o n l y . w h e r e . l o v e . a n d . n e e d . a r e . o n e

Only where love and need are one
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG

Summary: Adam feels like he's on the edge of a high cliff, and though it's probably a bad idea, he finds he wants to fall.

Notes: For Amy, who was remarkably patient with me. Title from "Two Tramps in Mud Time" by Robert Frost.

Date: February 12, 2006

Adam wakes to Joshua's hand on his shoulder, warm and sure. To Adam, still lost in the all-too-familiar haze between sleeping and waking, Joshua, gilded by the bright morning sunlight, looks like an angel.

Joshua's smile is wide and white as he says, "Good morning." His hair is damp and the collar of his white shirt, open, exposing the strong, tanned column of his throat.

Adam finds himself watching, mesmerized, as Joshua drinks his coffee -- lips pale on the rim of his yellow mug -- and eats his eggs -- flash of white teeth and pink tongue around the silver tines of his fork.

It takes Adam a moment to realize Joshua is speaking, and another to gather his wits to answer.

He puts his fork down and grins, abashed. "I'm ready," he says, though he isn't really, not yet. Not for any of this. But he doesn't want Joshua to know. He doesn't want to disappoint him.

The backseat of the taxi they take to the airport is small, much smaller than a taxi in New York, and Joshua's thigh is pressed against his the whole trip, warm through the two thin layers of their (matching) khaki chinos. Adam has room enough, an inch or three, to move away, the way he might have on the subway, but he doesn't. The contact is comforting on one level, disturbing on another. His skin prickles, the way it does before a thunderstorm, electricity running beneath, making his heart race. He doesn't want to think too much about why.

Joshua keeps up an easy conversation about art, music, the differences between Lisbon and New York. Adam's glad he can contribute, and absurdly proud when he makes Joshua laugh.

Joshua falls silent for a moment, and shifts, his shoulder brushing against Adam's, and Adam's breath catches at the touch. The creak of the old leather seat sounds loud over the low rumble of the engine, and heat spreads through his chest. He wonders if he's blushing. Why he's blushing.

Joshua doesn't seem to notice, and Adam thanks God for small mercies.

Adam tries to recapture the joy of the flight to Gaea on the hike to the O'Keefes', letting the beauty of the island wash over him as he follows Joshua along the path through the jungle. He is startled by the thought that he would follow Joshua anywhere; it makes him uneasy -- he is still disinclined to trust his instincts, even when, perhaps especially when, they seem so unwavering -- and he pushes it away. Still, he wishes the walk would last forever, and not just because he knows he'll face more questions when they reach the O'Keefes'.

He tucks the piece of paper with Joshua's numbers into his shirt pocket and wonders if he'll ever have the nerve to use them. He already has the desire, and he pushes that away, too.

Adam isn't self-conscious, generally, but he steps into one of the shower stalls to strip off and pull on the bathing trunks he's chosen, painfully aware that Joshua is doing the same, one stall over.

He takes a deep breath, nervous for some unfathomable reason, and when he steps out, clothes slung over one arm, Joshua is waiting, eyes and smile bright in the cool dimness of the bathhouse. He is lean and tanned, comfortable in his skin, even in those hideous zebra-striped trunks, and Adam's mouth goes dry.

"You can leave your clothes here," Joshua says, pointing to his own neatly folded shirt and pants.

Adam moves close, closer than necessary, really, so he's almost touching Joshua, and puts his clothes down on the bench absently. Joshua doesn't back away, though his smile fades.

"Josh--" Adam licks his lips, unsure of what he wants, what he means to say. He should probably be used to this uncertainty after the past few days, but he doesn't think he'll ever adjust. He wonders vaguely if this is what growing up means, and if it is, he doesn't think he likes it.

Joshua curls one warm hand around the nape of Adam's neck, thumb rubbing gently over his jaw. Adam blinks, heat unfurling under his skin at the touch.

"It's okay," Joshua says.

Though he's not sure what, exactly, Joshua's referring to, Adam wants to believe him. He wants to sway forward, wants to-- He's not sure what he wants. He just wants--

Adam feels like he's on the edge of a high cliff, and though it's probably a bad idea, he finds he wants to fall.

Joshua's hand holds him in place, anchors him.

When Joshua takes his hand away, the air feels cold against Adam's skin, and he shivers.

He tells Dr. O'Keefe it was Kali at the hotel because of Poly, yes, but also because he wants to live up to what Joshua seems to expect of him, wants to be worthy of both Poly's love and Joshua's trust. He's rewarded with a brilliant smile. It really is okay, he thinks later, as he drifts off to sleep.

Despite Joshua's parting words, Adam is sure there will be time.

"God," said Joshua before he died.

"God," said Canon Tallis beside his body.

"God," says Adam, mourning, the word both curse and prayer. He can't quite make it beyond that, and he's not sure he needs to, either way.

Saving Kali is as much instinct as thought, and Adam wonders how doing the right thing can make him feel almost as sick as doing the wrong one. That he knows it was right in his gut as well as his mind, that the O'Keefes and Canon Tallis are proud of him -- these things should help, and they do, a little, but doing the right thing can't erase the times he did the wrong one, and sometimes he feels like those are the only times that matter.

He thinks Joshua, also, would be proud, remembers his smile the night on the beach when Adam finally made his choice, and decides that will be enough. It has to be.

*

When Adam leaves Gaea, he takes the zebra-striped swim trunks with him.

fin

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Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Madeleine L'Engle and her publishers etc.; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.