26. Chapter Twenty-six #3
“I'm jealous of them,” I admit instead. And, yeah, okay - where the fuck did that come from? I haven’t had the time to feel that way in weeks. I’ve forgotten all about that loneliness from watching them all show up together and lean on each other. I’ve had way too much shit to do.
“The survivors?” he clarifies. I lean forward and reach for the glass he took away from me, then the bottle of scotch. He doesn’t stop me as I pour myself a second round. I pour him one too. He just glances at it before looking back at me. “Why are you jealous of them?”
I swallow a mouthful of scotch. “Because they’re a them.”
“You want to be a part of them?”
“No. I’m just jealous that I didn’t have a them when I was rescued.
It was just me, alone.” I wince. “I mean, not alone. Please don’t ever tell Kellan or Keaton that I felt that way.
They were there for me and they did the best they could, and I had Fox, and you later, but I was the only person there like… me. You know?”
“The only survivor.”
“I’m an operative.”
“Ah.” He sits back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “I wasn’t aware that operatives can’t be survivors. My mistake.”
I huff in frustration. “You know what I mean. I’m - it’s been years. Decades. You were there for a lot of it, you know. I’ve had plenty of time to go from being that terrified, powerless, lonely little boy to the man I am now.”
He tilts his head at me, eyebrows pulling in. I can tell he’s fighting a frown. A sad one, if his eyes are to be believed. “And what kind of man is that?”
“Gotta say, doc, I’m a little hurt you have to ask.” I tried to make that sound teasing. I’m not entirely sure I pulled it off.
“I know what I think. It’s your opinion I’m asking for.”
“This isn’t really what I came here to talk about.”
“You see, the thing is? I think it is. I think this is the exact root of your problem.”
“Looking for Elliot and seeing all of these other kids… it’s fucking with my head. That’s what I came here for.”
He reaches for his scotch and takes a sip. My stupid heart is pounding in my chest like I just washed down one of my pills with an energy drink. I wish the panic was because of having to talk about Elliot and the other kids, but it’s not.
I can tell he knows that.
I can tell how sad it makes him when he says, “When I look at you, I see a man who has wrapped himself in layers of confidence and strength. A man who studied like his life depended on it to become someone beyond competent in all aspects of his life. A man that is compassionate beyond measure.”
“Careful, Adam. I might get the wrong idea-” I try to tease.
“I see a man that’s witty and boisterous and passionate. Intelligent. Hard working, but often to a fault. A man who sacrifices his own happiness, his own sanity, his own self-care for strangers.”
“Now you’re just describing Keaton.”
“I see a man who never really got to be a little boy.”
“Adam,” I warn, my voice cold despite the way the scotch inside my stomach has turned boiling hot. It’s corrosive, burning inside of me sudden and hot, like my anger has lit up by a single strike of match to a flint that’s been waiting decades for the chance to ignite.
“The thing is, Ace.” He leans forward. I instinctively lean back.
“That man is a very good man. He’s all of those things.
None of them are an illusion or an act. You have grown into an unbelievably good person.
You got a shit start to this life and your rescuers were the ultimate definition of dysfunctional, and look at you.
Look at all you’ve done, kid. All of the people you’ve helped save since you were just a teenager.
So many more now with this operation and post-operation clean-ups. Look at this safehouse.”
I have to leave. Or at least move.
I take my glass with me as I stand. He doesn’t stop me. I start to walk, forcing myself to stay in the room, heading toward the window instead. There’s a bookcase there, the top shelves holding textbooks and non-fiction novels while the bottom hosts bins of resources.
“You took Carter’s capture deeply personally.”
“It was my fault.”
“Bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it.”
I fist my free hand, nails digging into my palms.
“When we were getting close to the end, we all had jobs to do. Deacon needed to look over medical histories and any relevant casenotes to build profiles for each survivor and create careplans. I did the same, but from a mental health standpoint.” I force my hand to relax.
I force myself to inhale, slow and deep.
“Maison was focused on logistics, though we can all agree that his attention was almost constantly being pulled by Carter, which is why you helped do a lot of his work. Keaton was supposed to be overseeing all of the big picture shit that was on the organization to handle, but of course his attention was being pulled by Bryce.”
If I was in a better mood, I’d find the grouchiness in his tone amusing. If anything has become the bane of existence for Adam, it’d be Keaton’s growing infatuation with Bryce - and the resulting work we’ve had to do to keep it off of Kellan’s radar.
“But then there was you.”
I turn to glare at him. “What? I did my job.”
“You did your job exceptionally well, yes. You completed everything on your list. Some of the things on Maison’s and Keaton’s lists, too.
You re-did tasks solely because you knew you could improve on them.
You did the same with all of your programming.
You triple-checked every detail and looked twice at every moving piece of the puzzle.
You went above and beyond what someone in your position is supposed to do for the end of an operation. ”
He looks too proud, all bright and beaming. I turn back to the bookcase, not really seeing any of its contents.
“But while doing all of that, you were also building a future for these survivors. You found out that Casey loved to swim and immediately started working on repairs for the pool here that hadn’t been operational in years.”
“It’s not like it was that much work.”
“You found out about how much Carter loved the stuffed moose Travis got him, so you went out shopping for all of those little stuffed animals.”
“That was Travis’s idea, I just did the legwork.”
“You decorated the house to make it feel more homey instead of the standard sets we bulk-order for the other houses.”
“I mean, I’m living here too, so I didn’t really want it to be boring.”
“Yes, because you spend so much time enjoying the ridiculously comfortable couch or the warm, fuzzy throw blankets or, really, anything for that matter, other than the decor in your office.”
“You don’t do sarcasm well,” I lie.
He ignores me.
“You made self-care bags for those who needed extra attention in certain areas.”
“That’s something all of the safehouses should be doing. I told Kellan that.”
“You ordered clothes in varying colors and styles so the survivors had more options than just the usual set of 5 outfits we set them up with.”
“I love shopping. Especially clothes shopping. You know that.”
“You tried cooking for them.”
“And failed fucking miserably.”
“You’ve ensured everyone has sign language books, and you encourage them to practice. Not to mention that app on your phone that you’ve been using to learn ASL even before Matt arrived.”
“Are you going to get to the point any time soon?” I ask, turning to face him again. “Because I promised that I’d come see you. I didn’t promise how long I’d fucking stay.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. That look used to get me to apologize immediately. Then, once I was more comfortable with him, it’d get me to throw something at him. Right now, it gets me to throw back my drink and place it on the desk with every intention of leaving.
“You’re a good man. That’s the point.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“But underneath that good man and underneath those layers of confidence and power that you’ve wrapped around yourself and underneath the loads of work and the worries about others and the exhaustion and the drugs you somehow talked Deacon into prescribing you - beneath all of it, decades of it, you still have that little boy in there.
He’s buried deep, I’ll give you that, and yes, you put in a lot of work to help him heal when you were younger, but you didn’t finish.
The first chance you got, you started shoving him down and covering him up. ”
I turn away from him, my knees threatening to buckle.
This isn’t what I came here for.
This is not at all what I fucking came here for.
“You’re having the nightmares again because he’s scared.”
“Adam…” I plead, the name barely a whisper.
“You’ve hidden him away in some safe place for so long and now you’re doing things that you’re too afraid to face, so you’re shoving those down there too.
You’re shoving Elliot and those other kids down where he is, and you’re scaring him.
Because you, Ace? The man in front of me?
He has a support system. He has family. Friends.
People who love him and who he loves. He has power and safety and confidence.
But that little boy? He’s the one that’s all alone.
He’s the one that isn’t a ‘them’. The longer you leave him down there and turn your back and pretend you aren’t falling apart, the worse it’s going to get. ”
I close my eyes, feeling my body waver a little as if gravity isn’t sure it wasn’t to be gentle on me much longer.