Chapter Text
October, 2014
"This was God's plan," a woman named Muriel says, wringing her hands together. "This was God's way of resalting the earth, to start anew, to free us from evil."
Adam has two thoughts almost simultaneously as he and Tommy sit in the back of the small town hall that has been commandeered for these "community meetings." One: Muriel needs to color her hair. And two: Muriel is full of shit. He slouches lower in his seat, frowning, arms crossed over his chest.
The group of survivors that had found Tommy and Adam are based in Jacksonville and number about 180, give or take. More people arrive everyday. At first, everyone had the same look on their faces; wary, gaunt and untrusting. There's a guy named Jim who's trying to organize everyone. Before, he was a city comptroller or something. It was his idea to have these meetings, to flesh out concerns, to start working on a plan.
A plan for what, Adam doesn't know. He has a hard time caring.
Adam has learned that he's something of an anarchist.
"It was God's plan - " Muriel exerts again and Adam huffs out a breath, even if Jim is cutting her off. "Let's get out of here," Adam whispers to Tommy. "I just ... " He waves his hand toward the front, toward Jim and Muriel and the other thirty-odd people who came. He just. Can't.
Tommy nods, hands stuffed in the pockets of his thin hoodie. Jacksonville isn't that bad a drive, really, but it's a lot of the same shit that they talk about. The good stuff, like getting real electricity going properly, setting up food shares, shit like that. And then there's people like Muriel who make Tommy wonder if she even knows what love is. What he and Adam have is private and theirs, and none of the people here seem to have realized it. Maybe that's not a bad thing. Tommy certainly doesn't want someone like Muriel finding out. Resalting the earth, Tommy's ass. It was rabies. He meets Adam's eyes and nods toward the door.
When they rise and move toward the door, Jim says, "... are you leaving?" And Adam turns. Without a thought, he stands where he's covering Tommy. He looks over at Muriel, then back at Jim. "Yeah. We're leaving." They will help, they've decided, he and Tommy, when they can. They will not, Adam just decided, listen to someone's dogma.
"We all have to work together - !"
But Adam's already turning, urging Tommy toward the doors and out into the late fall sun. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, getting the truck keys from his pocket. "If she knew - " He doesn't say more. Tommy knows. If Muriel knew that Tommy and Adam were lovers, it's easy enough to imagine what she'd say. God's plan missed a step.
God's plan missed a lot of steps, letting people like their friends, their families be infected; letting them die in one of the worst ways Tommy can think of. "I think they should get a Burger King running. It's not that hard to rig up a genny to get electricity." They've got it at their home in Ratliff, but even still, their life is stripped down to levels that neither of them would have thought they could survive on, Before. No TV, but the occasional movie. No video games. They play their own music, both with Adam's voice and Tommy's guitar, and the collection of CD's they've got from the 'shopping' they've done. "Next thing you know, they're going to want money for what they're doing. And things go back to how they were." And Tommy doesn't want that. He glances at Adam out of the corner of his eye, and his smile is more in his eyes than anywhere else on his face. "If she knew what? That we're-?"
That they are. Adam doesn't answer the question. "They can't demand money," Adam tells him though, as they're driving away. "It doesn't mean jackshit now." Life is civilization at its most primitive, except that everyone knows what Before was like, making it seem excruciating.
As he pulls out of the parking lot, Adam says, almost as it occurs to him. "Maybe we should go west."
West. To California.
"Money's just paper," Tommy agrees, and starts to say something else that he remembers from history class in high school and the value of money during the Civil War, but then Adam makes his suggestion and it feels like a smack across the face. "What? West?" The widest part of the country, for sure, but at least they don't have any unpeople to worry about. None that they know of, anyway. All the reports from the people trickling into Jacksonville were pretty much the same: if they were even remotely alive, they were incredibly fragile. But most of them were dead. And that had been on those peoples' trips to wherever they were going, months before even Tommy and Adam had heard that voice - Jim's, actually - on the bullhorn.
"You want to go home," is what Tommy finishes with, looking out the truck's window.
Home.
Home, Adam realizes, is where Tommy is. And as he drives, he reaches over and takes Tommy's hand. "If we're going to be part of building something ... I ... yeah," he finally says, because that about sums it up. "I want to go home." He steals a glance over at Tommy, though. "I want us to go home."
Tommy's focus turns down to their fingers, and he's quiet for nearly three minutes, thinking about how they could do this, what they'd take, what they'd have to leave behind. Material things are things, he's realized. What's necessary is very, very little. Adam, the bed they share, the few things that they need to keep them alive. "When do you want to leave?" With a sick lurch to his stomach, Tommy realizes that they'll have to get their guns out again. Unpeople had a one-track mind. Real people are a lot more dangerous.
It's October now. Winter is coming in other parts of the country. Adam takes his time in answering. "Spring," he finally says. It gives them time to do everything they might need to and then some. "Tommy...." Adam looks over again.
October means Tommy's birthday is coming, and Tommy doesn't even want to think about it. There are days where he feels much younger than he actually is, and days where he feels much older. Now, he just looks tired. "Are you sure?" Because going home means going home, to places they're familiar with, without the familiar people. Their families, their friends, and for a second, Tommy's eyes sting.
Adam pulls over, putting the truck in park and undoing his seatbelt. Then he undoes Tommy's, meeting him in the middle of the bench seat in a hug. "I'm not sure. I don't know. It ... it was just an idea. We don't have to go." They have a home here, after all, the little house in Ratliff, Grizzy. They have a life. He doesn't even know where the idea came from. It's not a good idea, not really.
Tommy rests his temple against Adam's shoulder, thinking things through. "But there's always the chance for 'better than this', you know? And... maybe it'd be good to go... to see about your mom and dad, and my family..." Get some closure in that direction, at least. "We can always come back. We've done shit that's way harder than this." He pulls away to look up into Adam's eyes, eyes that are as blue as the sky sometimes, or as grey as smoke. "All the way, Adam. I'm gonna be here."
And in that way, then, it's decided.
They stock up on what they need in increments, working to not draw attention to themselves, though they don't think about it in those terms. They get a smaller RV, they get gas whenever they can, cans and cans of it siphoned and stored, all the canned food they can find. Ammunition. Water.
The months bleed together, Tommy's birthday, Christmas, then Adam's birthday. Their means of gifts hasn't changed, touches, tastes, words whispered and meant. The bond, the connection hasn't been weakened in the time since they were discovered. Adam refuses to let it.
Come April, he stands on the back porch, looking down toward where the plum tree will bloom, soon. When he hears Tommy behind him, he says, "I think it's time to go."
"I'll start getting the RV loaded up." Does Adam know that Tommy's been taking target practice again? That he's been shooting down things like empty cans and bottles? Just in case. They'd learned the hard way how to shoot during the outbreak, and even though Tommy hopes he'll never have to turn a gun on any kind of person, they have to be ready. And he feels guilty for being relieved that they're leaving; the idea of being completely alone with Adam reassures Tommy more than the idea of the people in Jacksonville. That hasn't changed.
So Tommy starts with the music and the movies, and the both of them go through the car batteries they've still got to get all of their appliances and shower set up the way they were on the trip here. Tommy talks to Grizz, telling him that if he pisses on any of the furniture, then they're going to make him into McDonald's hamburgers. The threat is empty. Dinner is poked at while Tommy thinks about what they're going to need along the way, what they could run into, who they could run into. "Are you going to miss being here?"
His fork in the air, Adam thinks about that, looking toward the window. He shakes his head, though, as he turns back to Tommy. "No. I have you." And he reaches across the table to touch his fingertips to Tommy's knuckles.
Tommy's hand straightens out so his fingers fit between Adam's, and with the squeeze that follows, Tommy's reassured enough that he can eat his dinner. I have you. It's all Tommy needs, he realizes. "You're home, to me."
The mattress from the bed, of course, is the last thing to go into the RV, once the spare gas tanks are stored and they've got all the food they can stuff into the fridge, into the cupboards, even the makeshift pantry that's where the TV used to be before it was left behind in Iowa. "I'm gonna grab a shower now so we can get going early, okay?" Tommy's shirt is stripped off, and when he bends to unlace his boots, the line of his spine is clear under his skin. He works too hard now to keep any kind of weight on, and he remembers a time Before when he'd thought he needed to lose weight. Adam had thought the same about himself. How fucking ridiculous it seems, now.
"I'll go with you," Adam says, coming up close enough to run his hand up Tommy's spine, slowly. He knows Tommy's body by heart, knows how to touch him. He revels in that knowledge. "There's one more thing I want you to do before we go," Adam tells Tommy, and he waits to tell him until they're face to face.
"I want you to help me cut my hair."
Adam's touch makes Tommy shiver, and when they're facing each other, Tommy pulls at the elastic in Adam's hair to let it loose. "How short?" His fingers card through it, knowing the feel of it as much as Adam knows the feel of Tommy's body, familiar and still awesome in ways that he never gets tired of. "You're gonna keep it black, right?" The only real tie to Before, along with the rare gift of Adam singing. "Do you want me to cut it off?"
"Not bald," Adam answered, giving Tommy a smile. "Just shorter." One less thing to worry about. One less thing to fuss about. A fresh start.
Adam takes Tommy's hand, walking with him into the bathroom and handing him the scissors.
"I can't even imagine you with no hair." Tommy motions for Adam to sit down, and the first cut's the worst, seeing that long black hair come off so easily. Then it's a matter of evening things out here, there, with the muttered warning, "I'm not good at this," before stepping back to look at the back of Adam's head. "Okay, you should maybe do the front? I don't want to screw it up." Not that a bad haircut would change anything; Tommy's had more than a few of his own, mostly when he'd try and do it himself. "Surprise me when I get out." Tommy pushes his jeans down his hips and gets into the shower, chin lowered and eyes closed, thinking about what's going to happen to them. Where they're going to go, what they're going to see.
As Tommy showers, Adam takes over the scissors, taking what he learned on Tommy and using it on himself, noticing the hair that falls into the sink, stark black against the white of the vanity. There's no way that he's going to be able to do anything like he had Before, but out of his eyes is good, out of his face.
By the time Tommy gets out of the shower, Adam is brushing his fingers through his hair and snipping at random pieces, looking at himself more at one time than he has in months.
He looks so much like Adam from Before that it feels like Tommy's heart stops in his chest, just for a moment. Adam's name's right there to say, but somehow Tommy stumbles on it and it falls unsaid. He doesn't know what to say, not around how seeing Adam like this makes his chest feel tight. So Tommy clears his throat, wrapping a towel around his hips, and then sits on the edge of the tub to watch Adam. For now, they have nothing to worry about. One more night of quiet and ease before going back out onto roads that could be hostile. I'll keep you safe as long as I can. A promise he'd made to Adam that Tommy will never give up on.
In the mirror as he combs through his hair with his fingers one last time, Adam sees Tommy and his expression softens. He sets the scissors down and turns, moving to kneel in front of Tommy, hands on his knees. "How does it look?"
"You..." Beautiful. As Adam always is, as he's always been, to Tommy's eyes. "It looks really good." Tommy takes both of Adam's hands in his own and sets them on his jaw so Tommy can lean in and kiss him. "That's what I think of how it looks." His knees come apart to accommodate Adam being close, and, forehead to forehead, Tommy wraps his arms around Adam's shoulders. "I won't let you be scared of this, okay?"
Adam nods, their foreheads still pressed together, thumbs tracing circles on Tommy's cheeks. "I'll keep you safe," he answers in words. No matter what. No matter what.
~~
They are on the road by 5 AM, driving out of Ratliff, down into Jacksonville and onto I-10. They'll be on that highway all the way to Los Angeles if luck is with them. Adam is behind the wheel, Tommy in the passenger seat and Grizzy hiding somewhere in the back, displeased with this turn of events.
It's funny - when they'd left Iowa, Tommy had been terrified that they were doing the wrong thing, that there was so much they still didn't know. Now, leaving Ratliff feels like a relief. He won't be king here anymore, or mayor, or whatever he'd felt like joking about being on whatever day. They're going to be together, by themselves in that way that they've become so used to. Even with people in Jacksonville, Tommy feels crowded, and isn't that fucked up. So he gets up to go check on their cat, who's standing between the couch and the wall looking for all the world like someone shoved his tail into an outlet. "Take it easy, Grizz. You're fine." He's got his holsters on, but not the guns, because what the fuck, it's barely dawn, and why should anyone come for them right now, right? "You want coffee, Adam?"
"No. Thanks. I'll have some juice though, if it's close by." The rifle is tucked under the driver's seat where Adam can reach it quickly. The road as far as he can see is clear, but that doesn't ease the tightness in his stomach. In his rearview mirror, he can see the sun coming up. A moment more and he slides a CD into the player. Kris Allen. "Live Like We're Dying." The irony nearly makes him smile.
The music isn't much of Tommy's cup of tea, but Adam likes it, and Kris was a really, really nice guy, Before. So Tommy gets Adam some juice and sticks it in the cup holder before going to check on his guns, make sure they're clean and ready, if they need them. He hopes they won't. They're brought to the front of the RV, put where they're in easy reach, and then Tommy slouches out in the passenger seat. "This feels... it feels right to do. I don't want you to be scared, alright?" With an odd little smile, Tommy holds up one of his pistols. "I'm not gonna let you be scared. I'll even... I don't know. I'll take down a fuckin' moose with these if I have to." The anxiety in Adam's stomach; Tommy can see it on his face as well, and he hates that more than any unperson, unanimal, or anything else.
"I'm fine," Adam tells him with the best smile he can muster. They have so many miles to go, so much ground to cover, to find what? What they know in their stomachs already; that all their loved ones are dead. But Tommy's right; this is what they should be doing. He reaches over and squeezes Tommy's hand.
~~
About a hundred and fifty miles from the Florida stateline, the highway all but closes with a congestion of cars in various states of rust and disuse. This is where they have to be careful. This is where they don't know what could be waiting. These cars are pressed almost bumper to bumper, with clear spots on the shoulders of the road. Tommy nods for Adam to try that; instinctively, he's lost his voice in favor of a language that they're both still fluent in. He gets his guns ready. Just in case.
Grateful for the smaller RV, Adam guides them onto the shoulder and into the overgrown grass along the side. Why here? Why like this? He goes as fast as he can, though, without risking a flat tire, not realizing that his knuckles are white with how tight he's holding on.
"It's okay," Tommy whispers. "Pull over for a sec. We should-" The idea seems like a good one inside of Tommy's head, just get out to have a look, walk up the shoulder a bit to make sure they can get the RV through, but the moment it's spoken, it sounds pretty dumb. "You think they just all kind of jammed up and stopped like this? I was thinking maybe we should go and check up ahead before trying to drive over it."
"No," Adam is saying even before Tommy is done talking. That puts them at risk. "Maybe something ran in front of the cars." Which sounds just as lame. "I think we should keep going. Just ...watch." They don't want to get a flat or have something go wrong, leaving them stranded. Defenseless.
It isn't as if Tommy doesn't trust what he sees, but.... okay, he doesn't trust what he sees. To him, the cars look like they've been pushed together to make traveling a fuck of a lot harder. Words come that feel like they haven't been spoken in a long time: "Be careful babyboy, okay?" They've been through too much already, lived through too much, to have anything happen now that the outbreak is honestly, truly over.
The sound comes the same time as the RV jars abruptly to the left. A sharp crack.
Adam cranks the wheel to the right to try to compensate but they are slowing whether he likes it not. "Shit," he hisses and that's all he needs to say for Tommy to be ready. Did they blow a tire? Or was it something else?
They come to a stop about twenty feet further along. Even as Adam turns off the engine, he's reaching for the rifle, his stomach twisting. One look to Tommy and he's opening the door.
The look in Tommy's eyes isn't quite so old that it's unfamiliar, but it tells Adam that no matter what, Tommy's got him. It sounded like a gun, to him, some kind of hunting rifle. He comes around to Adam's side of the RV, and look at that, the back tire on the driver's side is blown out completely. His guns come out and he starts back to where the shot had come from. "We're just passing through!" Tommy yells at nothing, at everything. At these still cars with their dead passengers, and at the live person who'd taken aim at them. It's- it's a bad idea to yell. He realizes this only after he's said something.
"Get down!" Adam hissed, immediately pulling Tommy back against the RV, behind Adam's arm and he goes quiet, listening. For what, he doesn't even know.
There's nothing but the wind, the occasional creaking of rusting metal. But the hair on the back of Adam's neck is standing up. "We have to move. We have to move."
"We need to change that tire if we're getting anywhere," Tommy hisses back, guns pointed at the ground instead of somewhere stupid, like at the cars where a shot could ricochet, and that's very nearly as stupid as yelling at nobody. Or somebody. Somebody who possibly took out their tire. "Did it feel like you ran over anything?" It's going to take some work getting the spare tire out of the storage space beneath the RV; yeah, they were totally prepared for something like this, but this is going to take some time. A car tire isn't exactly the same size as an RV tire. "Cover me."
Just as they move, another shot rings out, and the driver's side mirror to the RV shatters. Adam throws up his hand against the flying shards of glass, then he's pushing off the safety on the rifle and firing into the tall grass, teeth gritted, face hot with an instant, consuming rage. "Motherfucker," he shouts. "We're passing through!" Adam fires again, before loading another round in the chambers, ducking as he hears another report. He pushes Tommy down into the grass, his heart pounding. For the first time in a year or more, their lives are in danger and he hates it.
"What do we do?" Tommy asks, certain that Adam can feel the hammer of his heart even through his back. If they get up, then they're risking another shot, and there's no way Tommy's going to lie here and let that be Adam. No fucking way. "You see anyone?" God, if they have to give up the RV, they're giving up everything. For a second, Tommy thinks of their bed, the same one they've had since the very beginning.
Then, a voice: "Give us what y'got. All your food, all your supplies. Your guns. Y'do that and y'walk away."
Staring into the grass and the dirt, Adam puts a finger on the trigger of the rifle and takes a deep breath. This - leaving Ratliff - was his idea. This falls on him if it goes badly. Because it's going badly now. It's his job to salvage the situation.
"We don't have anything you need," Adam says, not looking up. His other hand in the small of Tommy's back tells him to stay there. Don't move. "We haven't hurt you."
At that, he moves, swinging the rifle up, and around, aimed toward the voice. Just as he fires, Adam hears the sharp crack and feels the burning in his shoulder, hot enough to take his breath away in a ripped-out cry. Shit. He doesn't even know if he got the asshole.
"Jesus Christ!" At the sound of that, of the shot and Adam's voice, Tommy's scrambling to his feet, pistols raised along with his voice. "Take whatever you want! We're not trying to hurt anyone or do anything, just... take what you want! Just let us pass through!" Oh god, oh fuck. Adam. He's bleeding. Those fuckers, whoever they are, shot him. Tommy's face is red, with anger, with fear, with worry. "You better not fuckin' die on me," Tommy warns Adam. "Stay the fuck down, now they gotta deal with me."
After Tommy's shout, the shooter shows himself, along with three other guys, grizzled and skinny and looking like they haven't had a square meal in a long time, coming out from four separate spots on the road. "Don't you two move a muscle," one warns, keeping them at gunpoint while the other three get on board to see what they can get. Tommy and Adam's food, blankets, even their spare guns, taking them out in armloads to the dip between the two sides of the highway. And once they've got what they want, they... leave. Leave Tommy gunless, leave Adam without his rifle, and worse than that, leave Adam bleeding from a gunshot.
Hissing with the pain, Adam sits back against the RV. When he touches his shoulder, his hand comes away bloody, but he can move the shoulder. "Check under the mattress," he whispers at Tommy, "for the knives." And maybe they didn't get the semi tucked under the driver's seat. "Check on Grizz." Fuck, his shoulder hurts. "We gotta move." He doesn't say it, because Tommy knows it. Hurry. Be careful.
"Just a second, just... hang on." There's something rough and shaky in Tommy's voice as he tears Adam's shirt open at the shoulder, looking at the wound there. It's just a graze. Just a graze. Oh god. "You need to be cleaned up. I gotta- and then I'll get the knives. You're more important than that, even Grizz." Tommy doesn't realize that when he blinks, tears streak down his face. It doesn't matter, he doesn't feel them. "I gotta get you cleaned up. Just- can you lean on me?" He tries to get under Adam's other arm to pull him to his feet. "We just gotta get inside. And lock the door. We can stay here for a little bit. They got what they wanted. I- I gotta get you cleaned up. It can't get infected."
Tommy had broken two fingers, Adam had sprained an ankle, had the near miss with the uncoyote, but this is the first time either of them has been shot. And by a human too. It makes Adam furious as he pushes to his feet. "We have to move," he says. "They might come back." How did they not know how to take care of themselves, after all this time? That they have to take from Adam and Tommy; it makes Adam want to hunt them down and shoot them. When he's on his feet and his head swims, instinctively, he raises an arm to lean on the trailer which sends pain shooting through him. "FUCK!" He shouts. "Goddamnit."
"Take it easy," Tommy hisses, getting under Adam's other arm. "You're gonna sit down and I'm gonna fix you, and-" He fights back his own panic, at seeing Adam's blood like that, and being utterly helpless to have been able to help him. Adam had held him down to keep him safe. "We'll move when you're bandaged up." Why these guys had just waited and raided makes just a little bit of sense to Tommy. Why work for yourself when you can steal from others? Benefit from other peoples' hard work. Fuck that. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, getting Adam back onto the RV, and inside, it's completely ransacked. But at least they'll have running water to wash Adam's wound. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"It's not your fault." Teeth clenched as he sits on one of the dinette chairs, Adam pulls off his t-shirt and tosses it away, craning to see what exactly is going on on his shoulder. He can't see bone, just blood. "Fuck. At least I could've gotten one of them. Fuckers." He looks up to Tommy, this time and sees the fear on his face, the tightness. "Tommy," Adam murmurs through gritted teeth. "I'm okay."
"No you're not. You got shot. Because I went out and started yelling. I just thought-" Tommy's mouth tightens into a line as he goes through the galley to find a cloth (and really, what would ransackers need with a dishcloth, honestly), running it under hot water, touching the open mark in Adam's shoulder in careful little dabs. "I thought if I said we were just passing through then they'd leave us alone. I just thought. I just." His voice sounds hollow, so rife with guilt that he's numb with it. Cleaned up, it's just a graze, just a flesh wound, but all of those justs mean nothing. Because Adam got shot. "You're probably gonna have a bitch of a scar."
"Tommy." Adam catches Tommy's wrist and holds it tight. "Look at me. Look at me." Something he hasn't said in months, strong and firm, brooking no argument. "It's just a flesh wound. It will heal. I just need you to clean it up and bandage it. Then we'll figure out what to do. Okay?"
Tommy's eyes are dark and miserable when they meet Adam's. "I'm sorry," he whispers, looking at the wound on Adam's arm, then the shape of the words on Adam's lips, then back to his eyes. "We can't keep the RV. 'cause what if there are other people like that?" Oh, and suddenly there's another emotion there, riding high along with the guilt, one that Adam himself felt outside. Rage. "I promised to keep you fucking safe and I didn't. I'm going to. We're going to get our shit together and we're going to go. We're going to get to the fucking west coast and I'm going to make sure of it."
"I know." Adam only has the hand on his good arm to use and it's bloody, but he reaches up anyway, touching Tommy's face. "We need to move. Hurry." Please. Adam was keeping Tommy safe. He's reminded again that that is what matters. Just that.
"You stay right there. Just... you just got shot, so you sit down and I'll do it." It's funny, all the things that those assholes took at gunpoint, they left some of the things that would make the most sense to take: the First Aid kit, some of their pre-prepared food (Tommy's glad to see that the stew Adam had made last night is still sitting in the fridge; he can heat it up while they talk about what to do next), and the knives that are still hidden underneath of the mattress. That he's got Adam's blood on his face doesn't faze Tommy; maybe he feels like he deserves to be marked like that, a reminder of another mistake, another lesson learned the hardest way possible. "'kay, I'm gonna try and be gentle." Bactine's sprayed on the wound before Tommy presses a gauze pad to it, wrapping it up around Adam's underarm and shoulder to hold it in place. "I was thinking... maybe... motorbikes? Do you know how to ride?"
"I've never even been on a motorcycle," Adam tells him, rotating his shoulder to see if he can. It stings like hell, but he can move it. Good. "Can I have some Tylenol?" He leans back in the chair, adrenaline rush suddenly running out before he has a chance to gird himself. If they take motorcycles, they are much more mobile. Smaller targets. But more exposed. "Tommy, I'm sorry," he whispers. "If we'd stayed in Ratliff, this never would've happened."
"We'll learn." Tommy's nod is decisive, and he runs a hand over Adam's newly-short hair. He likes it. Not that it changes what he thinks of Adam or how beautiful he is, but... he's still getting used to it, because it reminds him of Before. He grabs Tylenol out of the first aid kit, and some water from the tap for Adam to drink. "And don't you dare apologize to me. Not for anything. I didn't wanna stay there. If I did, I would have said something. I wanted..." For a second, Tommy's I can do this expression cracks like a dry riverbed, and he rubs the pad of his thumb against an eye. "If you go, I wanna go with you. Wherever it is."
"Tommy, come here," Adam whispers after he's taken the pills and set the glass aside. The only place for Tommy to be is on Adam's lap, but that's idea. He can wrap his good arm around Tommy and they've both still got Adam's blood on them, but he rests his cheek against Tommy's. Anything he could say, Tommy knows. Love. Devotion. Need.
Tommy's careful of Adam's shoulder, wrapping an arm around Adam's ribs, instead, his other hand stroking that soft transition between hair and skin at the nape of Adam's neck. "I want you to lock yourself in here," he starts, still cheek to cheek with Adam, voice low and shaky in his ear. "I'm gonna go find something smaller that I can drive us back to Tallahassee in. I'm gonna get some guns. I'm... fuck, I'm so sorry."
"Don't say that anymore," Adam tells him firmly, quieting Tommy with his mouth. "You're not going by yourself," he goes on, mouth to mouth, breathing the words into Tommy's. "I'm going with you." Tommy needs someone to cover him. "I need a new shirt."
"You're hurt," Tommy reasons. "You gotta stay and- I can't let you get hurt again. I can't even risk it. It's not that far. I'm-" But Adam's kissing him, and Tommy can't help but respond to it, reassured by how right it feels. They've never left the other alone, not in the entire time of the outbreak and the After that came with it. They've always been at the very least within earshot, and almost always a touch away. "I'll find you something. I was thinking... we find a motel room in Tallahassee and stay there for a few days. Find what we need. And get moving again. And we can barricade ourselves in... so you can heal." Adam's exactly right: Tommy will only be soothed when he lets himself be soothed, and right now isn't the time for that. Now they have to do something before night comes. They can't be in this RV all night. It's not safe anymore.
"I can't let you go by yourself." Adam is nearly pleading. "Tommy. Don't leave me here." The idea: not knowing where Tommy is, what is happening. Just the idea makes Adam want to vomit with fear. He might just go insane. His hand is fisted in Tommy's shirt. "Don't. We can go together."
Hunting knives are pretty stupid and Rambo-ish, right? Or Lambo, in their case, even though he hasn't been Lambo in a long, long time. But they're still there, in their sheathes, under the mattress. Put there just in case they came across something that would be better as dinner than anything else, now they're their only protection between here and Tallahassee. Their protection. Tommy finds something for Adam to wear, handing it out, and that's his answer to Adam's plea. They do it together. They go forward (or in this case, backtrack) together. "You stay close to me, then. I wanna be able to feel your breath on the back of my neck."
At least it's his left shoulder that was injured. Adam isn't rendered entirely useless. He shrugs into the shirt and takes a knife and he nods at Tommy. They can do this. They have to do this. They don't have a choice.
When they step out of the RV again, Adam looks around slowly, eyes narrowed. The nearest exit is about a half-mile back. It's nearly 5 PM. He just nods to himself and starts walking, right behind Tommy, close.
The walk is quiet, actually, since the people who'd raided them are probably long gone to enjoy the spoils of shooting someone to steal what Tommy and Adam had worked so hard for. Now and then, Tommy reaches for Adam's hand, for a touch, a squeeze, his face tense and wary and tuned to any sound that could be out of the ordinary. "We'll be there before dark," he whispers to Adam, and that's a reassurance in and of itself: that they won't be walking in the dark, exposed with no real way to protect themselves. "I'll be able to find us some food. You just... just follow me."
They left Grizzy alone in the RV. Adam can't even remember if they left him food. Shit. But there isn't a damned thing they can do about that now. Now they have to watch their own asses. The gash in his shoulder aches, even with the pain reliever he took and Adam walks carefully, trying not to jar himself, looking from side to side, scanning for anything. Everything.
"Almost there," Tommy mutters, as the sun starts to get low in the sky. The exit had nothing on it, just as it had been when they'd crossed it in the RV, and the weather's mild enough that they aren't freezing their asses off, or baking in the sun. But still, Tommy worries. "How does your shoulder feel? I'm sure we can hit like, a Rexall or something and find better stuff to-" Tommy shivers, thinking how close they'd been to something serious. How close he'd come to losing Adam. "Almost there, babyboy. Then you can relax." Just like the other cities they've seen, Tallahassee is dead; the residents are gone in every sense of the word. It's another mark in their favor, even if it's just a little one. Now all they have to do is find a motel that still uses real keys instead of those electronic cards.
The first motel they find is well away from the highway, back toward a small town that doesn't even seem to have a name so far as Adam can tell. And the hotel looks like it was seedy before the outbreak. The Sunrise Motel. But by the time they see it, Adam's shoulder is throbbing and he really wants to lie down. They haven't seen anyone. He follows Tommy into the small lobby that, like everything else, smells musky and dusty and stale.
Tommy grabs the first key he can, and the room it opens is both drab and tacky, with the floral bedspread and art that's offensive only in the way that it's so terribly painted. The carpet reminds him of Oscar the Grouch, and there's a little Formica table and Naugahyde chair in the corner. "Sit down. I wanna look at your arm." The first aid kit came with them, and Tommy sets it up, looking at Adam in the fading light. "I don't have any lanterns. They... they took them. Fucking lazy motherfuckers. I bet that's what they do. They just take from people who know how to look after themselves so they don't have to learn." Once Adam's cleaned up again, he can lie down, and Tommy'll do what he can to find rudimentary supplies. Something to eat, maybe, some lanterns if he's lucky. And bring some things to block the door for the time being. "Okay, take your shirt off. Right arm out, don't try and move your left one." The other sleeve can be eased down, once Adam's good arm and head are free.
Adam does what he's told and he keeps his head down. It's already bad enough that he's making Tommy worry. But he's also still so angry that he wants to hurt the assholes who shot at them. He's weak, too. Adam is a detriment, which just makes him more angry. "It'll be okay," he says, voice a rough whisper. If he has to will it so.
"I know," Tommy answers. Because no matter what, Tommy's going to make sure it'll be okay. He'll look after Adam the same way he'd done when Adam has sprained his ankle, and the same way Adam had looked after Tommy when he'd broken his fingers. But this is more than that, serious, something that could get infected, or worse. The gauze is bled through when Tommy carefully peels it away. "Okay, let it dry out a little bit. Don't touch it, don't let anything else touch it. I'm gonna go see if I can at least find a flashlight, or some candles, or something." His kiss is short and fierce, possessive. This is his and nobody will take it away. "I'll be right back." His knife is pressed into Adam's good hand. "I'm just going to the office. I'll be right back." Another kiss, and Tommy slips out into the growing night.
If Adam sits staring at the door, he'll go crazy. He knows it. So after a moment, he gets up, walking over to the mirror that's attached over the dresser and peers at his shoulder as best he can in the growing gloom. It's an ugly gash, like a wide stripe. Tommy's right; Adam will have a scar. "You're a fool," he tells himself.
For endangering Tommy, for thinking that this is a good idea, leaving what is safe. Now they're holed up in a fucking hotel that should probably be torn down. Jesus Christ. Adam holds on to the dresser tightly to keep from going after Tommy.
Tommy's not even ten minutes, and when he comes back, there's almost something like excitement on his face. Not only did he find a flashlight, but he found an entire box of safety candles, and a set of short-range radios! So if one of them has to go somewhere by himself - like right now - then they can stay in touch. Batteries, too! "Hi," he breathes, flashing a hopeful smile at Adam. "I'm gonna clean you up by candlelight. Romantic, huh." Like the first time they'd colored Adam's hair, back in Iowa. Tommy yanks all the curtains across, leaving them in deep, pitch blackness until there's the flick of his lighter like a miniature sun. Just for a moment. Then he's lighting candles and dripping the wax onto the bedside table, letting it pool enough that he can stick the butt of the candle in it so it'll stay up. "Why aren't you lying down?"
"I wanted to look at it." Adam sits, though, gesturing vaguely to his wound. The relief at Tommy being back is strong, almost enough to make him light-headed and he slumps forward, an elbow on a knee. "Was there any food?"
"Nothing good," Tommy answers. "Vending machine, but everything was bad. No water, either." Which is bad. Really, really bad. "Let me look at it. I'll use the kit to get you cleaned up, and then we can figure out what to do next." He turns Adam toward the light, wiping at the wound with an antiseptic cloth-thing (they smell like those lemon cloths he'd get at like, KFC or something, Before). "When it's light, we'll go and see what else is around here." So they can move on. Find a better way, a safer one. Where Adam can't get hurt.
"We should've brought food." What were they thinking? Leaving without food or water. Amateurs. What a fucking amateur move. Add to that the sting of cleaning the wound and Adam's gritting his teeth together. "You'd almost think we want to get ourselves killed. If we don't have food here, we should find a vehicle and go back to the RV."
"Breathe," Tommy instructs, not looking away from what he's doing. Once, these fingers played guitars, and the deftness with which they moved Before isn't lost on how he touches Adam. "You couldn't carry anything anyway. I wouldn't make you. Keep breathing, slow." He puts ointment around the edge of the wound before putting another gauze pad on, taping it and winding more gauze around. "There, now you've got mummy-arm." The question is, how long have any of the cars been sitting here? The gas is probably long evaporated, anyway. Tonight, they can sleep here. Tomorrow, they'll move again, get something to drive, salvage what they can from the RV, and make a new plan. Tommy's already thinking that since it's early in the good weather, they could take back roads. That'd be safer.
Adam shifts his shoulder, feeling the bandage, how he can move, the now-muted sting, before putting his head in his hand. Tommy's right; he can't carry anything, not even a backpack the way the gash is on his shoulder. They both need to eat, they both need to sleep. "Did Grizz have any food when we left?"
"There's always cat food out," Tommy answers, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking inventory of what's in the room. The dead TV is pushed in front of the door, just in case, and he knows that from the outside it doesn't even look as though there are people in here.
All Adam can think to say, over and over again is I'm sorry, but it doesn't change anything. He aches and they're both exhausted, filthy and running on adrenaline in a fucked-up situation. For that time there, things had been peaceful; he can't help but regret leaving.
Leaving means the promise of new things, possibly better things, and if Tommy can have those things with Adam, then it's worth it. Except for that fucking gunshot, god. "Come here," he instructs, stretching out on the bed, his back against the headboard. The light of the candles is flickering and warm and gold; for this moment right now, Tommy can relax, just a little bit. Grizz is going to be okay - he'd been okay-ish before Tommy and Adam had shown up in Ratliff in the first place - Adam's cleaned up and bandaged, and there's nothing to hear outside. It's quiet, and they know that quiet means safe.
Lying on his good shoulder, hand resting on Tommy's hip, Adam stays there, watching Tommy's face in the murk. The bed smells gross; moldy and musty. One of the few static things in their lives has been their bed as weird as that is; he misses it. If they get motorcycles, they'll lose it entirely. "I love you," he whispers.
Tommy strokes a hand over Adam's hair, soothing himself with the repetition of movement. Adam's seen him do it a hundred times to the cat, who's all alone in the RV. God. He thinks of the bed, too, how they'd started out sharing it for company and safety, then for warmth, and then... with love, both surprising and easy, and completely natural. They won't have that security anymore, if they leave the RV. His face is both expressionless and thoughtful, in the way his eyes move as if reading something only he can see. He's thinking about what they're going to need to get come daylight, where they'll need to walk to get it. All he can do is hope that Adam's arm doesn't get infected. "I love you too," he answers, as soft as the dark around them. "Get some sleep, okay?"
Adam nods, but sleep is slow to come. It's silly, he knows, to be sentimental about a life that is only slightly less dangerous than the moment they're in now, but he leans a little bit forward and rests his forehead to Tommy's and swears that he can taste the sweetness of plums. When he does wake, his throat is so dry that it makes it hard to swallow.