But I Still Have Dreams

aka the robot fic

When Adam rattles off his specifications for a personal assistant, Nancy from the studio stares at him with an open mouth and an expression that clearly means are you for real? But upon realizing that he is, indeed, real, she offers him a wicked smirk and says she’ll take care of it.

At the time, Adam thinks that sounds ominous.

He has no idea.

~

Adam really does need a good personal assistant. He has too much on his plate to be able to keep track of everything himself, and as much as he prides himself on being a down to earth, easy to get along with person, he gets impatient really quickly, and then he inevitably ends up lashing out at people. Besides, he has no filter. At all. It’s only been two weeks since his last assistant quit and the inappropriate comments he’s made left and right in that time are already starting to come back to bite him in the ass.

Adam Lambert: Sick and tired of the fame?

“I swear I’m going to move to the Himalayas or something.”

Adam throws the magazine away with a sigh. He didn’t mean that, for God’s sake. Isn’t it obvious that he didn’t mean that? He’d move to the Alps if he were really going, not to the Himalayas. You’d think people would’ve guessed that he is not really the llama herder type.

Nancy chooses that second to enter the room and rolls her eyes at his undoubtedly dismayed and unhappy appearance. “He’ll be done soon,” she says mysteriously.

“What the hell does that mean?” Adam asks, confused.

“Your assistant,” she says, throwing her hair back and picking up a can of coke. “Soon.”

Adam scoffs at her back as she leaves. He’ll be done soon? Done with what? With another schmuck who’s paying him way too much money to pick up after him?

It doesn’t even occur to Adam that Nancy means done as in, ‘done cooking like a roast’, or, ‘done being assembled like a clock.’

Or, you know, done being programmed, like a robot.

~

Adam has always thought of the consumer grade robots as sex toys. He doesn’t care what people call it, a cook, a maid, a teacher; that’s what they always use it for. Not that he has anything against the practice on moral grounds. He doesn’t think of it as enslavement and he certainly doesn’t care if mankind is playing God; what he does care about is his image. Adam Lambert does not need to buy his companions; he has plenty of people throwing themselves at him of their own free will, thank you very much.

“Will you stop being ridiculous about this?” Nancy says, handing him a certificate of some sort. “Weren’t you the hottest bachelor five years running or something?” She gives him a look that says hottest bachelor my ass. Adam doesn’t care what she thinks; after all, the feeling is completely mutual. “No one will think that about you.”

“Robots are creepy,” Adam mumbles, looking down at the paper to see that his robot is a model called KRX-9003. Very helpful information, that. There is also a serial number, below which it says ‘Special finish’. Adam doesn’t even want to know.

“Just give it a week,” Nancy says, bargaining. “It was fucking expensive. At least try it out.”

Adam sighs. “A week.”

Nancy nods at him encouragingly.

“And you don’t tell anyone he’s a robot.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Adam kind of hopes too, but that would be a rude thing to say.

~

The robot enters the room, playing with the hem of his shirt nervously. Adam is surprised at how un-robot-like a thing to do that is, but it’s not like he’s ever spent any time with robots, so he chalks it up to his own ignorance and shrugs it off.

“Hi,” the robot says. He looks at Adam from under his lashes with a tentative smile, shy and charming, like they picked him up from some small town just yesterday. “I’m Kris. I’m your new personal assistant.”

Adam stares at his face and thinks special finish.

~

“Hey, Adam,” Kris says absentmindedly, making some notes in his notebook. “I made coffee.”

Adam groans his gratitude and makes a beeline for the coffee. He is standing in front of the counter, almost done with his first cup, when he notices the way Kris is staring at him, fond and amused.

“What?”

Kris shrugs. “Nothing. Cute pajamas.”

Adam flips him off. His pajamas rock.

“Kristie will be here in an hour for your manicure, and then at noon you have a meeting with Ralph and Jacob Rogers about the new ad campaign. And I’m going to call your mom and tell her you’re going to be late for dinner tonight.”

Adam tilts his head in confusion. “Why am I going to be late for dinner?”

“Because Ralph is going to ask you to show his son around town and you can’t afford to say no.”

Adam doesn’t ask him how he knows. Kris always knows. A more productive use of his time than dwelling on the mysteries of Kris’ sources would be planning how to get out of spending any amount of time with Ralph’s son. He can’t say no to Ralph, Kris is right, but if his son is anything at all like him, that would automatically make him the second most boring person on earth; and even if he isn’t, dinner at Mom’s is not something Adam can just cancel.

“Don’t worry,” Kris says, munching on a wafer. “I’ll come up with an emergency at the two hour mark. You just make sure your surprised face is believable.”

~

It’s been five months since their trial week expired, yet neither Adam nor Nancy has ever mentioned it. It was obvious from day one that Adam would end up keeping Kris, because robot or not, Kris is just way too cute and efficient to let go. Eye candy if nothing else, Adam told himself at first, but then Kris worked his magic and the nothing else turned into everything else. Kris now practically runs Adam’s life for him—tells him what to eat, where to be, when to sleep, and Adam finds himself meekly going along with it, because as Kris is fond of reminding him, Kris always knows better.

Kris has a distinct personality, which Adam didn’t think robots had. He is easygoing and pleasant; Adam reasons that that must have been programmed into him, because who would want to buy a grumpy robot? Yet there are details that Adam can’t explain away with just programming, like the first time Kris saw him perform live. Adam will never forget the look on Kris’ face that night—just awed, and joyful. He looked like he was waking up from a dream as Adam exited the stage. Adam wanted to ask him then if he liked music, if he was capable of that, but mentioning the fact that Kris is a robot has always been a taboo between them, one Adam himself encouraged from the start, so he kept his mouth shut about it instead.

There are millions of small things that Kris is inexplicably particular about—like the way he only drinks plain coffee, shunning Adam’s collection of awesome and exotic flavors, and how he always ends up in a plaid shirt even though Adam knows he has a closet full of other stuff to wear. Kris prefers handwritten notes to computers; he uses a notebook even though he has a perfect memory, and never drives anywhere he can walk instead. He hates bananas to the point of scowling at Adam whenever he finds them in the fruit basket. One time, Adam even caught him rearranging the food in the fridge around a banana like a fortress so that the offending fruit was contained in a small space where it had no chance of touching anything of Kris’.

How can he believe Kris has no free will when it’s impossible to make him do something he doesn’t want to do? Kris is the most stubborn person Adam has ever met in his life.

Adam looked all that up, of course, so he knows that robots emulate the behavior they see around them; they gain traits over time, and it naturally seems like you’re getting to know them as it happens. And it’s always possible that certain things are just programming, that they are meant to like some things and dislike others from the start. It turns out that there’s a lot of division on the subject of robots and whether they are capable of forming personalities. There are some heated debates; Adam watches an old man with a weird-looking beard insist that a robot choosing to emulate some things and not others is not that different from a child developing his or her character. The only difference between humans and robots in that respect, the man says, is that you can take shortcuts with robots.

Adam tries to forget everything he learns afterwards, because that kind of manipulation and conditioning is exactly what he has always found creepy about robots, and he doesn’t want to be thinking about that every time he looks at Kris. But this proves easier said than done. A couple of days after watching the discussions, he finds himself asking Kris if he’s happy, just like that, out of nowhere, the question leaving his lips without his consent.

Kris doesn’t even miss a beat.

“Right now, not so much,” he says, glaring at Adam. “I’d be happy if you were at the studio, where you were supposed to be half an hour ago.”

That’s the last they talk of it.

~

Kris lives in Adam’s guesthouse. It’s not that far from the main building; Adam can see it from his bedroom window, so he knows that the lights are usually on when he goes to sleep, no matter how late it is. Adam knows for a fact that Kris must be sleeping sometime (he skimmed through the manual the first week to make sure he didn’t have to recharge Kris or something), but he’s never actually seen him do it.

Tonight proves to be no exception.

Adam wakes from a bad dream, an old nightmare he’s been having on and off since childhood where he can’t move or talk (Neil used to make fun of him, saying his worst fear was not being able to yap). He gives up on falling back to sleep right away, and when he goes down to the kitchen to get himself a large glass of brandy and milk—more brandy than milk—he has to go through three cupboards before he can find the nutmeg. He’s fully awake by that time, so he grabs his coat and steps outside to get some air. He has a porch swing he is very fond of, and he likes listening to the crickets at night.

Once he’s out on the porch, there’s no missing the guesthouse, standing just to his right with every light still on. He hasn’t been inside it since Kris moved in, didn’t want to invade Kris’ space. Now he wonders what it looks like, if it’s like a hotel room, nondescript and boring; that’s what he would have expected from a robot before he met Kris, but now he kind of doubts it. He sees a shadow move in the living room of the house and finds himself walking towards it. The wet grass makes squelching sounds under his (now ruined) slippers.

Kris opens the door in grey sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and stares at him with wide eyes, unblinking. “Something wrong?” he finally asks, brows drawing together in confusion.

Adam shrugs. It’s not like he knows what he is doing there himself. “Woke up, couldn’t go back to sleep. Can I come in?”

Kris starts, probably realizing that he should’ve been the one to invite Adam in. “Yeah, sorry, come on.”

Adam abandons his slippers at the door and steps inside.

The living room is sparsely decorated, but there’s a comfortable looking couch, a TV, and a lot of books. Kris starts gathering the sheets of paper strewn about all over the place, clearing the couch, and gestures for Adam to sit.

“Uh, can I get you anything to drink?” he asks nervously. “Right,” he says, nodding, when Adam shows him his glass.

The room looks like Kris, if that makes sense, with its spartan yet cozy decoration, everything comfortable and well used. What does surprise Adam is the guitar resting against the arm of the couch. He reaches over to pluck the strings from where he’s sitting and looks up at Kris in question.

“I play a little,” Kris admits.

Adam tries to hide his shock in his glass. “How did you learn to play?”

Kris shrugs. “I taught myself. It’s not that hard.”

They both know Adam doesn’t play any instruments despite having tried his hand at a couple of them, so that’s a pretty stupid answer to offer him. Adam hmms at him regardless, and doesn’t comment, instead grabbing hold of a fallen sheet of paper with his foot. Kris makes an aborted move to take it from him, but Adam holds it away with a smirk. Then he takes a look at it and the smirk falls off his face.

There are notes on it, handwritten, with scribbled lyrics underneath them—lyrics Adam knows by heart.

“You rewrote my song?”

Kris flails a little. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just got an idea—”

“I don’t mind,” Adam says, interrupting him. He hates it when Kris gets that ‘I did something wrong’ look. Adam has never seen Kris do anything wrong, not really. He takes a large gulp from his drink and hands Kris the guitar. “Play it for me.”

~

The version Kris has written is better than the original and it turns out that Kris can sing.

Listening to the reworked song, Adam wishes he had more brandy, but Kris doesn’t drink alcohol, and Adam doesn’t want to go back to the house and risk breaking the spell of the moment. So he leans back on the couch, closes his eyes, and makes Kris play everything he’s ever written.

It takes a couple of hours, and when they’re done, Adam finds himself wanting to go back and do it all over again.

~

The next night, Adam visits Kris again. This time, he sings while Kris plays. Kris’ face dances to the music, his features quirking expressively and mirroring the mood of their playing; it’s ridiculously adorable.

Afterwards, as they lounge on the couch, worn out and sleepy, Adam asks him what made him pick up a guitar and start playing in the first place.

Kris just mumbles, “Everybody needs a hobby.”

Adam doesn’t buy it, of course, but he decides not to push. Kris never talks about himself, acts like he has no life aside from Adam’s, and Adam thinks maybe he let Kris get away with that for too long to ask him to open up now, out of nowhere. It will take time and patience to get there.

That week, he buys a secondhand piano and has it delivered to the guesthouse. He tells Kris he had it in storage somewhere. Kris, who always knows everything, doesn’t call him on the lie.

~

Adam tries to space out his visits, tries to make them look spontaneous and not be too obvious about scheduling them in his head ahead of time, but it’s hard to keep away most nights. He tells himself that he should go over three times a week at most, but when he’s stressed out, or angry, or sad, it ends up being more like four or five. Kris always welcomes him with a lopsided smile, but he also never extends an invitation himself, so Adam, being the employer—he refuses to think owner—feels responsible for keeping things within the confines of friendship, for not abusing the power he has over Kris.

Adam does feel a bit like a stalker, but he can’t make himself pull back. He knows that he stares a little too much, a little too hard. Kris transforms into something else entirely when there’s an instrument in his hands; like he sheds an outer layer of himself and shows Adam what’s really inside. It seems as if Kris was made for this—made to write and play and sing. Adam remembers from his long-ago research that robots are largely considered incapable of creating art. This makes no sense to him. The way Kris plays, his passion and his originality—it’s what art is all about. It reminds Adam of his own childhood, the way he felt back when he first fell in love with music.

That’s what he feels when he watches Kris play; the rush, the euphoria, the dizziness—Adam can’t possibly be falling for Kris, so he must be falling in love with music, all over again.

It’s simple logic.

“Music is just mathematics,” Kris dismisses Adam’s praises, and Adam lets him, because that’s easier. Kris has a hobby, and Adam has a chemical reaction to music, and their nighttime dates are a way of dealing with loneliness and insomnia.

It’s all very logical.

But Adam can’t bring himself to justify everything. Not the way Kris brushes away his hair and lets his hand linger on Adam’s face when Adam falls asleep on the couch, and certainly not the way he pretends to still be asleep when Kris does that.

That, he just refuses to acknowledge at the time, and pretends to forget afterwards.

~

Kris drives like someone’s grandmother. Adam has tried breaking him of the habit before, but since Kris is a fountain of knowledge when it comes to statistical data involving car crashes, it’s usually better for Adam’s sanity to just let him be. They’re driving so slowly right now, Adam is pretty sure he saw a deer pass them by, but Kris doesn’t seem to care that Bambi’s mother is making a mockery of them. He is happily tapping on the steering wheel in time with the music and talking to Terrence on the headset.

“You were supposed to be there before us, man, you have all the costumes.”

He pauses and makes a face at the road.

“No, I don’t care if there’s a blizzard. If we can drive through a blizzard, then you can very well…”

And of course, that’s when the car breaks down.

“I’ll call you back.”

~

The car is a rental, so after a cursory glance at the engine, they call the company; it’s not like either of them knows how to fix a car. They are told to sit tight and wait; help is on the way. Adam scowls at the annoyingly cheerful tone of the woman on the phone, yawning at the same time. They are stranded in the middle of nowhere, for God’s sake; they could do with a little more sympathy and a little less glee.

He hears Kris making more phone calls—to the venue, to Terrence, to Jill—and listening to him explain their predicament for the third time, Adam falls asleep.

When he wakes up, his jaw feels frozen in place. “God,” he breathes, almost feeling the ice cracking as he moves it. “How long was I asleep?”

“45 minutes.”

Kris sounds small and subdued, and no wonder; it’s way too cold in the car. Adam tries to sit up, but finds his limbs cocooned in a large, brown blanket.

“Where did you get the blanket?”

Kris gives him a look. Okay, so, it’s a stupid question to ask. Adam notices that Kris doesn’t have a blanket himself; he is sitting there with his hands tucked inside his pockets, knees drawn up to his chest for warmth. Adam opens his mouth to tell him off for being an idiot, but then thinks better of it. Kris probably doesn’t need a blanket. It’s not like he’s going to die of hypothermia.

“I called the rental company again. And then I called 911. And then I called Jill. They can’t get a helicopter out here while the blizzard is going on. But they’re doing their best to get to us.”

“Okay,” Adam says, nodding. He tugs at the corners of the blanket to pull it tighter around himself. Looking out the window makes him feel claustrophobic; all he can see is white, white, and more white. He turns around to face Kris instead.

“Sing me something,” he says.

Kris gives him an amused little smile. “You’re the singer.”

“I like your voice,” Adam insists, watching Kris’ smile grow wider. “Come on, sing me something.”

Kris does.

~

Adam joins Kris and they sing a couple of songs together, mostly Kris’ versions of old songs, because Adam likes those best; but after a while Adam’s teeth start to chatter, and that puts a stop to the singing. Adam can see that Kris is worried—hell, he is plenty worried himself—so he tries to keep a conversation going to keep their minds off of the cold.

“I just didn’t like the vest. I don’t have to like everything he makes. I can’t believe Terrence is still bitching about it.”

“I liked it,” Kris comments.

“Who would take fashion advice from you? Mr. I-was-born-in-plaid,” Adam scoffs. Then he freezes, realizing what he said, and sneaks a glance at Kris. Kris doesn’t look offended.

There’s a moment’s silence, which Adam breaks nervously. “Did your programmers like plaid, or what?” It comes off as a very awkward joke. Adam flinches inwardly.

“That’s not…” Kris looks away. “I thought you didn’t like talking about that.”

Adam opens his mouth to defend himself, but then closes it without a sound. How stupid was it of him to think Kris wouldn’t notice? Of course Kris noticed.

“I don’t mind,” Kris says, shaking his head. “I mean, it’s okay not to—”

Cutting him off, Adam ploughs on. “Was there, like, a list of things you were supposed to be? Is that how it works?”

It’s already awkward, so they might as well talk through it. Adam does have questions. There are things he’s always wondered, but never felt like asking Nancy.

“When you want a robot for a specific purpose,” Kris begins, his voice even and impersonal, “the company will come up with the ideal characteristics to match it. You can add things to that if you want. But they didn’t, in my case.”

Adam studies Kris’ profile as he stares out the windshield. “And the way you look?”

“They requested male, small, unobtrusive, nonthreatening, strong. The rest was put together by the computer at random.”

“So you’re randomly adorable?” Adam says.

Kris’ lips twitch slightly, as if they’re not sure if they should smile or not.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says. “I never meant to make you feel like—I mean. I just don’t know a lot about robots. That’s all.”

Kris shrugs. “It’s okay.”

~

It’s almost dark when Kris tells him, “Don’t freak out, but I think I’m going to shut down soon.”

Adam stops rubbing his hands together. “What?”

“My body temperature is dropping too low. Once it reaches a certain point, it’ll shut down automatically to protect itself.”

“You…but…” Adam splutters. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“I am telling you.”

“We could’ve shared the goddamn blanket, Kris!” He pushes the blanket away and reaches over to Kris to pull him closer. “In fact, we can still share, so no one has to shut down.”

Kris shies away. “No, we can’t. You can’t afford to lose any heat. We don’t know how long it’ll be until they get here.”

“What the fuck do you—” Adam hits the door with the palm of his hand. “Fuck!” He takes a couple of deep breaths to calm down and then turns back to Kris. “What kind of an asshole do you think I am?”

“I’m not—Adam. I’m not going to die. I’m going to shut down.”

“Your heart will stop,” Adam says, his eyes drawn to Kris’ chest, covered with a red plaid shirt, rising and falling with each breath.

“Technically, it’s not a heart,” Kris says.

Adam leans closer and extends his right hand to place it over Kris’ technically-not-a-heart. It stutters under his palm and starts beating madly.

“Why is it doing that?”

Kris chuckles. His breath brushes Adam’s neck.

“Because you’re too close,” Kris informs him, looking up at him with an arched eyebrow.

Adam’s smirk threatens to take over his face. He pulls back slightly, giving Kris room to breathe.

Kris narrows his eyes at him as he always does when he thinks Adam is being an ass. “I’ve been attracted to other people, too, you know. You’re not as special as you think you are.”

“Who?” Adam asks, arms crossed over his chest. He bites the inside of his lip when he realizes how indignant that sounded.

“Chuck,” Kris says.

Adam snorts. Who isn’t attracted to Chuck the hunk? “But I bet you like me more.”

Kris smiles and looks away.

~

Kris hands him his phone. “Keep it off until yours runs out of juice. If you think you won’t be able to stay awake, call someone. Ask them to keep talking to you until rescue gets here. No matter what you do, do not get out of the car. I don’t care if you have to pee inside. Don’t you dare open that door.”

“So did they intend for you to be a mother hen, or is it just something you picked up along the way?”

Kris glares at him. “If I wake up to find you dead, there will be hell to pay, Lambert.”

Adam grins. “You’re cute when you try to be scary.”

Kris swats his arm. They both pretend not to see how his hand is trembling.

Something occurs to Adam suddenly. “What happens to you if I die?”

“What happens to the rest of your stuff?”

Adam grabs Kris’ ice-cold hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’re not stuff.”

“Well, you’re not dying.”

Adam doesn’t say anything to that. He certainly hopes he isn’t, but who the hell knows. He rubs Kris’ hand until Kris laces their fingers together to make him stop.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

~

“Your guitar? You get three things to take with you into a snowstorm and you want your guitar?”

“You said chocolate,” Kris points out.

“Well, I could use some chocolate right now. As a last meal if nothing else.”

“I could use my guitar,” Kris says.

“You’re a weirdo. Why do you like music so much?”

“First love,” Kris says. “July 16th, 10:42 PM.”

Adam blinks at him. “What?”

“Your concert—”

“In Detroit, I know. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“The crowd. The orchestra. You. I’d never heard anything like that before. It was love at first sight.” The smile he offers Adam is wide and unchecked like a child’s. “I bought my guitar with my first paycheck after that.”

“You should play live to an audience.”

Adam should have thought of that before. But even though he knew that Kris was a gifted performer, he didn’t quite connect that to the kind of performance one would give in a concert. It was always more personal, something that was only between the two of them. It’s about time he stopped being selfish.

Kris’ eyes open impossibly wide.

“You’ll love it.”

“Oh,” Kris says.

~

Adam can see Kris fading away with every breath. He is lying on the reclining seat, facing Adam, looking heavy and sleepy. Adam keeps repeating in his head that it’s okay, Kris will wake up good as new, but he can’t stop himself from taking Kris’ smaller hand in his and playing with his fingers for comfort.

“How does your heart work?”

Kris lets out a stuttering breath. “Basically like yours. It pumps synthetic blood. Except that the core itself—that’s what it’s really called, a core, not a heart—it’s half-organic and half-mechanical.”

Seeing Adam’s eyes drawn, once again, to his chest, he places Adam’s hand over his heart.

“You can’t really tell the difference. It doesn’t tick or anything,” Kris says.

Adam thinks his hand seems disproportionately large on Kris’ body, and Kris looks even more breakable now because of the comparison. He scoots a little closer in his seat, and under his hand, Kris’ heart tries valiantly to pick up speed. Kris winces slightly, embarrassed.

Adam finds himself bringing Kris’ hand over to his own chest and resting it over his own racing heart. It’s only fair.

“Oh,” Kris says softly after a second. “Really?”

Adam smiles. The innocence of the moment makes him feel inexplicably shy and awkward. “Yeah,” he says. Second-guessing is hardly appropriate when one is stranded in the middle of nowhere in a snowstorm.

But Kris doesn’t seem to agree. He gets a panicked look in his eyes, suddenly, and pulls his hand back as if burned. “I…that’s…”

“What?”

Kris looks down at his hands. “Nancy told me, before, about how you felt about robots. I’m not like that. That’s not what I am.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Adam asks, feeling the cold seep deeper than ever inside him.

“A good assistant doesn’t need to love his employer. In fact, it could be argued that it would be counterproductive if he did. I wasn’t programmed to even like you. You and I, we just met, like any two people.”

He glances up into Adam’s eyes, looking as serious as Adam has ever seen him.

“But that doesn’t mean that you’re just any guy to me. I was made for you. You are my reason for being. Ours is hardly a balanced relationship. I feel lucky that we could salvage a friendship out of that. Of course, I’m assuming that we—”

Adam places his fingers on Kris’ mouth, making him pause. Kris’ lips part to let out a breath of cold air.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” he says against Adam’s fingers.

“Why would I ever hate you?”

“I’ve seen enough of your relationships to know how this would likely end. I just don’t think it would be worth it.”

They stare at each other, at an impasse, and between one blink and another, Kris’ eyes fall closed. Adam has never seen him look tired before, but right now, he looks exhausted. For a moment, Adam considers letting it go, because what Kris is saying makes sense. But on the other hand, he realizes that this is most likely his last chance; either because he won’t make it out alive, or because he won’t ever have the guts to go through with it when they aren’t in mortal peril. He places a hand on Kris’ shoulder and watches his eyelashes flutter open.

“If I had been the one to give them every little detail, I couldn’t have put together anyone as perfect. Doesn’t that say something?”

Kris gives him a weak, wry smile. “I’m just a simulation,” he says. “You’re the one that’s perfect.”

That self-deprecating expression on Kris’ face is the final straw that makes Adam say ‘fuck logic’ and pull Kris closer by the arms. Their lips meet awkwardly, a little off-center and with more force than Adam had intended, but then Kris’ mouth opens with a soft gasp, and his lips move against Adam’s inexpertly, and Adam thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way. Of course their first kiss would be the clumsiest Adam has ever had; he’s in love with a robot who takes offense at banana milkshakes and sings Yellow Submarine in the shower. Expecting anything to go smoothly between them would be unrealistic.

The kiss doesn’t last for nearly long enough. Soon, Kris’ slight shivering turns into full on shakes and Adam pulls back just in time to see his eyes roll back in his head. His body slumps forward against Adam like a rag doll and he doesn’t move again.

Kris’ heart stops eighteen minutes later; help arrives thirty-three minutes after that.

~

At first, Adam refuses to leave Kris’ side. They try to discourage him, saying that it will take weeks of work for him to get back to what he used to be—that they’re going to have to work both on his chip and his core, which means a lot of boring programming and disgusting synthetic organs. Adam, however, thinks that it’s only fitting that he see all that with his own eyes. He wants to know exactly what Kris is made of and how he works; no more hiding in fantasies. But then the real world intrudes and the studio reminds him of his commitments, and no matter what the magazines think of him, Adam Lambert is no diva; he takes his job seriously—at least when his absence would affect thousands of people who bought tickets to his concerts, as well as the hundreds who’ve been working for months to make the tour happen. So he calls Neil, begs and coaxes him into staying with Kris, and then gets back to work.

There’s nothing to be done for his mood, though. Kris conveniently forgot to tell him that it wouldn’t be as simple as flipping an on/off switch to bring him back, and now he has a whole list of newly found fears: that they won’t be able to do it at all; or that they will, but Kris will lose his memory; or maybe that they’ll change his personality and he won’t be Kris anymore. He’s told Neil and the technicians, again and again, that he wants Kris back, no playing with his head, no changing anything, not even a line of code—but there’s a fist around his heart that he knows won’t unclench until he sees Kris is okay with his own eyes.

At first, the studio loans him Zack, Nancy’s assistant, as his interim help. But that’s pretty much derailed when Zack says, “Heard you broke your toy, Lambert,” as a greeting the first day, and Adam hauls off and hits him in response. Nancy gives him a talking to (which he ignores), tells him Zack won’t be filing charges because he wants to keep his job, and then offers him an intern instead. The intern, Rebecca, is a quiet and friendly girl, and she gives him his space. Adam thinks Kris would like her.

In the meantime, Adam does more research than he ever has in his life. He reads everything he can get his hands on about robots, starting with the manual he was given and then branching out to books on their biology and mechanics, their processors and chips, the history of robotics, and life stories of significant robots and their owners. He learns so much that it makes his head spin. He learns that the lifespan of an average robot is eighty-five years, and that Kris’ outward appearance will age slightly as time goes on. He finds out that Kris’ bones are a titanium alloy and are almost impossible to break, but that his flesh and skin are as fragile as a human’s. He reads about robot rights, which are few, and learns that he can protect Kris by having his lawyer draw up papers that would allow him to share Adam’s legal rights in most matters, as long as he has a written guarantee from the manufacturer that Kris was designed at a level that makes him capable of exercising them.

Adam contacts his lawyer about the papers, makes arrangements to add a couple of Kris’ songs to his set for the upcoming tour, and cleans out a portion of his closet, just in case. He keeps busy making plans for when Kris comes back. It keeps his mind off the fact that there’s a chance that he won’t.

~

It’s a Saturday and it’s barely morning—Adam checks his watch; okay, so it’s 9:07 AM, not that early, but anyone who knows him would know that this is barely morning for him—and his doorbell is ringing. Adam drags himself off the bed, stumbles down the stairs—he loses one slipper somewhere along the way—and answers the door with only one eye half-open.

“Hey,” Neil says, and grins at him.

Adam makes a noncommittal sound, his mind not really processing what he’s seeing.

“Real cute pajamas, man.”

“Shut up,” Adam says automatically. He scratches at his hair, yawns, rubs his eyes a little to try and open them, and that’s when it hits him. “Why are you here?”

“I brought you something,” Neil answers, and reaches to the left to pull someone by the arm. “Ta-da!”

Kris stands there, tiny, perfect, and ill at ease, just like the first day they met. His hands are buried in his pockets and his hair is flat on one side, like he slept with his head against a car window. He stares at Adam, the initial smile he’d offered slowly leaving his face for a more serious expression. Adam doesn’t even blink, just stands there and stares back, his hands balled into fists to keep him from reaching out.

“Okay, then,” Neil says awkwardly. “I’ll leave you two to—um. Stare. Yeah.” He steps away, and from the corner of his eyes, Adam sees him get into his car.

Adam licks his lips nervously. “You. Did you…” He doesn’t know how to ask what he needs to without sounding like an idiot. Are you still you? Do you remember kissing me? Tell me they didn’t completely rewrite you. Finally, he settles on, “Are you okay?”

Kris’ lips twitch. He shrugs. “Still just a simulation, but—”

Adam kisses the breath right out of his synthetic lungs.

~

“No, you’re supposed to put your middle finger on D at the second fret.”

Adam moves his hand down a little to lace his fingers with Kris’ on the strings. “I’m tired,” he mumbles into the back of Kris’ neck.

Kris shivers. “You’re lazy. And this isn’t helping you learn at all.”

Adam lets out a low chuckle and leans forward, plastering himself completely against Kris’ back. “But I like it when you sit in my lap.”

Kris tries to glare at him over his shoulder. “I am not in your lap.”

“Close enough.”

Kris’ eyes narrow and he moves to get up. Adam doesn’t let him. Taking the guitar off his hands, he rolls them over until Kris is on his back on the floor, lying under him, pliant, but still glaring.

“You can’t stay mad at me,” Adam says as he dips down to steal a soft kiss. Kris’ lips, though pouting, part to kiss him back.

“I can,” Kris informs him when he pulls back. “I just choose not to.”

Adam raises an eyebrow at him. “Like you choose not to move in with me?”

“That’s different. I like it here.”

“I’m trying not to take offense that you prefer it to my bedroom.”

Kris rolls his eyes. “I have a bed, too, you know. And you’re always here anyway.”

Adam sighs. “You know they’re going to start calling me eccentric if I end up moving into my guesthouse, right?”

Kris pets his hair and pulls him down to kiss his lips. “I’ll make it up to you.”

The End

October 11th, 2009