A/N: YAY! Another chapter! Right now, things are mostly centered around Adam's misery, but things will heat up, I promise!

3: Burn Away My Pride

Adam doesn't know if he wakes up from the gentle footsteps into his room or from the sunlight that seeps in through his broken blinders. But either way, he wakes up, rubs his eyes and grunts when he feels a headache throb against his temples.

Then, he opens his eyes and sees Jake's gentle smile in the daylight for the first time.

"Morning, sunshine," Jake says and gives Adam a cup that he seems to have done his best to get clean. "Coffee?"

And Adam sits up, blinks confusedly and takes the cup, since he doesn't know what else to do. Hell, he doesn't even have a memory of calling Jake.

Maybe his brain has repressed every memory of the horror, the darkness, Lawrence's screams, his own anguished tears, his slippery grip on the phone.

Maybe he's done the same thing as he did when he saw Lawrence's dead body for the first time.

"Thanks," Adam says insecurely and looks down into the cup. Black coffee ripples around in it. "But… What are you…"

Jake sits down on his bedside. Looks into his own cup with a small smile.

"You really don't remember?" He says and looks back up at Adam.

Adam looks into those green eyes for a brief second before his gaze flutters up to the ceiling, and then back into the coffee cup, like he's searching for memories in the dark liquid that steams up into his face.

And suddenly, he remembers.

And then, all the color in his body shoots up to his face, a cold feeling beams out from his stomach, all the way out to his fingers, he feels like an embarrassed teenage girl, but how could he, how could he be so fucking stupid that he called him?

He knows he's starting to care about Jake.

And he knows that will hurt him.

"Jake…" Adam mumbles and feels his blood pulsing underneath the skin on his face as he rakes a hand through his hair. "I… I'm sorry, man…"

"No, no," Jake says and waves his hand distantly. "I wanted you to call. And after a month, I'd almost lost hopes."

Adam makes a sound that can either be a sigh or a laugh and takes a sip of the coffee in his cup.

"Have you… Been sitting here all night?"

Jake nods.

"More or less. I fell asleep for a second on the couch when I knew that you were alright."

Adam's blushing gets a little matted.

Okay. Jake could've gone as soon as Adam had calmed down. He could've not come here at all.

But he stayed.

It was important to him that Adam was okay.

Adam is important to him.

And Adam doesn't panic nearly as much over that as he should.

"So, Adam," Jake says suddenly and moves a little closer to him. "In case you don't mind… I'd like to know what your nightmare was about. I understood that it was about doctor Gordon, but…"

"You might as well know," Adam says tonelessly, because he really can't think of a reason not to tell him. He owes Jake that much, and so much more. "As long as you don't do some damn psychological analysis on it. And call him 'Lawrence.' I don't like his last name."

Jake smiles again.

"I'll try to do both of that. Now, tell me."

Adam takes a deep breath and looks firmly at his knee, scrapes some of the dirt that Jake didn't manage to get away from the cup with his nail.

You'll break down, a tiny voice in his head says.

Adam knows that. But he pretends not to hear it.

He doesn't have the energy to do that anymore.

"It was just… Another one of those dreams," he mumbles, and already feels how some of the blush returns to his face. "I dreamt that Lawrence sawed off his foot again, but… It was sort of me that held the damn thing."

"The saw?"

Adam nods.

"Why would you dream such a thing?"

Oh, come on, Adam replies in his head and senses Jake's gaze seeking for his own. You know that, for God's sake, you have to. Haven't you seen enough apathetic hostages in your fancy office to recognize some good old guilt when it's right in front of you?

"I…"

What are you about to say? The voice says almost menacingly. But Adam still doesn't listen to it.

He's been doing that for all his life.

And now, he's fucking fed up with it.

"I can't seem to stop thinking it was my fault that he…"

Adam's voice fades away.

His confession is jagged and stuttered out, crawling out from the shards of his pride that Jake has, in some weird way, managed to smash into pieces, and he doesn't miss it nearly as much as he thought he would.

Fuck, he didn't even think he'd ever get the chance to miss it.

He thought he'd hate himself for his breakdown last night, but the thing is…

He doesn't hate himself because of that. Or of this.

He'll never stop hating himself, though, but that's for completely different reasons.

He doesn't even finish the sentence, but Jake understands, Adam knows he does, because he's heard it before, and he determinately puts two fingers under his chin and forces Adam's head up, bores his green eyes into Adam's, sees him standing in his shattered pride, confused, sobbing, shivering.

And Adam's doesn't even try to look away.

"It was not. Your. Fault," Jake says with more expressive voice than Adam thought him capable of. "How many times do I have to tell you that? I know all the practical stuff that happened in that bathroom, and believe me, nothing in there says you did anything but helping Lawrence."

Adam sighs, finally a little annoyed again, and sweeps his hand away.

"Apparently not helping enough," he says bitterly and takes another sip of the coffee.

Jake sighs.

"You can't ask that from yourself, Adam."

"And what the fuck do you know about that?" Adam hisses. "You don't know me!"

Up until now, Jake has been relaxed, but still on tenterhooks. Ready to comfort, ready to accuse if he has to, ready to catch Adam if he falls, helplessly, like so many other times.

But now, it's like he sinks, his shoulders go down, his firm, glowing eyes drop to the floor, and Adam has never wanted to take something back more than now.

"No," Jake mumbles and get up. "I don't."

Adam lowers his gaze, too, when Jake stands up.

"Sorry," he mutters. "That was…"

Jake chuckles.

"Oh, don't apologize. I really don't know you."

Adam looks at him.

It's the second time he feels this way.

The first time since Lawrence died.

For the first time since he saw that one-footed, bloody lump that had been his only friend laying in that concrete corridor, he feels that blue, black, struggling longing.

The longing to fix something he's broken.

The only difference is that now, he can actually do it.

"You should go now," he says, since even if he pride is just broken bits now, it's still there. "But I can call you."

It doesn't sound nearly as subtle as he'd hoped for.

"You don't know me," he continues. "But… If I only call you when I'm the brim of a fucking mental breakdown, it's not a great chance you ever will, right?"

Jake smiles, a wide, warm smile that affects Adam more than he'd like to admit.

It warms him from the inside.

Deep down, in that cold, dark, hollow thing that's Adam's soul, it gives a little light.

"Absolutely. Call me whenever you want. Maybe we can get a beer?"

Adam smiles, uncertainly and sleepily.

"Sure. Sounds great."

Jake nods.

His hand brushes over Adam's cheek before he leaves.

And that doesn't bother Adam half as much as it should.

I must say, I really miss Lawrence… But hey, Jake should be able to fix Adam up, too, don't you think? Well, either way, review and brighten my day!