"Burgess!" Kim was so, so close to being out of the door when the desk Sargent spotted her. She inwardly cursed herself for not being quick enough, turning around with a smile on her face.
"Yes, Sarge?" Her voice was sweet but she knew that Trudy wasn't having any of it.
"You going to the karaoke at Molly's tonight?" Trudy gave her a look that told her there was only one right answer.
"Ah...hm, I... can't." Still, Kim tried to give the wrong answer.
"You're going. Your trashy television shows will be there tomorrow." Platt told her firmly, leaving no room for protest. No matter how much she wanted to. Not for the first time, Kim cursed that Trudy and Mouch are co-owners of the bar, even if she knew that Trudy would still make her go just as firmly even if she wasn't.
It had been one of those cases in Intelligence. Gruelling and tiring and the kind of cases that makes you second guess your faith in humanity. And fifty-one had just come off the third tough shift in a row themselves and so Herrmann had the marvellous idea of a Karaoke night, something his co owners supported.
'Just a bit of fun', Herrmann had pitched as he spread the word. He only had a day to plan and tell them about it, but that was okay, depending it was for fifty one and intelligence, not the greater public.
It's a good idea, and definitely would be good to raise and rebuild morale; it had taken quite the hit in their first responders family, understandably, with everything going on. Logically, Kim knows this. She can respect and acknowledge that it's a good idea and something that Herrmann should do for all of them, but that doesn't stop her from really, really not wanting to go.
It's nothing, really, about Molly's or Herrmann, or Trudy. Nothing personal, anyway. Lately, Kim hasn't felt much like socialising—never mind doing karaoke—and going out tonight, dressing up and having to force herself to be around everyone, it sounds like her own personal hell.
Well, not everyone, just the one person; just Adam.
As far as Kim's concerned the worst part of work hasn't been the case. It has nothing to do with the gang war and the children who were caught up in it, as tough as those cases always are. It has nothing to do with the spike of fentanyl in the drugs and the many lives it's taken. It's because of Adam.
It's always, Kim thinks, because of Adam.
The last eight years of her life, it's always been because of Adam. Not work being unbearable, but anything happening in her life. Her day starts and ends with Adam, it always has, even when it doesn't.
Even in those moments in her life where Adam is so far from her thoughts. Even when she's sharing a bed with other men. Even when she hates—no, never hate. Not for him, anyway; herself perhaps, but never him—him.
Even when the only time in the day she thinks of him is because they're working together. Even when all those thoughts are purely professional.
It's always Adam.
There's something about him, from that moment he called her over in Molly's, that was forever imprinted onto her. His very essence wrapping around her soul, becoming just as part of her as her blood is.
Her air. It's a thought she's had so many times before, that he's her air. That she never breathes as clearly as she does when she's with him, when his arms are around her. And that air never quite stops coming to her like it does when he's gone.
It's a thought that she wishes—wishes so hard—that she had told him that.
Told him it before... Well before that day. Before those words came out if her mouth, never to be unheard, to break what was already barely put together, the cracks of the numerous previous breaks still so clear.
Maybe then things would've gone differently; maybe then she wouldn't be suffocating.
Kim knows that's not fair. Telling Adam that he's her air would've done nothing to prevent this from happening, from this becoming her life. Adam, after all, is not the reason she's suffocating, drowning in the water of her own tears—she, herself, is.
She was the one who didn't think. She was the one who let her own fears, worries and anxieties rule her mind, her heart and her mouth. She was the one who broken, who had marred herself, who had darkened her own soul, spirit and heart.
It was all Kim, she knows this. God knows she's had many lonely, cold nights to realise that, to let the knowledge sink into her.
Adam is her... Well, her everything. It's something she's recently truly came to terms with; that she's finally understood, more than she ever thought was possible, the old adage of you don't know what you have until it's gone.
Many nights Kim has laid in bed, staring up at her ceiling, realising she'd give up just about everything just to touch him again, to have him touch her.
To have him let her back in, to let her come close, to let her be in the warmth of his sun.
And it's those same many nights that Kim has realised that she could give up everything and anything, but that there's not enough in the world to ever make that possible. That because she was selfish, because she didn't try to acknowledge how broken she was inside, Kim lost him.
Kim hurt him in the worst way, and there's no undo button for life. No way to reverse and undo the damage that had been done, especially when it's just one more scar on top of so many others.
What have you done?
Those words have gone around and around in Kim's head since she said them, since she saw the hurt in Adam's eyes, since she saw the video evidence and since he shut that door in her face.
Kim could dissect exactly why she said that—she has, in fact, in those lonely cold nights—but the whys, they don't matter. All that matters is the aftermath, the impact of her words. That in the moment, she doubted who Adam is, and forever shattered their relationship.
It's something Kim never should've said.
Not because it's hurtful and untrue to him, well, not just because of that. But because it's always been Adam, ever since eight years ago, even before she fell completely and utterly head over heels in love with him.
Kim has always known who Adam is. She's one of the first people ever to, and she saw who he is without him even needing to try hard to show her. Because she understood him, because she saw him on a level it's taken others years too.
Because she saw him on a level that others still haven't.
If she tried, Kim doesn't know if she could pick just one favourite moment in all her years of knowing Adam. There's so much good, even when things were anything but. But those first moments of their relationship, when they were still so young and blissfully unaware about what awaited them, those never fail to put a smile on her face.
And Kim can't say just how many times she's replayed the first moment she just got something about Adam, instinctively, and he had clearly not expected that and just looked at her with awe and adoration.
Or how many times she replayed telling him that he can be himself around her, that she will never judge him, that she knows him.
And it's those memories that she has kept on replaying on repeat in her mind ever since that day, because Adam is right, because she should've known, that she should've known his heart.
And instead she accused him of cold-blooded murder.
There's been many mistakes in her life, many things that she regrets. But it's no competition as to what she regrets the most, that in just the space of a few seconds, she destroyed Adam and her, destroyed those eight years of history and connection, with only a few words.
In Kim's line of work, you fast learn that everything can go wrong in such a short span of time. On the nights all of them, all their first responder friends, gather around and talk and it inevitably goes to the horrible things they witness, this is something they all agree on.
That it only takes a split second to go from everything being fine to nothing ever being fine again.
Looking back now, Kim knows that she was playing with fire. That they encourage all the down-on-their-luck victims to seek help, that they even encourage the criminals to do what's best for themselves and their peers, their family, but that Kim never applied that to herself.
She had been playing with fire for years. Kim sees the looks her unit gives her, whenever there's a child involved in a case. Not pitying, but a look that clearly shows that they know, oh they know, that she lost a part of herself that day in the motel.
That she was broken, and that they know, even if they don't think about it, there's always going to be that broken part of her.
But what they don't know is that she had been broken for years. They know that maybe she plays with fire whenever the cases are child-focused, but they don't know just how close she is to the flames normally.
Not their fault, of course. Kim carefully constructs herself, that she hides so much of her even from herself. It's something—perhaps wilfully—that she's ignored herself, that she was sitting beside the flames and ignoring the smoke all around her.
The only person who saw how close she was to burning herself is the very person she continued to push away.
Adam knows her as well as she knows him, and he sees her—sees her in a way she can't even see herself. There was a moment, years ago, a month after she was shot, and she was still so, so bothered by the ugly scar it left. Adam had gently traced it with his fingers, looking at her with love and adoration, whispering how he wishes she could see herself like he sees her.
Kim has often thought about this in the years that came after, and more and more since that day she ruined everything. At nights she finds herself wishing that she could've, because it may have only been seconds that destroyed them, but she had made the cracks for years.
That if she hadn't been chiselling away at them, maybe it wouldn't have totally shattered them. That maybe, maybe, he would've been open to talking it out with her.
Kim knows, understands, why he isn't. She gets it, and doesn't fault him for it. But maybe, maybe if they weren't so broken before, his hurt wouldn't be so deep. That it would be seen as just one lapse.
Because that's what it would be, just one lapse in judgement. But the truth of it is, that isn't the reality. It wasn't just that one moment, wasn't just those few seconds, it was everything that came before it.
Accusing Adam of murder would always be a devastating blow to their relationship. But Kim can't help regretting all she did before then, because she had made the damage before those words ever passed her lips.
In that one question, that one accusation—because that's what it was—Kim doubted who he was, his character, the very essence of who he is.
It was a betrayal. It would always be a betrayal. But she had spent years before the fact doubting him, showing that there was a part of her that she was too scared to give him. Even when she agreed to give them another go, Kim knows she still held that little bit back, and she knows he knew that.
She was going to give it him, she knows that too. This time, Kim was committed to them, to make them work. And she knew that she'd need to work on herself, to make it so.
But there's a difference between knowing and doing.
And Kim had continued along her selfish path. That she didn't fully understand—or, perhaps, wanted to understand—exactly what working on herself would entail. That she dragged her feet on it, thinking that tomorrow she'll do it, all while knowing that tomorrow would never come.
They had made some big and important strides in this new try of dating they had been doing. The night after they hooked up again, and Adam had convinced her to sit down and have a conversation about them, they both agreed that they needed to do some serious work.
Talking about your issues, making rules in relationships, it's not the most fun or sexy moments but they knew it was important. Adam had told her that he wanted everything she wanted, and Kim had told him that she was scared.
And things were good.
They weren't perfect, not by far, but they were good.
It makes sense. After Kim lost their baby, they had grown closer? That foundation, that connection and bond, between them had been worked on and they had developed a routine. There was some sort of communication between them, and dating was just an extension of that.
But they still were so lax, more lax than they should've been.
Or rather, Kim was lax. Adam was too, but he was faultless, because he was only following her pacing. That he respected her fears and didn't push her, and instead of appreciating that to work on her brokenness, she took advantage of it.
And so things were good, but still so broken.
And then Adam was ranting about his dad and the trouble he was in, and Kim let that broken, hurt part of her take over, instead of the goodness that's still buried deep inside her from when she first fell for him and she might as well have taken a sledgehammer to their relationship.
And if she just worked on herself. If she had worked on herself before this all happened, before they even began dating again. If she hadn't spent years holding parts of herself back, always setting them on the slow path, then maybe those words wouldn't have severed that final straw.
It was a betrayal, a doubt. But it was a doubt upon a doubt upon a doubt.
Adam's words have replayed back in her mind every day since. I thought you'd know my heart. And he's right, she should've.
And that's why it was such a betrayal, why it did so much damage. Because Kim has spent years pushing Adam away, and he had kept trying, never letting the hurt sink too deeply, because he had that belief that even as she pushed and doubted him, that she knew him, knew his heart.
And in those few seconds, Kim stole that belief away from him.
It doesn't matter that she does know his heart. It doesn't matter that she loves him. It doesn't matter that she'd do anything to fix them, that she'd give up her arm just to have him smile at her one, last time.
The damage has been done, that her wish all these years, her pushing him away; it finally worked. And it doesn't matter that she regrets it, that she'd undo it, because this is life.
Kim played with fire and she got burnt.
She has accepted this. Kim is in pain, such incredible pain, and she misses him with all she has. But she's accepted that this is her fault, that she and only she caused this and she must accept the consequences of her actions, no matter of the how's and why's she did it.
There's a large, masochistic part of her that tells her that she deserves to feel this pain, and she's not going to argue against that, but pain is pain.
Seeing Adam every day at work is agony. It doesn't matter that it's all her fault, it hurts being so close to him and yet so far. It hurts hearing him talk to her so cordially, and only when he needs to. It hurts when she sees him laugh at something funny Kevin or Jay says, knowing she'll never make him laugh again.
It hurts that she forces herself to look away when he does so, or when he smiles, because she doesn't feel like she's entitled to see that side of him after everything she did. It hurts that she has to act as if she's not dying inside and that she can't even help soothe his own hurt.
Kim powers through, it's work. It's his work. It's her work. It's what's best for them, the unit, the city. But by gods, does it hurt.
And at the end of the day, all Kim wants to do is go home and curl up in her bed and try not to think about how it no longer smells like Adam. She doesn't want to go out. She doesn't want to see anyone. She doesn't want to do anything. She doesn't want to keep being someone, that if people are seeing her, then she's existing and if she's existing, she's hurting.
The pain, the agony, in her heart; she feels as if she's dying. She feels numb and full of pain at the same time, and she's full of hatred for herself and self pity. And she doesn't want to see anyone, especially people who know her business, who knows about Adam and her, who will be trying to understand how she is—not knowing that no one can, that no one knows the intricacies of Adam and her, that no one can understand that pain.
Well, no one but Adam, and that's the whole problem within itself. That the one person she wants to understand, who does understand, wants nothing to do with her.
And it might be selfish of her, but Kim doesn't want to see him having fun. She's not naive enough to think that he's not also hurting, because of course he is, because she knows him, but she broke them and he's trying to get over her.
There's a part of her, probably still her inner masochist, that's happy that Adam can still have fun despite the pain. And of course, that's the best scenario she could want for him. But that doesn't mean Kim wants to see it.
That she wants to witness it. Be a part of it.
Especially all while trying to pretend that she's not dying inside.
Even on a normal night, even if Adam wasn't going to be there, Kim would not want to go out. She hasn't gone out since he shut the door in her face—even cancelling on her monthly girls night with Sylvie and Kelly. But a karaoke night, at Molly's, with their mutual friends all around them—that sounds more like torture then fun.
But Trudy is Trudy.
It's not a lack of understanding that's why Trudy wants her to go out, Kim knows that. It's the opposite. Trudy knows her so incredibly well, and she knows that Kim won't ever go out if she doesn't start trying.
It doesn't make it easier or makes Kim want to go any more. And god, she tried her hardest to avoid the desk Sargent, knowing that if she didn't run into her then she wouldn't have to go. But Trudy is the closest thing Kim has to a parent, and she trusts her implicitly, and not doing what Trudy—in her own way—is advising her to do is a thought so far from her mind.
So she resigns herself to an evening where she'll wish she's anywhere but there, all while waiting for the time it gets less painful to be around—(Adam)—everyone.
It doesn't take long for Kim to get ready. Just a quick shower—a rinse over; a quick thing to wash away the day and before she could remember what it felt like to have Adam standing behind her, sharing the shower, running his hands with a familiar ease over her body, calling it 'helping'.
Or that was the aim, at least. But there's no short enough time in the world for Kim to never remember that; the memories flooding back as soon as the water is turned on.
The shower is probably the longest part of her getting ready, the getting dressed easy and done quickly. Just some jeans and a nice shirt and she is done. If this is a night out she actually wanted to go out on, she'd be making good time.
But she doesn't want to, so even though she's ready with time to spare, Kim drags her feet, doing this and that in her apartment before leaving—anything to prolong the time until she has to be in Molly's, around everyone (Adam).
The only thing that kicks her into action is the realisation that if she's late, all eyes will be on her when she enters and that would just make everything that much worse.
Molly's is pretty full when she arrives, but there's still a few missing faces and Kim feels so relieved that she managed to arrive at an okay time. She hesitates slightly when she enters, wondering where to go, where to sit, and she feels almost as if she's back in high school, her nerves piling up just as high as back then.
"Kim!" Sylvie is all smiles, living up to her personality of being sunshine personified. The blonde paramedic is bouncing up to her, immediately grabbing her hand and dragging her over to where she was sitting.
It's at a table with Stella, Kelly and Matt. They're all her friends, they're not strangers, but the relief Kim feels at being at their table might've made one think that they were. It's not like they're not friendly, in some ways they're very close, but Kim feels less pressured with them, less like they're trying to see through her.
Not that her unit would, of course not. But with how she's feeling, it's different being around them opposed to her firefighter friends.
And it's not like that she wouldn't sit with them on a usual day, she would. Although normally, Kim would at least go greet her unit and her other med and fifty one friends, maybe just giving them waves at the minimum. But now, Kim sits down and practically tries to blend into the seat, not wanting to attract any attention.
Bless Sylvie, knowing that Kim might not be the most comfortable, allowed Kim to sit closest to the wall and is calling to Herrmann with her usual drink order, instead of Kim having to go up to the bar.
Kelly immediately brings her into a small, silly disagreement him and Matt are having, Stella quickly encouraging her to laugh and playfully tease 'the boys' with her. Kim doesn't know if they're doing it because they can sense how uncomfortable she is feeling, but she appreciates it nevertheless and thinks that if the evening can just be like this, Kim in a corner with people who aren't making her feel on display, maybe it'll be alright.
The evening progresses.
Kim can't say that she's exactly pleased or happy she came out. She spends a lot of the time wishing for her comfy pjs and her duvet and her trashy shows that she can just get lost in. But it's not as awful as she thought, in her little corner, the four of them always flocking her.
At times, she's even having fun. There's when Trudy gets up to do karaoke, which is always a hoot. There's when Trudy and Mouch do a duet, the whole pub in laughter at the funny but cuteness of it. And there's the joking her table does, the teasing of Sylvie when the boys go and get more drinks and Kim and Stella teases Sylvie over Matt and the laughing at Matt and Kelly behaving like teenage brothers.
Kim laughs, sometimes, and sometimes she forgets that Adam is in the bar as well. It doesn't last, inevitably she looks around and catches sight of Adam, sat beside Kevin and everything turns to dirt instantly.
Her heart twists and she feels as if she's being stabbed and then her laughter fades and she wonders how she ever could, when the love of her life is not far from her and yet he—rightfully—hates her.
Sylvie seems to notice every time, however, and tries her best to bring her back to her laughter, trying to help her forget about Adam being so close. It's those times that Kim is truly grateful for having a friend like Sylvie—and for Kelly, him dragging Kim's attention away from Adam when Sylvie's busy with the karaoke.
"Come on stage with me," Sylvie encourages her on one of the happy moments, when Adam is as far from her mind as he can be amidst her broken heart. "We'll do never getting back together!"
Karaoke is one of Kim's favourite things to do with Sylvie, the two getting drunk and singing all kinds of love songs, laughing while they do so. And since their friendship started, they have a tradition that whenever the one—or booth—has a heartbreak or is just annoyed at men, they sing it together. It doesn't even have to be at a pub's karaoke night, sometimes just being in the comfort of their own homes.
It's some of Kim's warmest memories, but tonight is just not the night for it. This is Adam, Adam who's right there. Adam who is only no longer hers because of her, and it wouldn't feel right. And then there's that Kim doesn't want to get up in front of everyone; not when she's trying so hard to be a chameleon.
"I'll go with you," Matt offers after Kim gently turns Sylvie down, the other woman pouting slightly, despite the understanding in her eyes. Kim guesses she should be grateful for both Sylvie's understanding and Matt's offer—and she is—but she still catches Stella's eye, the two women grinning knowingly at Sylvie.
The night is well in swing, and Kim notes that she could probably leave now, and it would've filled her obligation to Trudy. But she also notes that she's a little reluctant too, enjoying being able to be semi distracted from her despair over Adam.
Progress, Kim thinks. But not long after she thinks that, Adam is walking to the karaoke and Kim knows that the chance that she can ignore his presence is now slim to none.
His hair is messy, strands hanging over his face slightly, and it reminds her of the night he shut the door in her face and it aches her heart. Aches, hurts, it because all she can think about is that night and aches it because all she can think is about the times it's been like that because they've had sex, because she mussed it up, because he didn't have time to style it.
Adam chooses to sing Iris by the goo goo dolls, but it's no surprise, not really. Kevin and Kim have joked many times that Adam has only one karaoke speciality, because he always—at one point in the evening—will always sing it.
It's not just his one speciality, of course. One of the most surprising things Kim learnt about Adam when they first started dating is about how musically talented he is. That he doesn't just have a good voice when he's playfully doing harmonics at work, but that he can—and does—sing.
And it's something Kim has always loved, always loving it whenever he'd sing—especially when he'd get out his guitar and play for her.
But it's one of his favourite songs to sing, and he has the vocal cords for it.
Really, Kim should've predicted that this would happen. But her mind had decided to be in denial, maybe hoping that Adam doesn't want everyone's eyes on him like she doesn't want, but that's apparently not the case and she's wishing she just left, not wanting to hear Adam sing.
Not wanting the memories it will stir up. Not wanting to be reminded of just how badly she fucked up. Not wanting to have her heart break all over again when it still hasn't recovered.
Kim tries to focus on the joke Kelly is saying, but her eyes can't settle, her ears can't hear. She can't hear anything but Adam's voice—his frankly beautiful—beginning to start the song, can't concentrate on anything but the lyrical words that are falling out his mouth.
Memories of when they were happy and they were at karaoke comes flooding back to her. It's not even memories of them being together—they may have spent the last eight years barely going ten months without sleeping together, but they've been not-a-couple longer than they ever were, in total. Just them drinking and laughing and just having fun. When things were easier, simpler, when he could stand to be around her, before she fucked everything up.
Memories of them at work, on a stakeout or just in the bullpen, and Adam is bored and is just humming dance around in her mind as well. Of when the bullpen wasn't filled with a tense unease, where jokes and laughter was happily exchanged, where they felt like friends, like a family.
And the memories of them being together, of their quiet intimate evenings alone. Of them cooking together, watching random stuff on the telly or just cuddling and just being together and Adam just picking up a tune, singing odd lyrics.
Singing love ballads to her, even when they weren't together, yet was in everything but title. Singing to her and playfully spinning her around, just for a second, just for a random second, but a second of showing her that he loves her, of treating her as if she's his life, his bride to spin and to make smile and laugh and feel oh so loved.
Of humming this song under his breath when he's doing something menial, like the dishes or laundry and catching her eye and just belting—but so beautifully and in tune—a line to her, grinning that grin of his as he does so, before going back to what he was doing, back to his humming.
Of the memory the morning after she told Voight that she was pregnant, and Adam had stayed over, them discussing what this would look like. Of Adam looking as if a load had been taken off him, and of how he had laid his hand over her flat stomach, singing softly—softly to her and the baby.
Of how he only got to do that a handful of times but how he deserved to have been able to do it more. Of how he deserved to be able to hold their baby in his arms and to sing to them, to see them hear his voice, know his voice, to smile and be soothed by his voice.
That oh so familiar pain, that familiar ache, in Kim's heart returns and she grips her beer bottle that much harder, as if that would keep the pain at bay. It's always painful thinking about what could have beens, especially about their baby—especially when it's about Adam and their baby. There's still a part of Kim that blames herself for what happens, and she never feels like she deserves to be sad about what she's missed out on, but Adam... Adam was as faultless in that as much as he was in the end of their relationship, and it hurts her to think about all she made him miss out on.
And it's even more painful knowing that she won't be able to soothe that ache, that pain, in Adam's arms, the only place she's closest to her lost baby; in the arms of their father. Painful despite it being selfish of her for even wanting to.
Maybe it wouldn't be as painful if it wasn't this song. Not because of the memories, not because of all the times Kev and her have teased him over it—well, not just because. But because the words hit too close to home, hits close to her heart, the ache it leaves ricocheting through her body.
Kim isn't one to apply lyrics to her own life, not really, not since her teenage years. Sylvie loves it, loves putting on music which not only speaks to her mood but what she's directly thinking and despite the two having many girls' nights giggling to various music, Kim doesn't make the habit of picking songs that reflects her own mind.
She could spend time dissecting why- that it makes her feel too exposed, because her work makes her want to always appear tough, that she can't hide from how she feels if she's thinking about it—but it doesn't matter, all that matters is how, now, she feels.
How, now, she can't ignore the words Adam is singing.
It's just his song that he sings. Nothing more, nothing less. There's nothing to take from it, nothing that should be making Kim feel this way. It's not like it's a reflection on how he feels, a purposeful choice, it's just Adam with a few beers in him, singing the song he always sings.
But the words hit her deep, and all she can think about how they apply to her, to him, to them. That all she can think about is how it highlights what went wrong, that she doubted his heart then, after years of doubting his heart.
Adam sings the song well, delivering the notes perfectly even in his tipsy—drunk?—state, hitting the emotional lows and highs at all the right times. It's just him performing, but maybe it's the alcohol coursing through Kim's veins, but it hits her, feeling like it's him, not just a performance, sounding so raw and real.
It grabs at her heart, twisting it so painfully in such a deep, aching way.
All Kim wants to do is hold him, is to be with him. To cover his face in kisses, to hold him close, to tell him that he's hers and she's his and that's how it'll be for eternity. That she loves him, that she knows him, that her soul is his, entwined so tightly and closely around each other it's impossible to tell who's is who that it's essentially just one.
And it hits her; she loves him.
Kim knows this, of course. And if she didn't, the pain she has been feeling over these weeks without him would be the tell. That she feels empty, like a part of her is missing because Adam is not beside her is because she loves him; that her love burns brighter and more fiercely than an exploding sun.
But this evening, she only embarked upon this because Trudy wanted her to see that she can put herself together again. That things will get easier, that she can adjust to life without part of herself. And she had thought so, had saw it as a possibility as she laughed at her table's jokes, as she got lost in those moments without thinking about Adam close by.
Now Kim can see—can feels—that's nothing but a pipedream. That she loves Adam so, so much and things will never get easier to be without him. That this pain is hers and hers forever. That her life will only ever be made up of small moments where she's without pain but that she'll never be free.
Adam is where her story begins, where her life is. And she'll never get him again, because she was selfish and she pushed him away and doubted him in the most awful way. Kim has accepted this, and now she accepts that her life will never get easier.
It doesn't make it any easier to feel, to experience.
She can't stay here, at Molly's. She just can't. It might be Kim's fault why everything fell apart but she's only human, and the ache in her heart—the ache of pain for hurting him and the ache of desire of wanting him—getting too much.
Kim puts down some money next to her beer, and she's scooting past Sylvie, thankful that the paramedic had stood up only a few minutes before. Molly's is crowded, and so she can high-tail it out of there without much attention and for that she is glad.
Sylvie calls after her, however, obviously concerned at her friend leaving so suddenly and Kim shouldn't turn back to look at her, but she does, only a glance. But she miscalculates and she accidentally locks eyes with Adam and, god, it just makes the ache in her hurt that much more and she knows that she needs to go, go, go.
The cool night air hits her but it does nothing for her pounding inside her heart, does nothing to help her no longer feel like she's on the edge of a cliff and she's about to fall. Kim regrets deciding to drink, that she didn't drive herself here so that she can't just jump in a car and get as far away from here as possible.
Instead she paces the pavement, her fingers quickly working her phone to get a taxi. There's the slight hum from the music inside which permeates through the night air, and it just makes it harder to forget the sight of Adam, looking so lovable and fuckable, and how she's no longer allowed to think such things.
"Kim, what's up?" Sylvie has followed her, looking concerned.
"It's just," Kim waves her hands in vague gesture at Molly's. "Too much. I need to go home, I just can't."
"I understand. I can go with you, if you need some company? But Kim—you work with Adam. You need to get used to being around him in informal settings as hard as that is." Sylvie reminds her gently.
"Maybe I'll transfer," It's meant as a joke, but her tone is flat, and it hits wrong. Kim isn't being serious, but there's that little bit of truth, that it would be easier, and it rings through her words.
"Kim," Sylvie gives her an empathetic look. "Just—talk to him."
"What, like how you're talking to Matt? Anything but how you feel?" Kim can't help interrupt her, her tone clipped. Her friend shoots her an unamused look.
"That's different. Matt and I haven't dated, we don't have half the history you and Adam do. And I'm okay working with him, but if you're even thinking about that, even in a joking way, just talk to him. I know he's hurting and you are, but you two belong together, don't let your pride get in the way of that." Rationally, Kim knows Sylvie makes sense and that she's just looking out for her, but any sense of rationality is being blocked by the throbbing ache in her heart.
"It's not pride. He hates me. And with good reason. There's nothing I can say that can fix that and just—just leave it okay?" She snaps.
"Okay. Do you want me to go home with you?" Ever the angel, Sylvie backs down and Kim wishes that she was less in pain so she could appreciate it.
"I'm fine." Her voice is calm, cold, final. Sylvie sighs, giving her one more look, before she heads back inside the bar. Kim's taxi arrives shortly after.
It's not even two hours later that Kim's in a taxi again, bouncing her leg as the cabbie drives, tapping her foot out of nerves and impatience.
Kim wonders what the taxi driver will be thinking about her. There's the smell of alcohol on her breath, and she can barely sit still in the seat, moving around nervously. She hadn't looked at her hair before she left her apartment—again—but depending she just lay down on a sofa and half screamed moaned into her pillow, Kim would be surprised if it wasn't at least slightly unruly, mussed a bit.
In truth of it all, the taxi driver probably hasn't given two thoughts towards her since she got in. She's just going to be yet another customer, just one of many he'll have this night and the nights to come. And in Chicago, he's probably seen all walks of life, people who look more like car crashes and disaster than her slightly un-put together, anxious self.
But focusing on thinking about this helps distract her mind from where she's going—to Adam's—and this borderline crazy idea to do so.
Adam has made it clear that he doesn't want to hear from her. That she has cut him deep, and that she ruined whatever they were building together. He doesn't want to hear her excuses, no matter how reasonable it seemed to her at the time.
But Kim's not coming with excuses.
There's not the aim to fix this, to get back together. Well, there's not not that. Kim doesn't really know what it is, what she wants from it, not really. She would love, of course, if Adam could see them trying to rebuild, but she only wants that if he truly can. If he can do it without compromising any part of himself, Kim has asked for pieces of him far too much to ever let him give her more.
It's just... Lying in her apartment, alone, the dark—Kim hadn't bothered to turn on her lights, because what's the point—all Kim wanted was Adam.
Kim's not coming with excuses or half apologies or propositions. She just can't stay away from him, she just needs...
Well, Kim doesn't know what she needs. Her mind is telling her that she needs him to know something, or needs to see her, but isn't telling her what or why. Kim doesn't even think she actually knows, that she's just driven by this need.
It's not a selfish need—not anymore selfish than any other action, that is. It's just this inexplicable need. It's, Kim thinks, possibly the most selfless need because it comes with no expectations or reasons, no outcomes or purposes.
And yet it's the most selfish thing Kim has ever done. Not selfish in a bad way, nor even in a good way. But just in a selfish way, or maybe... Maybe if you can be selfless, maybe this is self-full.
Because it's selfish in the way that it's the first thing she's ever done for herself just because. Everything else she hems and haws over and considers so many factors, where this is just done because she needs Adam, and because she knows, knows, Adam will be missing her.
He hates her, yes. He wants nothing to do with her and has been so hurt. But their love... Their love is like nothing else, fierce and strong, deep and true. He misses her when she's in his arms, as she does too. Even with what she said, even with him wanting nothing to do with her, he'll be missing her.
Kim's not naive enough to convince herself otherwise anymore.
Kim's knocks on Adam's door goes unanswered and it's only then that she realises that Adam might not even be home yet, that she didn't leave Molly's too long ago, that those nights can go on for quite a while and there's no reason why Adam would be home.
There's a feeling of defeat hanging heavy in her heart but she just leans against the wall beside his door, refusing to leave. Even if she has to wait hours, even if he just ignores her, Kim is determined to at least lay her eyes on Adam one more time tonight.
Kim isn't waiting long. At least, she doesn't think that much time has past. Adam has appeared, walking down his corridor, a look of surprise on his face at her being here. There's a part of her mind, far at the back, that remembers that night she told Voight about the baby, and how this is like the opposite of then.
"Kim." Adam stops a few feet away from her. The surprise is clearly displayed on his face, and in his voice. She turns so she's facing him dead on, surprisingly confident.
"I came here to talk." She tells him, impressed at how her voice doesn't waver. He lifts up his eyebrows.
"About what?" If things were good, Kim would've playfully hit his arm and teased him, pointing out the elephant between them, about the day she ruined it all. But things aren't good, so she doesn't, but still, she can't help but bring a bit of lightness to the heavy tenseness hovering in the air between them.
"Everything?" She smiles slightly, hoping he gets the reference. The corners of his lips twitch upwards and Kim thinks that means he did.
Adam moves closer and her heart beats way too fast. He's got his key in his hand, and Kim realises he's only stepping so close to her so that he can unlock his door, and she's trying not to be overwhelmed by him being so, so close to her. Trying not to focus on how she can smell him and how easy it would be to touch him, to sink into his arms, to grab him and beg him to hold her and never let her go.
Her mind is going haywire, but she tries to calm her breathing, her heart, trying not to outwardly show how much she wants him to let her in, to give her another chance. Tries to remind herself that he might just shut his door in her face again, that just because he hasn't told her to fuck off now doesn't mean he still won't.
But then Adam, pushing open his door, turns slightly towards her, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Why don't you come in?" He offers, indicating for her to enter first. Kim smiles at him, it's a wider smile than the faint one he gave her, but that's okay, so much has happened. But Kim accepts the olive branch for what it is, and enters his home.
Everything won't be sorted over night, but it's a start. And the important thing is that Kim knows more than ever who Adam is, knows his heart. And that she knows who she is, knows her own heart and she knows that she is Adam's, even if he no longer wants to be hers.