seen you before... and you want me to believe you just borrowed the Prince's jacket?"

The world is swimming a little. Kris looks at his arms, sheathed in the same color that dotted Adam and Siouxzen's hands at the Temple. A blood day. Prince.

Kris takes in a shaky breath. "Did... did somebody tell you to call me that?"

The guy puts an arm around his girl with a shrug, his eyes honest and open, and maybe a little pitying. "Everybody's calling you that, man. He's the king, you're the prince. He wasn't exactly subtle. We just thought you knew."

Kris nods slowly, eyes fixed on the ground.

"It's really romantic," the girl offers, a brave smile on her face. "He's been alone for so long... we were kind of worried, y'know? But then you came along and he fucking sang for us, and... I'm really sorry nobody told you, Highness, but you're kind of a big deal." Her smile has gone kind of goofy now, and she turns it on her boyfriend who returns it in kind.

They're having a great night, Kris realizes. All the Dogs are, because Adam is. He pastes a bright smile on his face that he doesn't really feel, but he does feel like they deserve it. He pats the girl on the shoulder. "Well, it was nice bumping into you guys, but I should probably go find Adam. Thanks for the wardrobe check, though."

They beam back at him like he just solved world hunger. "No problem at all," the girl gushes. "Sorry again for the..."

The guy brushes at non-existent grass on Kris's shoulder. "Yeah, dude, sorry."

"No problem at all. I'll see you at the next fire?"

They beam all over again. Kris extricates himself without too much more painful embarrassment and wades into the crowd in search of Allison. When he arrives at the green dervish, he has to time it just right to catch her arm and not her date's. They both spin around and stare, and Blond Dreadlocks puts his hands behind his back and turns a satisfying shade of red.

Alli narrows her eyes at him and leans close. "What do you want?"

He can't help but smile. "Just checking in, baby girl."

"I'm fine, thank you very much, now go away." She seethes at him, and he is amused and charmed and struck to the heart by how much he loves her.

The urge to needle her further about it is strong, but he manfully ignores it. "I'm gonna leave soon. If I find out tomorrow that you didn't tell Anoop or Danny where you were going, I'm gonna use my new powers and have him killed." Kris points a finger at Blond Dreadlocks, who innocently pretends not to notice. He seems like a nice kid.

"Are you going with Adam?" Alli asks, suddenly intense. "Are you coming home tonight?"

Kris looks her right in the eyes, completely serious. "I don't think so. I'll probably be staying at the Tower. You know where that is, if you need me?"

Alli looks at him for a second, then turns and points at the twin skyscrapers that loom over them, just a few blocks away. "The one on the right," she says. "Anybody in there will know where you are, I just ask."

"You got it," Kris says. He grabs hold of her and plants a big, heavy kiss on her forehead, hugging her tight.

She clings to him in return, her face pressed against his shoulder. "It'll be okay," she says, and he knows she's not talking about the night or about Adam. "You'll see. We finally got someplace safe."

He squeezes her too hard, and then lets her go so her date won't get nervous. "Check in before you go anywhere," he sternly instructs her.

"I will!"

"No fighting with Danny!"

"I won't!"

"I'll be back in the morning!"

She's already turning back to Blond Dreadlocks, but she waves over her shoulder. "Bye!!"

Kris catches the kid's eyes and does the DeNiro-style I'm watching you, punk hand motion. The kid blushes and puts his hands on Alli's shoulders in a completely neutral safe zone.

It won't last long and it was petty, but Kris is smiling when he gets back to the place he's supposed to meet Adam.

Kris can see the red of his coat as he rounds the corner of the stage, and just barely manages to catch himself back. Adam's not alone back there, tucked into a corner, and Kris presses against the wood at his back so he won't interrupt. And if it's to eavesdrop a little bit, well, he doesn't think he can be blamed, because the person Adam's hugging tightly to his chest is Brad.

Nothing in the world is more important than the way Brad's hands grip Adam's shoulders, or the swift press of Adam's mouth against his forehead. Kris hasn't ever seen two men act this way without it being fucking crucial, and okay, he doesn't know the rules here, but he's pretty sure he's livid anyway. Rage boils up in his throat like bile, choking off his breath and balling his fists. He can't guarantee he has any kind of hold over Adam. He's the King, maybe he's supposed to have anybody he wants, whenever he wants.

Well, fuck that.

"I swear," Adam's saying. The words leech back to Kris's ears under all the thumping bass. "Even if I do get hurt, I'll be okay."

Brad's voice is a wisp of a thing, fragile and beautiful. "I can't put you back together again. Or maybe I could, but I don't want to. Why can't you just... not get broken?"

"I know," Adam says, holding him tightly again. "But he's different. He's... real. I don't know how to say it better, but I promise you, this one is worth it."

Kris risks a glance over there just in time to catch Brad's brave smile. He touches Adam's face, smoothing away the makeup trails left by sweat and dew. Kris's urge to kill flares again - though he feels kind of bad about it this time. "You were fabulous out there tonight," Brad says. "They loved you."

Adam kisses him again, on the cheek this time, sweet and lingering. Brad's lashes flutter closed and he touches two fingers to Adam's sleeve just so.

Kris steps toward them without any hesitation. "Hi. I was just looking for you."

Surprised, Adam gives Kris a wide smile. Brad turns his face away to hide the scowl, but Kris can feel it anyway. Adam slides away from him easily, comes over and fits his body into the twists and crooks of Kris's. "You check on Alli?" he asks, his voice low and insinuating enough to make anyone listening think he'd asked something very different.

Kris cuts his eyes to the side. Brad is glaring at him, which makes him feel guilty and smug in about equal parts. "She'll be fine with Danny and Anoop for the night," Kris murmurs. "I told her not to expect me."

His stomach is unsettled now for a new reason, and when he glances up at Adam, he sees a rising hunger that he's not used to wanting.

"Well!" Brad exclaims, moving past them toward the crowd. "You two girls are far too domesticated for my tastes. Run along. I'll tell them you died or something." He flips his fingers in the direction of the Tower, and then slides into the glittering throng.

Adam doesn't so much as glance in Brad's direction. He strokes the backs of his fingers over Kris's hand, slipping up his wrist, and locks his eyes to Kris's. "Let's go home," he says softly.

Kris can't keep looking, but he takes Adam's hand and holds on tight. He feels off balance, unsafe and out of his depth, but Adam's the anchor. Adam's what makes this whole fucking crazy place okay.

They stop for a minute to find Kris some sneakers, then walk together out of the park and onto West Olympic. The further they get from the stage, the quieter the music gets, and Kris misses it the minute it dims. He's also a little surprised that it goes so quickly, but then, he guesses the speakers aren't as good as they used to be.

Adam's warm, quiet voice points out things as they pass. The buildings are just black hulks now that they're away from the light, but the moon's big enough tonight that Kris can see all right. There's a huge paved running track that Adam says they've outfitted as the Dogs training grounds - gymnastic equipment, a huge cushioned bag that helps them get over fear of falling. On the other side of the street is the daycare. "Everyone felt safest that way," Adam says. "Put the kids right next to where all the fighters are, and right under the Tower. Practical and symbolic. I think it's ironic that now they feel safer with me near their kids."

Kris bursts out laughing, can't help himself. Adam laughs too, the kind of silly giggle that scrunches up his face. Kris remembers it from so long ago, and rubs his thumb over Adam's hand.

They pass the hospital. Adam points out the garden where they grow medicinal stuff, but Kris is looking at the high white walls of the medical complex. There's no art there, which is weird - usually all the roads and buildings where Dogs congregate are covered in spray paint, varnish and enamel, and this looks like it'd be about perfect canvas. But as he looks at his feet, the moonlight spills on the clean pavement to show black dots and splatters of dried blood.

"We don't clean it," Adam tells him, voice sober and quiet. "Patrick and Katie wanted to, because of infection, but I said if anybody was dragging on the ground on their way in, infection was probably the least of their worries."

Kris swallows hard, feeling the violence and pain sunk into the ground under his feet. "It looks like a painting," he says. "The abstract ones, um. I don't remember the artist's name."

"Pollock," Adam supplies. "Jackson Pollock. He was from New York. I think some of my people used black paint for a few of them, because they don't wash away."

Kris and Adam walk on.

It's a relief to turn the corner and leave that long stretch of bare, somber sidewalk. The art starts up again on the road, symbols of power and authoritative colors visible even in the moonlight. Adam points to a leafy green vine twisting its way down the side of the street. "Those point to the garden," he says. "You can find them all over our territory if you get turned around."

"That's a neat idea," Kris says. "What else does this stuff mean?"

Adam explains, and it's a pleasure to hear the shy pride in his voice as he explains how he never asked, but would just walk out of the Tower in the mornings and find yet more stylized diamonds and gold crowns drawn on the ground at his feet. There's a kids' section, Adam says, blushing, where little ones draw themselves at the bottom of a giant mural of Adam and his lieutenants. They write their names underneath their self-portraits, because Adam told them all that they were just as important to the Dogs as the King himself.

Kris could have guessed all that, but he doesn't say so. He'd rather hear it from Adam.

The Tower looms beside them, and they slip through the loading area and up to the doors of the big marble lobby. Adam leads Kris by the hand, up the stairs to the landing with the chairs and the statue. "Are you hungry at all?" he asks. "We could get something from the kitchen."

"Yeah," Kris says, grinning at the thought of there being food available whenever he wants it. "You got any barbecue?"

Adam grins and takes a sharp left at the defunct elevators. "Cute, Allen. You're downright adorable."

"So I'm told."

There's a door that looks just like any other door, and when Adam opens it up Kris is almost knocked over by the green smell. There's no light at all until Adam moves; there's a thump and the scratch of his lighter, and one after another the wicks light until the room is full of flickering shadows. There are rows of drying herbs hung from the ceiling; racks and racks of full mason jars, bottles and boxes. Adam slides past a heavy wooden table and touches a jar. "Ooh, nectarines. I bet there's cherries, too."

"We can only eat so much," Kris objects, but it's weak - he used to love cherries.

Adam presses the two jars into Kris's hands and then roots around until he finds half a loaf of bread and a smaller jar that he identifies as antipasto. "Our olives are sick," he says, and points at Kris as though to forestall any argument.

Kris stares at him for a long second without saying anything.

"What?" Adam asks, a little flirt in his voice.

"Nothing," Kris says, smiling. "Just... you."

Adam glows with the compliment, smile making a dimple in his cheek. "Blow out those candles," he says. "We feast!"

Kris does that, and they head for the stairwell. It's hard getting upstairs because there's no light and their hands are full, but there's a little bit of light seeping past some of the doors. It's enough to stumble along, at least, and by the time they hit Adam's floor, they're both snickering at each other like kids. Adam opens the door and moonlight blinds them for a second; the wall of windows lets it all in, makes everything ethereal in black and white.

Adam puts his armful down on the desk and pulls out his lighter again to light the candles grouped on the ring of wood around his bed. They're heavy things in old glass jars, soot ringed around the rims, and as Adam goes through them the silver moonlight starts to war with gold fire. It's gorgeous in here, Kris thinks. He's no artist, but if he wanted to make a bedroom for a king, this would probably be pretty close to what he'd picture. He puts his jars down on the side of the bed and pushes his hands into the pockets of his borrowed pants, feeling a little intimidated, only that pulls his coat open and he still doesn't have a shirt on.

Adam sends a glance over him, flicking hot eyes over the bared skin. "You still want to eat?" he asks, his voice deceptively soft.

Kris ignores the edge under it and nods.

"Damn," Adam says, a knifelike smile quirking his mouth. He brings the bread and antipasto over and puts them beside the jars of fruit, then shrugs off his jacket and takes it over to an armoire. "Here," he says, hanging it off one of the doors. "Give me yours too, so it doesn't wrinkle. I can get you a shirt."

Cheeks flushing, Kris toes off his sneakers and pads over to the armoire, shrugging out of his coat. "That's okay," he says, trying to make it sound casual. "I'm not cold or anything, so."

Adam takes the coat and hangs it over the other door, brushing his hands down the fabric so it lies smooth. "Okay," he says, without turning around. His voice is as smoothed down as the jackets, deliberate and even. "Why don't you go sit down and open things up?"

Kris turns around, and sees the big wide expanse of bed with all the food on it. Outside the window, Los Angeles is dead asleep. They're alone together, at long last, and nobody's going to be interrupting any time soon.

Butterflies rioting in his stomach, Kris climbs up onto the bed, sits cross-legged on it, and starts opening jars.

The second the top pops on the antipasto, Kris's mouth is watering. It smells fucking incredible, garlic and basil and oregano, and he takes a deep whiff just to confirm that it's going to be the best thing he's eaten in years.

"We make that with sea salt," Adam tells him, unzipping his boots at the bedside and dropping them to the floor. "Rock salt isn't kosher or halal, so we use sea salt. We're all gonna die of heart disease before we're fifty."

Kris watches Adam strip off his socks and belt, climb up on the bed and lie down on his side, stretching his long legs out. His toenails are painted too, a kind of midnight blue. "I like salt anyway," Kris tells him absently, and passes him the jar of nectarines.

"God," Adam says, digging his fingers into the juice and fishing out a dripping yellow slice. "These things are so amazing." He feeds it into his mouth and sucks syrup off his fingers.

Kris pauses in the act of tearing off a piece of bread, distracted, but the lingering scent of the antipasto brings him back. When he slathers a bit of bread with it and takes his first bite, the olives are every bit as good as promised. "That is fucking incredible," Kris mumbles through a mouthful of food. He inhales the rest of it, eating the crumbs out of his hand when he's done.

"Trade you," Adam says, offering his mason jar. Kris happily does so, and the nectarines too are deeply satisfying. Adam's garden alone is half the size of the base, never mind the country club or the other little gardens dotting Dogtown. Nectarines were just one of the things that Kris had resigned himself to never eating again. But when you've got mansions worth of space, Kris supposes you can do what you want. There's probably an orchard somewhere around here. If Kris were planning an orchard in Dogtown, he'd put all the trees in a row right down a residential street, so the bees wouldn't have to go far to fertilize them. You could maybe even get some honey.

They kill off the entire hunk of bread and most of the nectarines between them. Adam flops on his back, a hand on his stomach, as Kris carefully screws the caps back on their jars. They haven't touched the cherries, but Kris kind of wants to save them anyway. "That was a fantastic dinner," he says.

Adam turns to look at him, smiling. "Usually we all eat together in the tank, downstairs. Today was busy."

Kris lies down alongside him, head propped on his hand. "The tank's the round room?"

"Yep. Started about a year ago, a big group deal. Nobody has to come, but everybody does. Patrick says there's something spiritual about eating together, and I guess it's true, because we're definitely closer now. People try to outdo each other with whatever they bring, like, last week Danielle made real strudels with some icing sugar she found? Fuck."

Kris closes his eyes to picture it: sunset and candlelight warring in the room, everyone passing bowls and plates. People losing it over whatever the latest thing is, fried chicken or pie or some other delectable, heavenly, impossible thing.

Abruptly, the bed shifts. Kris comes back in a flurry as Adam closes into his space, lightly brushing his mouth against Kris's. Not expecting it, Kris doesn't get a chance to kiss back before Adam's pulling back, a wicked little smile curving his mouth. "Not trying to rush you or anything," he says, lightly teasing.

Kris laughs, and slides over to climb up and straddle Adam's hips. He savors the shocked expression, the hesitance in Adam's hands on his thighs - he always loved shocking Adam, Before. He always seemed to think Kris was a saint, which was as ridiculous then as it is now. Kris runs his hands up Adam's arms and leans down close. "I was kind of thinking about rushing you," he says shyly. Better at thinking dirty thoughts than acting them out, now and always.

Adam grabs him, arms hard around his back, and grinds their hips together. It's dirty, perfectly dirty, and Kris shivers as heat starts to build inside him. Adam's mouth slides along his jaw, hands moving down to grip him by the ass, and he's stealing Kris's ability to think in a straight line. And then, Adam has the balls to ask a serious question. In the sexy, scratched-up voice he uses when he wants to be convincing, he murmurs against Kris's throat: "Have you ever done this before?"

Kris kisses him, hard and punishing, so his lip stings. "You mean like with you, earlier today?"

"Come on, now," Adam coaxes, bringing a soothing hand up his spine. "It's important."

Kris rolls his eyes. "No," he says, kissing Adam teasingly between the words. "I have never - let another guy - do what you - are about to do to me. But it doesn't matter," he says seriously. "I trust you not to hurt me, if that's, um. What you're worried about." Kris's cheeks burn; he may not be a saint, but he still has some sense of shame.

Adam rolls his hips in the same sinuous wave that made people scream tonight, and Kris only just this minute figures out why that move is so awesome - a long, slow ripple of sex against his whole body. "You're so fucking cute when you blush," Adam whispers, slipping his fingers just under Kris's belt. It sends a shudder through him, and he feels the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Adam licks the goosebumps on Kris's shoulder, hot on cool. "I wanted to fuck you the first time I ever saw you."

"I know," Kris laughs, his voice shaking. "You told Rolling Stone."

Adam bites at him, sharp and hot. "I said you were distracting. I didn't say I wanted to hold you down and teach you how much you're gonna love taking my dick."

Kris squirms against the hold. He wants to get Adam's shirt off, do something to him instead of just lie here on his chest. But Adam gets a hand around the back of his neck, the other on the dip of his spine, fingers under the waistband of his pants, and Kris can't move. "Adam," he complains breathlessly.

"Uh-uh," Adam sings at him, rolling his hips again. He lifts one knee and presses it against Kris's ass, holding him even more securely. "What if I wanna tease you a little more, huh?"

"What if I want to blow you?" Kris pants, grabbing at Adam's hair as his face burns. He buries his nose against Adam's neck, willing his modesty to screw right off and let him take care of business.

Adam shouts with laughter, deep in his chest. His arms go slack and Kris wriggles out of the grip immediately, sitting up on Adam's hips and dragging at the hem of his shirt. It's a chore to get him to cooperate, sit up enough to get the shirt off over his head, but they finally manage it. Adam flops back down against the pillows, bare. "You never cease to amaze me, you know that?" He smiles wide and happy, tugging every heartstring Kris has at once. It kind of hurts to look at him.

The clear answer, then, is to put his mouth to one of Adam's flat little nipples and bite it until he shuts the fuck up. Silence is golden, and also then Kris doesn't have to see.

Adam's hand in his hair is gripping him slow and hard, making his head tingle. He makes these soft growling noises that buzz against Kris's lips, and when Kris switches to the other one, Adam's hips jerk satisfyingly. It's just like Kris imagined in these last few days, finally having Adam under his hands. He pictured this at the base, when he needed to remember that there were good people in the world and forget that there was so much bad to deal with. There were even a few times, Before. Not anything he'd ever admit to, but just a couple of instances that Kris stood backstage, watching, and thought, What would it be like if I could put my hands...

The sudden surge of possessiveness takes Kris off guard, and he's less careful than he should be when he presses his teeth into the muscle.

Adam hisses and snarls under him, pulling at his hair hard enough to lift his head. The kiss they share is vicious, and when Kris is starting to get frantic, Adam rolls them over and presses him down into the mattress with the weight of his body. He kisses Kris again, sharp and fast, and then sits up on his heels and starts pulling at Kris's belt. It's easy for him, things coming apart and open under his hands, which Kris feels is completely unfair.

"I wanted," he manages to huff out, when he can breathe again. He tries to grab Adam's wrists, stop him. "I wanted to."

Adam digs his fingers into the waistband of Kris's pants and uses the fabric to lift his hips off the bed. The clothes slide off easily and Adam tosses them over the side. They hit the floor with a thump and a jingle, and Adam bites his lip as he looks Kris over. "Don't you worry, baby," he says softly, absently, running a hot palm up Kris's thigh and onto his hip. "If you're so hot to suck my dick, we'll do that. I just need to see you naked before I lose my fucking mind, okay? Jesus, you're just what I..."

He slides the rest of his syllables against Kris's hip, unintelligible. Then he turns his head, just a single hot breath for warning, and licks a long line up the side of Kris's aching cock.

Kris writhes on his back, trying to get away or get closer or something. It doesn't hurt, not really, but he can't think and his jaw hurts where he's clenching his teeth and the best he ends up being able to do is grab the sheets in his fists and hold on. "Ohh, fuck, Adam."

"Just like that," Adam murmurs, nudging his nose against Kris's balls before sucking one into his mouth, soft tongue sliding along the skin.

Kris plants a heel in Adam's back and squeezes his eyes closed. It's been so long, this afternoon doesn't count because it was too fast, this is so fucking intense, and Kris only realizes he's babbling all this out loud when Adam laughs against the base of his dick. "Ready to return the favor?" he asks, lifting his head to give Kris an amused smile.

Kris pushes himself up and grabs Adam by the face to kiss him. His lips are tender, bruised, he can feel it, and it only makes him more determined. "Lie down," he slurs against Adam's mouth, fingers tight on his jaw.

"Okay," Adam says soothingly, laying kinder kisses down as he falls back into the pillows. "Okay, baby."

He looks so right framed in black sheets, Kris thinks, pulling at the heavy belt buckle. His fingers itch to get under the leather, to figure out if he's been right this whole time about how soft the skin will be, how it'll feel under his stubbed nails. The tight black briefs he reveals are nothing short of perfect, and Kris rests his forehead against Adam's smooth belly to catch his breath. He kisses the thin skin there, just above the black elastic, and Adam groans and slips his fingers into Kris's hair.

His breath is hitching a little on every exhale, and this thrills Kris right down to his fucking toes.

"Come on," Adam encourages, using his thumb to tug the elastic down. The fabric catches against his cock, . Kris wants to touch with his hands, but he knows it'll be better for Adam if he just uses his mouth, so he puts his eager fingers on Adam's bare thighs and hopes they'll stay there. He kisses Adam's knuckles and then bites gently - get these out of here.

Adam laughs and obliges, putting his hands under his head.

From where he's at, Kris can smell the exact things Adam's always been. His cologne is the same earthy, smooth scent it's always been, and then there's sweat and leather in about equal portions. Lingering in there is a chemical smell that means girl in Kris's mind, hair product and makeup and all the things that always fooled his brain in the Before. Adam smells like work and sex, like a challenge. And Kris has wanted to get him like this since he won the fucking competition a lifetime ago, because as good as it was when Ryan Seacrest said his name, he knew he didn't have this.

He opens his mouth over the thick, heavy length of Adam's cock and tongues it through the thin fabric. Adam groans in the back of his throat, his body pushing against Kris's mouth by pure instinct, and Kris feels the kind of bone-deep satisfaction he was missing, Before. He drags Adam's underwear down around his thighs, presses his mouth over the head of his cock and sucks hard, and savors the sudden whimper Adam makes as though it were Belgian chocolate. It's that fucking good.

His mouth is watering, and he lets the spit coat his lips as he slides up and down. He'll be messy, he doesn't give a goddamn, and Adam groans and twists under him, scratching at the sheets and trying to keep his hips on the mattress. It doesn't work well, but Kris is still holding onto his thighs, so he doesn't have to choke. Once he lets Adam push to the back of his throat. It doesn't work the way he'd like it to, but Adam goes all tense and silent for those two seconds, and then falls back onto the bed, panting and stupid. Naturally, Kris immediately does it again.

"Okay," Adam finally gulps out, trying to sit up. "Okay, Jesus."

Kris backs up and Adam scoots down to the bottom of the bed and gets up. "What are you doing?" Kris asks, watching him go into the bathroom.

The sound of running water interrupts his curious streak with a way, way bigger curiosity. Kris fires up out of the bed and into the bathroom, only barely remembering to grab a candle on the way so he can see for himself.

The flickering light is thrown off the enormous mirror in there when Kris arrives, and sure enough Adam is standing in front of the sink with actual clear water running out of the tap. "Don't get too excited," Adam says with a smile, wetting a cloth in the stream. "You can't drink it and there isn't enough pressure for a shower. But it's good for washing."

"Washing?" Kris asks, feeling like his brain has gone on without him.

With a smirk, Adam hauls him over and pushes him face down on the counter. He's bent at the waist, exposed, and Adam presses the cool cloth against the curve of Kris's ass, right against the tender hole. Kris jumps - it's cold - but he's not one to question superior experience, so he shuts his mouth and puts his head down on his arms. Adam runs the cloth under the water a few times, then picks up a bottle of what must be drinking water and drips that over him until Kris is pretty sure he couldn't be cleaner, and he's about to ask if this is really all that necessary when Adam drops to his knees and presses Kris's cheeks apart with his thumbs.

"Oh," Kris says, his eyes going wide, and then Adam's tongue is flat against a part of him that has never experienced anything even remotely like that before. It's suddenly hot on his chilled skin, it's slick and it's Adam's tongue, and Kris's stomach seizes and he can't see. He's gripping hard - the faucet in one hand, his own hair in the other - and Adam is licking and pressing with his fingers, merciless. He slides down to Kris's balls and licks over those, pulls his cock down and drags his tongue along that, and then he's poking his tongue at the tightest spot on Kris's body again and it's too much to fucking handle. "Adam," he groans helplessly, wanting to say stop or keep going, harder or slower or something. "Oh, God, Adam, I want. I want. Oh, my fucking God."

"Let's go back to bed," Adam murmurs, right against his skin, and right now Kris would walk out the goddamn window if he wanted; he allows Adam to lead back into the room, spread him out on the mattress and push his knees up to his chest. "Hold these for me," Adam says, pulling his hands up.

Kris grips his own knees and tries to hold them as wide apart as he can, and Adam sucks a vicious hickey right onto the back of his thigh.

"Oh, my God," Kris echoes, drawn out long and low. The words don't mean anything anymore, it's just an extension of the need pulsing through him.

Adam presses a slick finger against him, massaging gently. "You don't even know," he murmurs, kissing Kris's new bruise and making it throb. "I want to fuck you more than anything right now. Burn the building down, I don't give a shit."

"Want you to," Kris pants, breath catching high in his throat as Adam licks around his fingertip. He's melting, and as Adam pushes his finger inside, slow and thick, Kris melts for that too.

"So good," Adam praises. "So fucking good, baby, just like that. Relax for it, there you go."

It's the weirdest feeling right at first. It's mostly strange, and maybe a little bit twingey, but Kris can handle it. Adam leans close and there's a sudden slickness, his finger slides a little easier and that's better, yeah. Adam reaches for the box by the bedside, and when he opens it the whole room suddenly smells like pot. He pulls a little bottle out and flicks the cap open. "There isn't much of this left," he notes. "Soon we'll have to start making our own with paraffin or something."

"Just use it," Kris spits, trying not to sound so impatient. His hips jerk, his whole body tense; Adam keeps giving him time to think, and as sweet as that is, it's not what he wants. "You don't have to... don't be so nice."

Adam's handling the bottle like the expert he is, the slide of his finger now easy and sweet. "But I am nice," he says, laying a soft kiss high inside Kris's thigh.

The blunt pressure suddenly becomes exponentially bigger, stronger, surely more of Adam's fingers now pushing inside. Kris gasps deep into his chest, his head falling back on the pillow.

"Isn't that nice, baby?" Adam asks softly, clearly made of pure evil.

It kind of is, but it kind of really fucking isn't, and for a lot of reasons. The biggest, of course, is that Adam's a total bastard, but that's expected. He's Adam. A far less important reason is that technically, Kris has never done this before. But he's trying not to think about that; it doesn't matter anymore.

And anyway, Kris is trying to make a point, here. He grits his teeth and spreads his knees wide. "Harder," he insists, his voice unsteady and reckless.

Adam's fingers stutter in their smooth slide. He looks up into Kris's eyes, and there's a hint of hardness to his brows, in the squint of his lashes. His irises have a bit of steel. "You're not ready for it."

There's a lot implied by that, and Kris resents every unspoken word. He reaches down and grips Adam by the hair at the back of his head. It's weird and tense to sit up, to shift his hips enough to do it, but he holds tight and pulls Adam closer. "I know what I want," he says, rough and heavy. "I've known since you fucking claimed us back at that royal hall or whatever. So you quit playing around with me, Adam, and do it before I gotta get mad at you."

Incredulous, Adam stares at him. It's just a minute's worth of shock, but it's enough for Kris to brace a hand on the bed, take a deep breath and fuck himself once against Adam's fingers.

The shock wears off. Without a word, Adam pulls out, shakes off Kris's grip and shoves him. Kris goes sprawling easily, and Adam grabs him by the ankle to pull his legs apart. His face is dark around the edges, like he's not even there anymore, and he's stroking his cock to make it slick and ready.

Kris bides his time. He's finally getting a move on, but that blank look's gotta go - Kris bends his knees up to his chest again and gives himself a few tight strokes just to remind his body what they're here for. Maybe Adam will see it and like it, he thinks, and his cheeks flush.

Adam's hands are rough when he moves into place. He pulls too hard, squeezes too tight, and when he starts to press inside he goes too fast. It hurts some - not a lot, but some - and it feels fucking bizarre, no two ways about that. But it'll get better, Kris is sure. Adam's good at this, and before, with the touching and licking things, that was pretty fucking amazing.

And they're together. Safe. Nobody is going to come knocking, needing, complaining or hurting. Kris doesn't need to worry about anybody else right now, he just has to hold onto Adam.

Adam pushes deeper, more, and then endlessly more. He's pretty goddamn huge, actually; Kris never noticed. He closes his eyes tight and grips his knees hard, not wanting to make any kind of noise.

"Breathe," Adam orders, gripping Kris by the wrists and pushing them down to the mattress. They're pressed together now, hip to hip, tight and hard and tense. Kris is about ready to crawl out of his skin, and then Adam squeezes hard on his wrists.

The kiss is a surprise. Adam brushes down against Kris's lips, so soft in comparison. "Knees up. Relax."

"Easy for you to say," Kris says on a tense laugh.

Adam's mouth quirks, that hardness still there in the set of his lips even though he's breathless. "Maybe next time you'll listen," he says, and shifts a knee to get himself just as deep as possible.

Kris doesn't notice that, because he's busy boiling over with fury. Maybe next time he'll listen? Kris can fill in the logic there in about four different ways, why Adam thinks he should have said no tonight, and every one of them just makes him madder. He fights Adam's hold, trying to yank him closer. "You don't fucking get it, do you?" His throat is closing up, his eyes are stinging, and he grips Adam's hip to pull at him, to try to force him to move. "I need you, Adam, okay? I need you!"

The blankness on Adam's face is gone, red rage taking over. His teeth are sharp white as he forces Kris to look at him, holding him by the chin, and Kris can feel something deep inside pulse heavily, which is distracting at best. Adam's syllables are bitten and raw. "Are you... tell me you are not paying me, Kris. I'll fucking kill you."

"No, no. No." Kris drags him down and kisses him hard, wishing he could explain everything that fast. He wishes he could open his mind up to Adam so he'd just know, so he wouldn't need to ask. He'd kind of hoped it'd just work that way, because finding Adam alive was like magic already, but of course nothing's so simple anymore.

Adam eases up on the kiss, making it softer. "Tell me," he urges, pressing along Kris's body all the way up and shutting out the world. "Whatever it is."

Kris wraps around Adam as tight as he can, pushing his nose into its spot, just under the collarbone. It feels like it's supposed to, like he remembers. "You're the only thing," he whispers. "The only good thing I found, since... it just gets worse, and. God, Adam, please. Don't stop. I need you with me, I need you. I just need you."

He chants it over and over, like a real prayer, and he puts his hands on Adam's back and his shoulders, on his waist and in his beautiful black and blue hair. And when Adam kisses Kris's neck and starts to move, it's such a relief that he forgets to be nervous.

Adam slides easier now that Kris is getting used to it. He can feel a spot inside him that's good, that's really good in this surprising, deep-seated biological kind of way, and it makes his hips twitch up, looking for more. Adam groans against his ear when that happens, the light touch of his lips making Kris shiver. "'S good," he slurs, his fingers wrapping up in the short bits of Kris's hair as he picks up speed. "God, You feel so fucking good."

Another wash of feeling as Adam runs right over that spot, and Kris chews on his bottom lip as he tries to angle them just right. Kris's cock is pressed to his belly, Adam rubbing up against him, and that's good too in a vague kind of way. Kris focuses like he did when he was teaching himself to play guitar, knowing there's something good just out of reach if he can only figure out how to get there.

Adam kisses him then, hot and drugging. He licks along Kris's lips, slow inside his mouth, and he tastes like nectarines. It's home now, that taste, and Kris's focus evaporates in favor of kissing Adam back.

And then, Adam moves his elbows.

It doesn't seem like much of a change, just an inch or two forward. He kisses Kris's cheek now, his neck and his ear. But that inch or two pulls his hips forward, and this time when he crowds his cock inside, every inch of him drags against that spot inside and Kris is suddenly a second away from coming, every nerve buzzing and ready. When he digs his fingers into Adam's back and cusses, Adam laughs softly.

"Put your hand on your dick," Adam tells him, soft and strained as he pushes slowly into Kris's body. "Nice and tight for me."

Kris has trouble figuring out what that means until Adam grabs his wrist, pulls him to the right spot. He gets the idea pretty quick, and never in his life has his own hand felt anything like this. "Adam," he breathes, amazed and trying to explain.

The only answer he gets is Adam fucking him harder, pushing him down into the mattress with his whole body. He's huge and heavy, he's panting deep in the back of his throat against Kris's ear, and then there's a sharp and barely restrained scrape of teeth along his neck. Adam might fucking eat him like this, might hold him down or hurt him. Every place his hands are, he's making bruises or fingernail crescents. Everything is shaking as Adam fucks him, hard and fast, and then he mouths a sliding kiss against Kris's temple, hot breath washing over him. "Mine now," Adam mumbles, barely even words.

Kris moves his hand so fast it hurts his arm. It's so fucking good. "Adam," he breathes, his watchword, his talisman. Kris trusts it, and lets everything else - five years of madness and pain and suffering - go blowing away, five stories above Los Angeles.

The orgasm takes over his body in a fast forward rush. He only realizes he's gone away for a minute when he comes back, desperately dragging air into his lungs and clinging for dear life to Adam's shoulders. His whole body is on high alert, every nerve lit up like Christmas, and Adam's groaning loud against Kris's ear as he comes. When he starts to shudder in the aftershocks, he gets about ten times heavier.

Kris doesn't care. Even though every ripple that passes through Adam goes straight into him and vice versa, even though that's making them both shudder like a tree in a tornado, Kris doesn't fucking care. He pushes his face against Adam's shoulder and holds on.

Adam kisses his head, ill-aimed and sloppy. Breathless, he braces his elbows against the bed, sparing Kris at least some of his weight. "Lemme up," he pants weakly, a smile in his voice. "Or I'm gonna fall on you."

"Maybe I don't care," Kris mumbles, knowing it sounds ridiculous and not caring enough to take it back - or to let him go.

With a pained laugh, Adam gets a knee outside Kris's and flops to the side. Tangled up together, they find a comfortable arrangement of limbs and relax together. Kris's vision is mostly full of Adam's hair until he pushes it back with his fingers, an old instinct. Adam looks at him across the pillows, eyes soft and hazy. "Should have known," he says, wry and fond at once. "You always did conk right out after the show was over."

Kris tries to blink the lassitude away, but Adam's right - his eyelids are only getting heavier. "Sorry," he murmurs, hearing the Arkansas in his vowels. "I can-"

Adam's fingers trace over Kris's face, hushing him. "Don't. Go on, go to sleep. There'll be time for everything else in the morning."

With gratitude, Kris lets his eyes close. Adam's fingers slide through his hair, and he can hear low, sweet strings of words even though the meaning is kind of lost. Something's being promised, something good is supposed to happen, everything is supposed to be all right.

Kris sinks into sleep on the wide, wide bed, Adam's comforting warmth under his fingers.

~

"Something kind of hit me today," Kris notes, licking his fingers clean. Danny looks at him inquisitively, chewing a mouthful of his own, and Kris smiles at him. "We're really lucky, you know? Life could have been so much harder for us."

Across the table, Allison takes a bone from between her teeth so she can laugh. She covers her mouth with her hand; so polite, for all her rock swagger. "Yeah, you think? Thanks, Obvious Man."

"Shut up," Kris grins, and throws a bit of gristle at her.

Alli shouts in protest, but before she can ransack her plate for ammo, Katie's birdlike hand comes down on her wrist. "Food fight later," she admonishes, but gently. "This is our feast."

"He started it," Alli smiles at her, the sharp edge of her teeth flashing bright.

Adam reaches over from his seat at the head of the table and takes Kris's hand. The deliriously stupid look of love on his face makes Kris blush, and the rest of the table cough and laugh. Adam loftily ignores them all and rubs his thumb over Kris's knuckles. "He always starts it," Adam says, not unfairly.

"Hard time with the follow-through," Emzieh notes, and there's an edge in his voice that makes Kris's hackles rise. They meet each other's eyes over the centerpiece, and sparks sizzle off.

But Katie's right. This is the feast. Kris bows his head and clasps his hands, and the others follow suit. "Dear God," Kris begins solemnly. "We scratched this food out of the ashes of our lives. We bled and sickened and died so we could fucking eat. Guess we were wrong about you, so thanks for nothing."

"Amen," the others chorus, and they all look up and smile.

Something is niggling at the back of Kris's mind, something important, but he can't pin it down. Interrupting his thoughts, Katy taps him on the shoulder. "Kris, I don't feel good. Did yours taste cooked?"

He looks at her, shining blond hair falling out in clumps. She's covered in sweat and boils, her eyes are hollow underneath, she's gray and thin and dying, and spit strings off her lip as she looks at him, unconcerned.

"Mine was great," Alli says. "I had some of the brain."

"That's good!" exclaims Katie, priestess Katie, and gestures to the centerpiece. "It'll make you smarter."

Kris doesn't want to look. He can't look. In the center of the table is something impossible. But his eyes are drawn anyway, and Anoop's head is destroyed, skull open and wet and so disgusting, the horror so familiar. Kris can smell blood and stink and nobody's paying attention, nobody can see it coming and he can't stop it, he never could have stopped it because it always happens every time -

He bolts upright in Adam's bed, covered in sweat and gasping for breath.

It takes him a few seconds to stop seeing spots. He doesn't know how long he hadn't been breathing, but it must have been at least a minute or two. He presses a hand to his thudding heart, holding it down.

Adam, sprawled naked beside him, stirs a little before settling back against his pillows. Kris bites down on the breathing, tries to even it out, and Adam is soon lost to the world, even when Kris slips from the bed and into the washroom.

It's a gorgeous luxury to wash his face in a sink, to be able to take a piss without a hiking trip, but his dream ruins it. All he can think of is how fast it'll rust, how nobody can fix the fucking plumbing without ripping out the walls and compromising the building's stability because they don't know what they're doing. It's bitter on the back of his tongue, and he tries to stuff the thoughts down.

Back in the bedroom, he pulls on a shirt and a pair of shorts. He lights a candle and picks a book from the shelves, some kind of mystery with pirates. Adam's desk faces the window, the moonlight and the dead black city, so Kris crawls into an armchair and hides his face behind the wing. He makes sure the light doesn't disturb Adam - it doesn't, he sleeps like a coma patient - and reads until he falls asleep in the chair.

~

Morning streams into his eyes as Adam kisses him awake, and Kris tries to wince and flinch and kiss back all at the same time.

It doesn't quite work out the way he means it, but Adam laughs and rubs his hair anyway.

When Kris is out of the bathroom, Adam hands over a steaming mug of something he insists is made of a type of roasted root. It looks and smells and tastes enough like coffee that Kris couldn't care less if it came from Hell itself. He burns his tongue on it, and it's amazing.

They get dressed for the day. Adam picks a vivid blue shirt, declaring categorically that today won't be a stain day. Charmed, Kris asks if there's a matching shirt or if he should just go looking for a blue jacket.

Adam has the good grace to look shamefaced.

Kris winds up in a plain old black button-down, almost gets back out of it again when Adam gives him a heated once-over, and then they make their way downstairs. The tank is full of people when they come in together - Alli, Anoop and Danny are all present, as are Brad, Lil, the preacher from last night and two women Kris doesn't recognize. There's a big breakfast spread, and Kris swallows hard before freeing his hand from Adam and going to sit beside Anoop.

The food is fantastic, rich and varied and great. There are fresh buns, still hot, ripe fruit and more of the root coffee. All these Kris inhales, though he avoids the meat. People break off into groups - Lil, Allison and Brad go to chat on the couches, Danny is deep in conversation with the preacher, and Adam is talking to the two women about some construction project. Anoop leans over to bump his shoulder against Kris's, and pitches his voice low. "Quiet today," he observes. "You okay?"

Kris shrugs, his throat closing. "Fine. Just weird dreams. But I'm okay."

Smoothly, Anoop nods. "I'm just saying, it'd be cool if you weren't. Some guys would be freaking out right now if they were you, y'know?"

Well of course, Kris thinks, before he realizes that he didn't describe the dream. It takes him a second to connect the dots, but when he figures it out, he can't help but laugh, the burn rising in his cheeks. "No, man. Believe me, there wasn't anything wrong with that."

"Dude, I don't get it," Anoop says, narrowing his eyes at Kris and making sure to keep his volume down. "You weren't gay for him Before, were you?"

Kris just shakes his head. He doesn't know how to explain that it was never much of an issue, that there was only ever Katy and when there wasn't, nobody else mattered. He doesn't know how to say that while he's never put his hands on another guy before, he's never put his hands on another girl, either - Adam might be a guy, but he's still about the most familiar sexy person on the planet to Kris. "He's just Adam," Kris says, appealing to what he's sure is incontestable. "How could anybody be freaked out about Adam?"

Anoop just shakes his head. "I don't get it, man. But more power to you guys. I'm glad you're happy." He lifts his fist, and Kris bumps it with a smile.

"Thanks."

They pick at the grapes for another ten minutes before the lobby doors burst open. The sound makes them all jump, and the shouts roll and echo off the marble. "Adam! Adam!!"

Everyone jumps out of their chairs and follows Adam out to the balustrade. He leans over the edge. "Here! What is it?"

It's the kid in the red jacket. A couple of kids are standing with him, out of breath, and one is running back out the door. Red Jacket leans heavily against his bike, which has tracked mud into the foyer, and he's wearing a dire look. "Sire. Hunters have grabbed two families at the Olympic overpass. They want to talk to you."

Adam goes immediately still. "Rahab, get my mask. Carmit, find Lee and Siouxzen and send them to me, then assemble an evac team. Make sure the rest of my people are safe."

One of the women is already off and running, presumably in the direction of Adam's mask. The other snaps off a smart yes, King and vaults over the balustrade to run down the marble banister and race out the door.

"Brad," Adam says softly. "I'm taking Lil. Can you take my friends?"

"You're the king," Brad replies, just as gentle and light.

Then, the boy in red interrupts. "Excuse me, sir, but your friends - they're the four that just came in the other day, right?"

Adam narrows a glance down at him. "So?"

"The hunters said that if those four new people didn't come with you, they'd kill somebody. They said that. Specifically." The kid is sweating, Kris can see it, and he doesn't blame him because the look Adam's giving him right now could probably punch through rock.

Kris steps up and puts a hand on Adam's arm. "Just the messenger," he says softly.

"You're not going," Adam grits out. "No fucking way."

Allison steps up, getting past Brad without too much effort. "But they'll kill someone. You heard what he said."

"They'll kill you," Adam shouts, rounding on her. "They only want you there so they can get a clear head shot, Allison, and then they're gonna kill those families anyway! These fucks have been stealing and raping and murdering people on my borders for years; I fucking know them, okay? I don't know what they want you for, but it sure as shit isn't a tea party!"

Undaunted, Allison walks right up to him and pokes her finger in his chest. "Did you or did you not just say that we're your people now? We're Dogs, right, just like everybody else here?"

Adam scowls down at her. "That's right. Which is why I'm not gonna let you-"

"Then," she interrupts stridently, "those families they got are our people too. We'll protect them like they'd protect us. So we don't have a lot of time, okay? We'll all listen to everything Siouxzen says, right guys?" She looks at the rest of them meaningfully, and Kris nods firmly. He's got zero desire to be a hero, here, he'll leave it to the professionals, but he'll be damned if he isn't giving those families every chance they can get. Beside him, Anoop and Danny nod as well.

Allison smiles at them beatifically. "Great, see? Now let's move out!"

Adam glares at her balefully, but he's really got nothing to say. The bunch of them head out to the bikes and follow the kid in the red coat, burning down the street and scattering people out of their way. Adam shouts at them to get inside, to hide, and they practically evaporate. Gone.

When they hit Westwood, Adam veers them into a crowded Mobil parking lot, full of Dogs on bikes. The windows of the station are done up with red, threatening eyes on the windows: we're watching. Kris and the others stay clustered together as the warriors make a loose circle and plot strategy. Kris listens as closely as he can, even though a lot of it doesn't make much sense to him. There's one thing, though, that comes across crystal clear.

"With Emzieh gone, I'm going to lead us. Siouxzen, that means you're on the roof. If anybody so much as points a gun at these four people, you take them out."

She knits her brow dubiously. "But if there's a standoff, you'll be looking down the barrel of a firefight. People will get injured."

"Not when we're looking for the same thing as you," Adam counters, and looks at the rest of the group. "Someone points a gun at these four, what do you do?"

A man with a thin black ponytail and weapons all over him smiles ruefully. "Hit the dirt and pray."

"Prayer optional," Adam nods, and pulls his heavy black mask out of a satchel. "Is everyone clear?"

There's a round of nodding, and they all check their weapons as Adam pulls the mask over his face.

"Anubis," says Anoop, just under a whisper. "God of the Dead."

Danny shuffles his feet, a scowl on his face. "It's creepy," he says, a bit more careless with the volume.

"I hope so," Adam says, coming over to them. "That's the idea. Now, you're going to be with Rahab. Do exactly what she says, when she says it, and if anybody points a gun at you-"

"Hit the dirt and pray," Allison interrupts, and Kris is taken aback at the seriousness in her tone, in her face. As Kris looks closer, he sees she's wearing sparkling gold eye shadow. He can't see past the sweep of her hair, but he suspects if he could see her ears, there'd be one of Lil's diamonds sparkling back at him. "We don't have any weapons," Alli adds, "but you probably want us to look scared anyway."

Adam stares at her for a second, silent, and then pulls her tightly into his arms. He squeezes her hard enough that she makes a little noise, and Kris knows exactly how he feels.

Behind them, Siouxzen clears her throat. "Time to move," she says delicately.

"Okay," Adam says, his voice husky. He lets Allison go and points at Danny. "You protect her," he instructs. "I want you by her side at all times."

"No problem," Danny instantly agrees, stepping up to put an arm around Alli. She rolls her eyes, but puts her arm around his waist to lock them together.

Behind them, the Dogs start patting each other on the shoulder, shaking hands. They keep saying a phrase that Kris can't quite make out until one of them steps up to Adam and whaps a hand against his back. "Try to wake up tomorrow, King."

"You too," Adam answers. "All you guys."

A couple of them wave at him, and then they're all racing out of the parking lot and up the street. There are maybe thirty Dogs out there, parting and flowing around the cars and buildings and disappearing into the cracks where the morning sun doesn't reach the street. They're gone in minutes.

Adam starts walking right up the middle of the street, and after a minute Kris has lost track of Rahab. It's just the five of them on seven lanes of blacktop, passing empty houses and lawns growing into the sidewalk. Adam's in the lead, and he doesn't say a word.

They cross Sepulveda and Adam turns to them. "Spread out," he says. "Arm's length. You make a better target clustered together. Stay behind me and let me do the talking until we know what they want. Okay?"

They peel apart and it's harder than Kris expected. Butterfly wings beat inside his stomach and ribs, and he can't stop chewing on his bottom lip. The urge to bring his thumbnail up is almost irresistible.

"Stay a couple feet back from him," says a low voice, and Kris turns to see Rahab's face peeking at him from an alleyway.

He squints at her unusual features, her exaggerated pout. "Where'd you come from?"

"I'm here," she says, and gives him a wide smile.

Kris knows as soon as he sees her teeth, though he couldn't say how. Maybe it's the shape of her jaw, the practiced and ladylike set of it, or the shadow of a bump just underneath, but he knows. Kris takes a deep, focused breath and drops back the recommended few feet.

The overpass comes into view gradually. People are on top of it, Kris can see that as they get closer, and they're all watching one another as they get closer. There's a high building on their left that throws a huge shadow across the ground, and as Adam emerges out of it and into the sun, he stops. Kris stops too, still hidden in the shade with the others.

There's a brief movement from the guys on the highway, and then one of them calls out. "Up to the intersection!"

Slowly, meaningfully, Adam lifts his empty hands and holds them open, up to the light, fingers spread. He stands there like that for a long second, only an stray bird breaking the silence in the street.

"Okay!" the guys finally call. "But if we fucking see a gun, we kill everyone!"

Adam's shoulders go tense, but he nods, nice and slow, the mask glinting in the sunlight.

A voice from the overpass, far more tremulous and feminine, shouts out: "They put their guns away!"

Adam puts one of his open hands behind his back, his fingers spread wide, and walks forward. Kris is about to follow when Rahab hisses from behind a nearby car. "Stay put! Only move when he closes his hand."

Kris nods, and puts his arms out to stop the others from moving. Up on the overpass, the people shuffle around, whispering among themselves before one lifts his voice. "Let us see them!"

Kris has to suppress a shudder of recognition. That voice is so familiar, and recently, too - if only he could place it. He's met so many people lately; maybe the guy who killed the snake back in Culver? No, that doesn't seem right.

Adam's hand closes, so Kris cautiously steps into the bright sunlight, the others following along. Adam raises his arms to either side as if to say, Here they are.

"Send them up!" the guy shouts.

Adam drops his arms and plants one closed fist at the small of his back. He takes a half step forward, crouching a little, like an animal.

All around them, starting with Rahab behind the car and slowly spreading off the walls and windows around them, a low, threatening growl starts to build. It's many voices, an unmistakably human sound, but Kris is pretty sure that if he didn't know there were thirty people out there snarling at the overpass, he'd be fucking pissing himself.

"Okay, fuck!" The guys on the bridge shuffle around some more, and Adam rises up to a normal standing position. The growling dies down, fading into the streets. A minute ticks by, and then the guy steps up to the edge of the bridge. He's still too far away to see properly, and it's killing Kris not to know who this guy is. "We're gonna come down!" he shouts. "All of us. And we're armed, so don't fucking try anything!"

Adam tilts his head to the side and stares at them.

The guy grumbles something that Kris can't hear, but the group makes its way to the end of the bridge and then down the hill. As they get closer, it gets easier to see them - military bearing, machine guns, organized and watchful. They're also tense and quiet, no cocky banter or smiling. They're scared.

"Pst," Rahab whispers from beside him. Another car. Kris doesn't look at her, but ducks his head to show he heard. Her voice is almost inaudible; he has to focus to hear her. "Whisper, quiet as you can. Tell Adam they left a sniper on the bridge, and our teams are in position."

Kris bites his bottom lip and raises his head. If he's careful, he can do it without moving his lips much. "Adam. Sniper on bridge. Dogs in position."

Behind Adam's back, his fist turns into a very brief thumbs-up.

There are two families of Dogs with them, as promised. They knot together, clinging to one another and scowling at their captors, and Kris can pick them out. There's a man and a woman with a little boy, the child locked in his father's arms. They're clearly Dogs, makeup on their eyes and diamonds in their ears. Even the boy has a diamond on a chain around his neck, and streaks of blue in his hair. His little face is furious, though he clings to his father's neck.

The other group is all kids, four of them, three girls and a boy. One of the girls looks angry, but the other three are all terrified. They're not elaborately costumed - they're wearing a little eyeliner and there are chains and spikes on their clothes, but nothing to really mark them as Adam's. They must be new, Kris thinks; they must be like him.

When everyone's down the hill, they come up to the intersection like a showdown. Their guns are pointed at the ground, but they're obviously ready to lift them if necessary. They herd their hostages forward, and when they're in place, the shouter pushes through the ranks and steps forward.

It's Bishop. It's Megan's boyfriend, the guy in charge of the base.

Kris has been pretty locked on the hostages, but now he scans the faces of the military guys - all familiar, all from back there. Toward the back of the group, one face makes his jaw drop. "Shit."

"What?" whispers Danny.

Kris doesn't want to talk, but he can't help it. "It's Mike," he hisses, as quietly as he can. "In the back, they brought Mike."

For the last year, Mike had been trying to suck up to the jarheads enough to get on a hunting team. Hunters, the Dogs said, killing and raping and stealing their way along the coast. And it had been going on for years. Kris thinks about the rations he ate back there, the food the teams brought in. He thinks about how they got it, who had to die and hurt so they could get it, and bile rises in the back of his throat to burn and choke him. He nearly throws up right there.

They must have told Mike it was a rescue mission, he thinks, trying to focus on something else. They must have told Mike they were kidnapped, that these were the horrible cannibals and Kris and the others would be eaten if they weren't saved.

"A simple trade, King," says Bishop, a sneer on his mouth. "Your people for ours."

Adam lifts a hand, his fingers held like a gun, and points it at the bridge. In the hidden places of the street, a couple of people with shotguns re-chamber. The sound clicks loud in the silence.

Bishop holds up his hand. "Wait, Jesus Christ! Sterling, come down! Gun up, nice and easy! Nobody wants a war, here."

Up on the bridge, the sniper slowly stands up with his gun held out to the side by the barrel.

Adam lowers his hand, and the tension eases. Sterling comes out and slides down the hill to join his team, and Bishop turns back to Adam. "Just a little insurance," he says, his voice placating even though he's still scowling. "You understand."

Adam says nothing.

"Whatever," Bishop growls. "Let's just bring each group forward and then switch. We both walk away, nobody gets hurt. Sound good?"

Slowly, Adam turns his face until he's in profile. He's looking back at Kris and the rest - specifically at Anoop.

Anoop's face is tight with tension. He steps forward, hesitant and nervous. "Um. With all due respect, Captain Bishop, I don't want to go back. I feel safer here and I don't... I don't think I'm what you want back there anyway. So, thank you for coming, but... no." He steps back into line quickly.

Adam turns back to the army guys and cocks his head again, just a hair.

"No way," Bishop barks. "I came for all of them and I'm taking all of them. It's my guys for your guys, that's the deal. I can't take the chance, leaving one behind."

Adam tilts his head the other way.

"They know a way under my defenses. I can't have them telling someone else. I have people to protect. So come on, you four, move it." He waves his arm, come on, come on.

"Wait," Danny says. "That doesn't make any sense. We could have already told somebody. And why wouldn't you just ask us where it was so you could close it down?"

"Danny," Mike says, his eyes wide. Kris can see the confusion on his face, the upset that Danny's arguing instead of just coming along the way he should, grateful to be rescued.

One of the guys next to him grits out something at him, probably dude, shut the fuck up.

Bishop makes an effort not to look too much like an asshole. "Danny. You guys. Come home. Everybody misses you guys, you don't belong with these freaks. Sarver's got a spot on the team, man, he's been working hard. You're our family."

Danny looks at Kris, then at Alli, who scowls hard at him. He shakes his head slow, frowning, and then looks back up. "Sorry, Captain. I'm needed more here."

Bishop rolls his eyes, and wipes a hand over his face. "Maybe I'm not making myself clear," he says, and with a lightning-fast lash of his arm, he grabs one of the young girls and hauls her forward. He picked the angry one, and she clamps onto his arm with her stubby green lacquered nail polish as he holds her against his chest with an arm and points a gun at her head.

Adam instantly makes fists, standing at the ready, and the growling starts up immediately all around them. Some of the Dogs are shouting, inarticulate sounds that mean go fuck yourself, let her go.

"I'm sick of talking about this!" Bishop shouts. "You don't even fucking talk! Just give me those two, Allen and Iraheta. You can even keep the other two, King, but I need those people and I need them now. I'm not fucking around, here!"

Allison comes forward, her hands held out to placate him. "I'll go," she says, her voice smooth and low. Adam tries to push her behind his back, but she fights him off. "I'll go! Just let her go, Bishop, okay? You can point that thing at me instead."

"No," Kris whispers. He means it to be louder, but he knows what'll happen if Bish points that gun at anybody but the hostages or Adam. He clears his throat and steps forward. "No, we'll go!"

Adam grabs his wrist hard. It hurts, bones grinding, and Kris winces.

"He said he'd go," Bishop smiles, sickeningly satisfied. "Come on, King. You can't win 'em all."

Allison reaches the pair of them, and Bishop goes to trade the girl in his arm for her. But just as he loosens his grip, the girl uses her green grip to lift his arm up to her mouth. She bites him hard, enough to make him shout, and when he lets her go she bolts. She crashes into Adam hard, gripping him around the waist and burying her face in his shirt.

Gently, with his free hand, Adam cups the back of the neck and hugs her to him.

Allison steps back, but she's too late. Bishop grabs her and holds her, his gun having skittered away when the little one bit him. Allison doesn't even struggle, and Kris's mind goes hot with blood and rage.

"Move it, Allen!" Bishop is shouting. His hand, the same one that puts bruises on Megan's face, is closed around Allison's throat. "No more little insurrections, no more fucking around with the civilians. I'm tired of all this bullshit! Don't I fucking provide for you? Don't I keep you safe from these fucking psychos?" He gestures at Adam and the little girl in his arms. "And now some of the little civvies back at the base, my base, decided to find some balls and question the way I do it! I have to lay down the law every fucking night just because you little pissants got bored and decided to fuck off on us? Well, fuck you, Allen! You can march your ass over here and straight back home, where you can tell everybody how fucking glad you are that the army came to save your ass again, and everything'll go back to the way it was. Move it or lose it."

His fist tightens on Allison's throat, and her eyes close in pain.

Kris rips his wrist out of Adam's hand and marches across the intersection. He goes straight to Bishop and grabs the fingers of his other hand, folds them back hard until he shouts in surprise. "Let her go! Right now!"

Bishop lets Allison go, and the second she's out of the way, he punches Kris in the face.

Pain splinters through Kris's head. He cups his cheek; the blow caught him right on the bone and it hurts like a bitch. There's a scuffling behind him, people shouting, and when he turns to look, Adam's in the middle of the jarheads, throwing people around like rag dolls. Bishop's on the ground behind him, shaking his head. Someone rips off Adam's mask and the look on his face is terrifying; Allison and Anoop and Danny are all in there with bare hands, punching and kicking, helping the man and woman hostages make a ring around the little ones. Dogs are running in from all sides, guns drawn. They're going to be okay.

And then Bishop drags himself up, pulls a knife, and lunges for Adam. The sight hits Kris in the gut, nauseating, because Adam's not looking. His back is turned, he's fighting three guys and they're all in the other direction. Bishop lifts the knife high over his head, and the sun flashes off the blade.

It's like being plugged into a socket, flipping a switch. Kris's body slams into action, and his mind is no longer necessary.

He tackles Bishop at the knees and they hit the ground together. Kris drags himself up, finds the heavy hilt of the knife with his fingers, raises it over his head and stabs down. The skin pops under the point, sickening and necessary, again and again until Bishop stops moving, stops screaming, until he isn't going to hurt anyone ever, ever again.

Kris's hands are hot and the knife is slippery.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," says a voice above him, too close. Kris rounds on it with the knife in his hand and his teeth bared - all of this has to stop, and Kris will make it stop.

Mike is looking down at him like he's never seen Kris before. He's horrified, that much is clear, and he backs off with his hands up. Quiet has spread through the intersection.

Kris looks around for whoever's left to fight. Some people are groaning on the ground, some aren't, but nobody is fighting anymore.

Rahab comes up to him. He remembers that he's supposed to be with Rahab.

"Highness," she says softly. "I think we're done here."

Kris looks at her for a second, then looks at Adam. Then he looks at Bishop's white, red-flecked face, blind and still. "Yeah," he says, pushing the knife into his belt and taking Rahab's hand. His fingers slip in hers, wet with blood. "Yeah, I think we're done."

She helps him to his feet, though he doesn't really need it. He thinks he should be shakier, and maybe he would be, but he can see Adam and he's fine. His friends are safe, too; there are no feathers or glitter on the people on the ground. Kris walks over to Adam with careful steps, but his legs are fine, not jittery at all. It's kind of surprising, actually.

He grabs Adam's lapel and drags him close, pushes his arms under the coat. At his fingers touch around the back, he can feel the hard leather holster that holds Adam's gun, there if they need it.

Kris grips Adam tightly, listening to him breathe: safe and sound.

Adam folds him in, holds him tight. He turns his head to murmur something to Rahab, and she starts shouting orders - tend to the wounded, get everyone home.

Behind Kris, Mike clears his throat. "Adam?"

"Hi, Mike," Adam says softly, not letting go. "How're you?"

"Not so great," Mike says, and he sounds on the verge of tears. "You're the, um, the leader of these... these guys?"

Adam nods. "Yeah, more or less. That was yours?"

"Bish?" Mike pauses; Kris would bet he's looking over his shoulder at the body. Mike was never did know when to pretend something wasn't there for his own good. "Yeah, I guess he was. Now... now I don't know."

Adam nods. "Listen, Mike. Whoever you pick - if he wants to meet me, great. We'll make peace. But if he doesn't, I'll keep on killing your people whenever I find them. As of today I'm annexing Santa Monica up to the canyons, and Venice to the canal, it's all my territory now. Your guys hurt anybody in there, they'll answer to me. You got that?"

Mike is silent for a minute. Kris can see the tight, angry face in his mind's eye. "Santa Monica to the canyons," says Mike. "Venice to the canal. Got it."

"Thanks," Adam says gently. "I hope we can work something out."

There's silence for a second. Kris tries to turn around to see if it's going to be a problem, a threat, but Adam presses him closer. Kris feels Adam's shirt sticking to his cheek where the blood is drying, and wonders if Adam's hiding him - one of the little kids might be afraid of him, if he's got blood on his face.

"What about the others?" Mike's asking. "I guess you're gonna let me go, but..."

Adam hesitates, then waves someone over. "How are the hostages?" he asks. "Unharmed?"

"They didn't have time to do much of anything," Siouxzen's voice confirms. "Just a little roughed up."

Adam nods. "Okay. I'm letting these hunters go. They can take their leader back for burial. Take all their guns and ammo, but leave them their knives."

Siouxzen pauses. "But, Adam..."

"I know. I'll explain later. Let them go."

There's another weighty pause, but Siouxzen walks away and starts issuing orders. Kris thinks about looking, watching the surprise on their faces as they learn they're not gonna die. He thinks about watching them go, and trying to feel something for them. For their loss.

Mike's never been a mind reader, but this time he doesn't do too bad. "You can't ever come back," he says softly. "Megan... she won't ever forgive you."

Adam's arms tighten, but Kris puts his hands on Adam's waist and shrugs them looser. He leans his forehead against the wall of muscle that is Adam's chest, and takes a deep, thorough breath. "So don't tell her it was me," he says, and turns his face to look at Mike. He knows what he looks like, and he's sorry for that, too. "Tell her it was a dog."

Nobody says anything. Adam's hand is warm against Kris's shoulder, and when Mike finally nods and turns away, Adam pulls Kris close again. They hug for a long minute, then pull apart with heavy sighs.

"I think I want to stop at the temple," Kris says. "Maybe for a while. Are you okay?"

Adam nods. "There'll be lots of people, but they'll clear out when they figure out no one's hurt. I kind of want Katie to take a look at that cheek. You're gonna have a shiner." He coasts his thumb along Kris's jaw, just under the bruise.

He winces, when Adam presses a bit close, and waves off the apology. "Come get me after. We'll go see Emzieh."

"We have to see Jonny, too. The harvest bash is tomorrow. And there's the annexation to figure out. I like to announce things, because it's really dramatic? But then somebody actually has to do work." Adam smiles, wide and charming.

Kris reaches out to wipe a smudge of blood away from the corner of that smile, and then they watch Mike pack up his guys and leave. A few Dogs track them out of the territory with their sheet-wrapped bundle, and a few have already gone back to report. Some take the hostage families home, except the green-nailed girl, who refuses to leave Adam's side until he asks her, very seriously, to go help Kris. Blessedly, she finds this duty acceptable. Adam takes a small detachment plus Anoop, kisses Kris goodbye and heads for Santa Monica.

When they're gone, everyone looks at Kris.

He doesn't even notice - busy trying to talk to his new valet, whose name is Tricia - until Allison nudges him. "They won't go until you do," she whispers.

Kris looks at them, faces he's learning the names for, some who won't look right at him. "Let's go," he says softly, and leads them down the road.

As promised, the temple is packed. People are talking excitedly everywhere, and as Kris crosses the grass toward the big heavy doors, a hush spreads across the crowd. The Dogs who were at the fight melt into the crowd and start whispering, but the blood all over Kris speaks for itself.

The high priest is at the top of the steps. He nods gravely to Kris as he approaches. "Highness."

"Hey, Patrick."

"Anyone injured?"

"Just dinged up a little," Kris answers, and holds up his red hands. "It's not ours."

Patrick nods. "That's good to hear. I'll ask Katie to come have a look at you."

"It's not really necessary," Kris protests. "I'm fine."

"All the same," Patrick says, as unstoppable as the tide.

Kris accepts fate and walks in. People hush again as he enters, though it's quieter in here anyway. Some people follow him in, even, and when he walks through the hall and out to the back fountain, people file outside with him. He walks up to the sparkling pool, kneels down and pushes his hands in.

Red clouds fade into the water, and Kris scrubs and scrubs. Under his nails, over his knuckles, every place that feels sticky or wrong. After a minute or two he takes off his shirt and starts on his chest and face and hair, and someone comes up to take the dirty button-down away. He doesn't notice, just washes and washes until he finally feels like he can stand up.

Katie is standing nearby with a white shirt in her hands. She hands it to him, waits while he puts it on, and then kisses his forehead silently.

There are people everywhere, all watching. Most are seated, even kneeling, and as Katie leads him back into the hall and to the infirmary, the people he passes reach out to touch his hand or his pant legs.

It's okay, Kris thinks. They're family now.

~

The sun is setting over the ruins of Los Angeles, and Kris is drying off on the back lawn of the audience hall. He's just got through playing a game of Touch with Siouxzen's security team, which is kind of like touch football except you play it mostly naked and cover your hands in paint, and the object is to put a full-on handprint on the other players. Three prints and you're out. Teaches stealth and vigilance, and is also wicked fun.

Good thing the paint washes off with plain water, because he's only got about a half hour before the ceremony's due to start, and he's still got to get dressed. Kris rubs the towel over his hair and then books it into the house and upstairs.

He and Adam share the dressing room. Adam was going to insist that Kris have his own, and it was a fight to get him to understand that Kris did not have and would never need even a tenth of Adam's wardrobe or makeup. Kris might be a Dog, but he's a mutt. The dressing room has the only thing he really needs anyway, draped on its dress form and glittering in the light of a lone candle. Kris doesn't bother lighting the rest for now; he pulls on a t-shirt and lifts his jacket off of plastic shoulders.

It's all black, his jacket. Since the fight, they've called him the black prince, and maybe it's because Adam's ceremonial robes are white, or maybe it's because Kris killed a man with his own hands, but either way it seems appropriate. They've studded it with diamonds, but there are also lines of rubies worked into the stitching. With the black backing, you can't really see them until the light sparks red along them.

Kris slides his arms into it and settles it on his shoulders. It's the same weight as it was when Jonny was fitting it earlier today, but in the dark it feels heavier.

He goes to the makeup table, lights the candles with one of the long matches there, and tries like hell to remember Brad's terse instructions. It takes him a while, longer than he thought, but he ends up looking something like he thinks he should and he still has time to get downstairs. It'll have to do, he thinks, and cups his hand around the first candle so he won't blow wax on the table.

As luck would have it, the first person he sees on his way to the throne room is Brad. "My God," he says, his lip curling immediately with disgust. "You just can't listen at all, can you?"

"Shut up and fix it," Kris squints.

Brad rolls his eyes and sighs heavily, but he draws Kris into an unused meeting room and uses his thumbs to force the makeup into whatever arcane configuration it's supposed to be in. "At least you got the hair right," Brad murmurs, and maybe it's a little less catty than usual. Kris looks up, high as his eyes will go, and waits patiently.

When Brad pronounces him as acceptable as he's going to get, the two of them head into the throne room. Brad goes first, swinging the doors wide, and Kris stands as he is supposed to, framed in the center. The room goes quiet, all eyes turning toward them.

"Adam," Brad smiles, calling it out to the head of the room, where the court is clustered around the giant steel and iron sculpture that serves as the ceremonial seat of the King of the Dogs. "There's someone I think you should meet."

The people split right down the middle, easing to the sides to make way. Adam is in his brilliant white finery, face serious and dramatic, because as he explained to Kris when they woke up this morning, their people need this. Without the pomp and circumstance, without the costuming and the titles and respective insanity, nobody believes. The throne room is theater, city hall and church, all in one go, so they sell it with everything they have.

Kris hopes the blood red streaks in his hair stand out. He hopes the jacket is as impressive as Jonny swore it was; he hopes Adam likes it. He hopes he can protect these people, can help them and make them safe and happy. He hopes things are changing.

Brad takes him by the hand and leads him down the aisle. He sets the pace and the tone, and Kris is happy to follow.

The faces near them are familiar now, nobody bothering to disguise the universal smile. Danny and Anoop are there, and somebody's given them feathers and leather to tie on. Danny gives him the thumbs up as he passes, and Anoop rolls his eyes, which makes Kris grin. They pass Jonny and his entourage, Siouxzen's crew, Cassidy and Mamazun with the hippies from the Garden. Up at the front, Allison's crouched beside Emzieh's chair. He looks great, if a little bandaged up, overseeing the ceremonies. Someone's clearly gotten to Alli, because her hair is bright fuchsia and her eyes and mouth are made up with the same color. She's wearing a diamond on a silver chain, and as Kris passes he sees her wiping the corner of her eye, regardless of the smile.

His heart catches hard against his ribs. Ouch.

At the front, Katie and Patrick wait beside the throne. She holds a needle in a pair of delicate pliers; he kneels beside a short table with a bowl and a bottle of 100 proof. They're both beaming at him like he just saved a building full of babies.

Finally, he lets his eyes settle on Adam. He looks like he always did, even Before: larger than life, confident and free and so determined to prove to the entire world that he can be all those things and not even break a sweat. His familiar, unshakable presence fills the room, and Kris clings to the sight of him like a life preserver. You can't be afraid, around Adam.

Brad lets go of his hand and gestures at him, though he addresses the throne. "This one is passable," he sniffs. "I wouldn't disapprove."

Then he slides off into the surprised and murmuring crowd. Kris hears a lot of conversations that mean the same thing: has he ever, I never heard him say anything like, it's the first time.

Adam beckons Kris up to the throne, and he climbs.

When he arrives at the top, Adam stands and regards him with total seriousness. "You've been blooded," he says, and Kris hears that day in his voice: the numbness and shock, the nausea and silence that Adam weathered with him, and the grudging acceptance of the necessity of it that followed. It sucked.

Kris nods, and Adam lifts his face to the crowd. "Will anyone speak against him?" he asks, voice ringing against the ceiling.

Kris was warned to expect the shouts and catcalls - tradition, said Katie, to let the friends you've made show support for you. Still, he turns to glare. Siouxzen shouts an order, and her people stream into the crowd, directly toward the shouters. Their knives flash silver, pressed against throats, which is rougher by far than tradition demands. The room goes silent as hands rise to the ceiling in submission.

"All right," Adam says, and faces Kris again. "Do you know the rules of the Dogs?"

"No thieving, no blood, no rape, and no lying to the King." Kris memorized them.

Adam nods. "And you're prepared to enforce those, and live as an example to others?"

"I am," Kris says, taking care to make his voice strong, make it carry.

"And will you treat any offense against my people as an offense against yourself?"

Kris nods, feeling good knowing it's the truth. "I will."

"Okay," Adam says, and gives him a lightning-fast smile, there and gone. He turns to Katie, who nods and holds her pliers out to Patrick. He pulls out a pristine Bic lighter and holds the flame up to the needle. It turns red quickly, and she lowers it into the bowl where it smokes and hisses. Then she holds it out again, and Patrick pours from the bottle. The smell of alcohol is instant and strong.

Katie passes Adam the pliers slowly, careful not to let the pressure go.

Adam turns to Kris, pliers in hand. "I'm your sponsor, so you'll need someone to stand with you. Is there someone you asked?"

Kris nods and turns to the crowd. Cautiously, the boy in the red jacket sidles between the people closest to them, and hurries forward.

His name was Steven in the Before, but he's since changed it to Star. He found the jacket in an abandoned store, and had to fight away thieves three times before he made it to the safety of Adam's borders, where they let him keep it. He doesn't know even now why he thought it was so important, except his father was a bellman at a fancy hotel, and his jacket was red. Star doesn't know where his parents are now, or his little sister, or his aunt and uncle. He's fourteen years old and all alone, and the first thought Kris ever had about him was: Wait, shouldn't he be dead? Only he wasn't, because he was here.

Star steps up beside Kris and looks Adam right in the eyes, and Kris puts a hand on his skinny shoulder. "He'll stand with me."

Adam lifts his eyebrow.

Kris feels Star shift a bit under that gaze, but he puts out his hand and holds his back straight.

Without a word, Adam gives him a light pair of tongs. Star, accustomed to the ceremony, takes them with reverence and turns to face Kris. It's a good thing he's tall already; he's at a perfectly decent height to set the silver rings against Kris's ear and squeeze, stretching out the skin to readiness.

"Last chance," Adam murmurs under his breath.

Kris, his head turned for best access, plants his feet and takes a deep breath. "Do it."

The push of the needle is sharp and then hot, throbbing red pain that jolts right through him. Adam takes the diamond stud from the table and guides it through after the needle, fixes it with a backing, and that's it. It's done.

His whole body is getting warm and it's really fucking hard not to touch his ear where it's heavy and hurting, but Kris manages to turn around and face the crowd without infecting himself.

Adam's hands land heavily on Kris's shoulders. "Dogs!" he shouts, in a voice like an animal, hoarse and deep. "Behold your prince!"

The shout that rises from the throats of his people is savage, loud and long. It flows out through the doors and over their land, washes through Kris's body. He sees his family with their faces raised, hears Adam's clear voice behind him, merging with the rest.

Kris lifts his head, and joins them.

Notes:

This story inspired two other artists - Katekat1010 made a theatrical poster for it - view it here. And Eliandralore made, I'm not kidding, an actual movie trailer - view it here. I'm blown away. Really excellent, both of them.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Post-apocalyptic fic, so, major disaster warning (brief mentions of illness, pandemic, plague, and bombings). Character death (in past). Military occupation and oppression. Gun violence, beatings. Body horror imagery (dream sequence). Please let me know if I missed anything and I'll be happy to add it.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Future Legend