A/N: Grr… School… It just… WON'T… ARGH! Anyway, sorry for the long update! And it seems like I'm in a happy mood right now, so I've actually made a SECOND happy chapter! Two happy chapters out of ten! It must be some personal record!

9: Air Castle

The next day, Jake calls in sick from work.

The truth is that he's just as nervous that someone's going to call about that job as Adam is. And if someone had asked Adam, in this condition, to go to a crime scene and comfort women in shock, when they still wore marks from knives that had been in the hands of their husbands, Adam had stared at that person like he stares at Jake sometimes, that way that means that he's an idiot, but Adam loves him, anyway.

So Jake stays at home. He pads out of bed at eight, rummages around in Adam's cupboards for something reasonable to have for breakfast, finally finds some cereals and some milk that only expired three days ago, makes a bowl for himself and then sits down on the floor next to Adam's bed and looks at him.

Just looks at him.

Adam looks so sincere when he's sleeping. So often when he's awake, he's just said something sarcastic, and then, he smiles that way, and so often when he's awake, he sits in the corner of his bedroom, with dried tears like salty streaks across his face, with his arms wrapped around himself, with his teeth chattering, with his eyes steadily fixed on the floor, even though Jake knows he can hear him entering.

But now.

Adam is asleep. And his face is still, more still than Jake's ever seen it, simply because the only times he's seen Adam sleeping is when he wakes him up without waking up himself, wakes Jake up with his own nightmare, wakes him up with hands that punches blindly, feet that kick, whimpers that subconsciously rise from his throat.

Adam is asleep. Without nightmares. And just because of that, Jake feels, for the first time in a long time, sufficient. Sufficient to Adam.

It's not that Adam doesn't think he's enough. He loves Jake, and Jake knows that, too, Adam would never say that if he didn't mean it, it was hard enough to say it even then. It's just that Adam is…

He's broken.

He's been broken for so long now that he doesn't notice it, so long that he's forgotten what it's like to be complete. The scar from the bullet in his shoulder has spread, contagious and destructive like cancer, spread to Adam's soul, black and fragile and breaking.

Adam doesn't know it. But he's broken.

He doesn't even know that Jake can fix him.

Doesn't know that this is the very reason why Jake feels insufficient. That Jake would do anything, anything to mend Adam, anything to wipe away those tears that rise in his eyes when he thinks Jake doesn't see him, anything to take away that black thing that's like a veil over Adam's gaze, make his eyes beautifully grey in that way he gets to see them sometimes.

But Jake can't do that.

He's not enough. Not enough to break down Adam's pride. Not all together.

He can't even make Adam do it himself, simply because he's so awfully scared of bringing it up. Because what normal conversation can you fit that into? "Adam, I'm sorry, but you're subconsciously suicidal. Do you want to deal with that on your own, or do you want to spend a fortune to go to a therapist and watch him nod for an hour?"

Yeah. It'd come from a good place, at least, even if Adam probably would punch Jake's front teeth out if even implied that he needed help. With anything. At all.

Jake takes a mouthful of his cereals. And either Adam is a much lighter sleeper than he thought, or he was pretty much awake already, because he grunts and rubs his palms against his eyes. Jake smiles faintly when Adam rolls over to his side and opens his eyes.

"Hey there," he says warmly when Adam squints against him with grey – grey! – slits for eyes.

Adam mumbles something for an answer and squeezes his eyes shut again.

"What date is it?" He grumbles and pulls the blanket over his head so that you can only see a black tuft of hair over the edge of the cover that's turned yellow by cigarette smoke.

"Valentines Day," Jake says.

"Don't remind me," Adam mutters grumpily and pulls the blanket down from his face.

Pause. Jake's smile lingers.

How beautiful he is.

"Ten days left," Adam then says.

She sounds more serious than Jake thought him capable of.

"And you're still sure you're going to go?"

Jake can't keep from asking that every time it's brought up. The funeral.

Adam nods firmly.

"You don't have to ask that all the time. I won't change my mind."

Jake shrugs.

"I just thought… It's not quite…"

"Like me to actually deal with the problems instead of hiding under my cover and sulk and let someone else deal with them?" Adam interrupts. "My dear Jake, no one knows that better than me. But I actually have to do this. I have to."

Jake's smile comes back as he nods.

"I know."

Another pause.

"I'm proud of you, Adam."

Adam looks at him. His eyes are still grey, not black, and a smile, more honest and more beautiful than Jake has ever seen on him, spreads on his lips.

"Thanks."

Maybe Jake can fix him. Just a little bit.

But that moment is ruined by the rattling sound of Adam's phone calling. Adam moans tiredly and pulls the blanket over his head again. Jake laughs.

"You want me to pick up?"

"Please do," Adam says dully. "I hate that fucking thing now days."

Jake laughs again and stands up. Then, he walks into the living room, up to the phone and picks it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a voice says at the other end, and it's so dark that it almost seems to make the receiver vibrate in Jake's hand. "My name is Peter Woolman from Woolman's Publishing. I'm looking for Adam Faulkner."

For a moment, Jake wonders if Adam lied when he said that he didn't have any friends except for him, before a thin image of a sign fades into his mind.

Company sign. Woolman's Publishing. Peter J. Woolman. Adam. Job interview. Yes.

For a brief second, Jake wants to call for Adam to come, gets intoxicated with happiness on his behalf, before he remembers how Adam's voice sounded when he talked to him thirty seconds ago, and then makes an instinctive decision.

"Adam's not here right now. Can I take a message?"

Mr. Woolman sighs weakly.

"Well, I'd prefer to give him these news himself. Just to hear his reaction. But tell him that he got the job he was interviewed for a week ago. As a report photographer."

Jake closes his eyes for a second when it feels like his nerves start vibrating, like guitar strings, when the happiness gets too much for a newly awakened brain and he has to sit down next to the phone on the table for the blood to reach his head.

No way that Mr. Woolman gets to be the one to give Adam these news. No way.

No way that he's going to be the first one to hear Adam's wordless gasping when all his dreams are fulfilled, all his visions that he couldn't touch, not even think about, because then, they'd break, the cracks would spread on them like a spider web.

Jake's going to be the one who does that.

Jake's going to be the one who sees his childishly widened eyes, his hand that goes up to his mouth, his lips that part in a silent cry of surprise.

"You're kidding," Jake says, almost whispers, Adam can't hear him. "How did that happen?"

Mr. Woolman chuckles. It sounds like he can't really believe it, either.

"Well…" He says slowly. "We've interviewed all the applicants for the job now. And about half of the people that came here were twenty year-old punks that thought they owned the entire business because they'd had a job at another magazine, where the editor was there daddy."

Jake laughs. Hopefully, Adam won't hear it.

"And the other half," Mr. Woolman continues, "were pale, tortured little artist souls with dark marks under their eyes, who couldn't hand over their portfolio because their hands were shaking so damn much. And I wasn't that turned on by the idea of hiring any of these guys."

Then, it gets silent. Like he's thinking of a way to describe Adam.

Good luck with that, Jake thinks. But doesn't say.

"And then, this kid walks in," Mr. Woolman finally says. "Shaking like a leaf. Looked at everything expensive in my office like he wanted to set it on fire. And took photos like a god."

He sighs. It crackles in the phone.

"He's something unusual. And God knows we need that."

Then, he seems to get a hold of himself. Like he doesn't want to give Adam too much of a leverage by telling anyone, even if it's not Adam, that he's this important to his magazine.

"Give this message to Mr. Faulkner, please," he now says, and his voice is all hard, professionally square again.

"Definitely," Jake says with a wide smile. "Thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

Jake hangs up. The joy bounces and sparkles in him, everything in his veins seems to have turned into something tingling, something magical, but he's cautious about holding himself together, walk into Adam's room with collected, calm steps, even though he wants to jump up and down, hop into Adam's bed, kiss him, on his lips, his cheeks, everywhere, kiss him because he's so happy, kiss him because he's going to be the one who sees Adam's reaction to this.

Reaction to the fact that his glass dreams don't have to be so fragile anymore.

Adam still has the blanket over his head. In fact, he almost seems to have gone back to sleep before Jake grabs the edge of his cover and tears it down from his face. Adam grunts and squints against him again.

"Who the hell calls this early?" He almost hisses, and Jake can't keep the corners of his mouth down anymore when he sees Adam's furrowed brows, sees in his mind how they're soon going to be smoothed out.

"It was someone for you," he says as slowly as he can bring himself to. "A Peter J. Woolman."

And indeed, Adam's eyebrows are relaxed as soon as he manages to register the name, indeed, his eyes are widened when he sees the smile on Jake's face that really tells him everything he needs to know.

YAY! Adam has a job! They grow up so fast, don't they… (Teary) Anyway, happy chapters demand happy reviews!