Adapting

Garth had been at the town house for a couple of days and though I knew that he was trying to get in touch with me, I just wasn't ready to have him try to talk it out just yet.

Or to talk me out of being as upset as he knew I was. He was always so good at that, talking anyone into whatever point of view he wanted them to come around to. That's why he's so damn good at his job, schmoozing the other ambassadors. He's really good at it. He can talk anyone into anything.

I just wasn't ready to deal with that, with him. Not yet. There had been a couple of missed calls on my cel and one or two messages on the answering machine, but I was still processing what had happened.

I'd been invited to attend a training camp out in Colorado Springs for elite gymnasts. It was set to run for three weeks and at first I'd just assured that there was no way in Hell I'd be able to get away. Finally, after a lot of hemming and at Garth's urging I'd finally agreed it sounded like something I'd be an idiot to miss. He had gone on about how much I'd enjoy it, how much fun I'd have and added that he wouldn't even be around then, that he had some things to do down in Atlantis that would keep him busy. In fact he'd practically talked me into going after I told him the laundry list of reasons why I couldn't go. He said that I'd be fine there, that I'd hold my own against the other athletes who'd be there and that he'd be busy anyway so I might as well have some fun. He wouldn't even be home. There was no reason for me not to go. None.

Talk about your understatements. And I was dumb enough to take him at face value. Sure, I know I'm stupid sometimes and he's making his living getting his way-well, his government's way-with hardnosed delegates at the UN, but I somehow didn't think he was hosing me. It just didn't occur to me that he had the kind of agenda he did.

It didn't even occur to me that he was capable of it.

I'd always believed that he'd been honest with me, that he always told me the truth. OK, maybe I knew, in the back of my mind that he didn't tell me everything, but I never thought-well, you know.

I know. Like, I said, sometimes I'm stupid.

So I went to the Atlantean mission at the UN to surprise him the day I got back to the east coast after playing jock for a few weeks. They'd let me upstairs after the receptionist had called their offices and my ID was checked. His assistant had taken me back to his office to wait for him to finish some meeting on another floor and a few minutes later there he was and everything was great-until his next appointment showed up, some Ambassador bearing wedding gifts and the damn light bulb finally went off in my head.

Garth had gone home to play his part in a political marriage that was meant to help cement relations between a couple of their cities which were having some problems getting along. He'd married some princess in an arranged marriage, evidently a total stranger, and done his job by leaving her pregnant. He'd confessed when I'd confronted him with it later that night back at our apartment. We'd fought, argued over a couple of days and he'd finally left, moved into the Atlantean townhouse in New York City, their official residence for VIP's and the like, and was still there.

I'd told him that I could live with him having to get married, that I could understand about needing an heir and all of that. I told him that and I meant it. I really did. I'm not saying that I liked it, but I can understand it.

He insisted that it didn't matter, that it was just politics.

I got that, I understood that. I really did.

The thing I couldn't take was that he had lied to me. He'd known about the impending marriage for like six months and hadn't said a damn word until after the fact, claiming that he hadn't wanted to hurt me.

You know what? I actually almost believe that. Honest to God.

But he manipulated me into accepting the invitation to Colorado to get me out of the way so he could do the deed. He did that and he admitted it. He said that he was just going underwater to attend some meetings, no big deal. That's what he said.

He lied. He lied to me and if he lies about this, what else might he lie about and how the hell am I supposed to trust him?

That's the problem.

I just don't-trust him. Not right now. And it's killing me and it's probably killing him, too.

I love him. I still love him so damn much and I just don't know how we can work this out and I want to make it work again. I want that so much I can taste it.

Do you know that old song about a breakup and the song says something about when you're gone that the bed's too big and the frying pan's too wide? That's the truth and I just miss him so much that I can taste it. I wake up at night and reach over and he's not there. I cook dinner, such as I ever cook anything, and the pan is too big and I don't make enough dishes by myself to run the dishwasher. I know, that sounds stupid, but it's true.

I so want to call him and see him walk through the door, but…he lied to me and I just don't know what to do and it scares me so much.

So it's now been four days since he went to the townhouse, saying that he couldn't live with the anger and all of the crap that was going on and asking me to call him when I was ready. I was. Ready, I mean. I was really ready. We had to work this out. At least we had to try to work it out, anyway.

I was going to just show up at the UN again, walk into his office and tell him that we had to straighten this out, that was my first idea and I'd even gotten as far as the street in front of the Assembly building before I clued into the fact that might not be the best course of action. He was probably talking to someone important or working out some treaty that would end world hunger or global warming. I couldn't just walk in and demand to work out a lover's quarrel. Hell, even I have some sense of priorities. So, sitting on a bench I dialed his cel, even though it was two in the afternoon and I knew that he'd probably be in some meeting with some big shot. I just had to talk to him. I really had to. Right then.

"Hello?"

"Garth? Can you talk?"

"…It's difficult right now. Could I call you back in a couple of minutes?"

Oh, God, I knew it. "Yes, of course."

I just stared at a tree for a couple of minutes, waiting for the phone to ring. He was the one who lied to me and I was the one feeling like I was intruding on his time. I was the one feeling like I should apologize. How screwed up is that?

I want him back so badly.

But I don't know…I mean, he says that this woman, his wife, means nothing to him. He said that over and over, but she's pregnant and he knows, he even said that he'd have to be involved raising it. After the way he grew up he couldn't just hand it over to nannies and nurses.

God. He's married and she's pregnant.

I just sat there, watching people walk by for a while, waiting for the phone to ring, I'm not sure how long, but it was a while. I noticed that the shadows were moving, so it had to be at least an hour or more. Look, I know that he's busy and important and all that, but Damnit, he said he'd call me and it's not like I wanted to discuss the weather or anything. Jesus.

More time went by, maybe another half hour, forty-five minutes, I don't know. Screw it. He didn't have one damn minute to call and say that he couldn't get away? Shit.

I got up, walked away, not sure where I wanted to go and ended up in a cab headed uptown and stopping on Fifth in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and that damn blue and silver banner was flying there on the front advertising the Treasure from Atlantis exhibit that was still causing lines to form everyday. I had a pass that let me in any time I wanted-one of the perks of sleeping with Garth-so wandered on up to the second floor, through all the school groups and the tourists.

I don't know. Maybe in some weird way I was trying to get close to him or understand him or something. Whatever. It was a place to go.

I'd been to see the show a couple of times, I'd even gone to the opening, and so it wasn't like I didn't know what was there. That was the night I'd gotten a personal tour at about one in the morning, after almost everyone else had gone home. Garth and I had walked through with him pointing things out. God, the things that they'd brought up were amazing, beautiful, fantastic-use any adjective that you want. It was breath taking. Some of the things were actually Garth's, his personal possessions-a few of his friends had stuck some in the show to jerk his chain. I'd seen him wear some of the clothing and I knew that some of the crown jewelry was from his family. A lot of the portraits on the wall were his ancestors; some of the children's toys and schoolbooks were his. The music in the audio rooms was from his private collection; it was the stuff he listened to at home.

Damnit. I missed him. I was mad at him and hurt, but I missed him.

I watched a group of school kids go through, sort of tagging along behind. I think they were probably about seventh grade and were the age when they could be completely obnoxious, real pains in the ass but even they seemed impressed by the things they were looking at. I sort of trailed along behind them, eavesdropping, and caught a couple of the girls making comments about how cute Garth was, that they'd seen his picture in some magazine and how he was like, totally hot.

And his accent…that could melt their straps anytime.

Man, they didn't know the half of it.

They didn't know that he was smart and kind and gentle and the most incredible lover I'd ever…C'mon, I wasn't going there, not now, not yet.

He still lied to me.

I wandered through the galleries, looking at the stuff, stopping here and there as something caught my eye.

It was all so alien, so different.

Garth was different. He was from-Atlantis. His people were-different. The ideas, the thoughts, the concepts and attitudes that he had absorbed growing up were nothing like the ones I knew.

He still lied.

But he wasn't like other people. He was different.

He was.

And he was a prince.

Well, actually they called him `prince' because he told anyone who would listen that he didn't want to accept-that he refused to accept-his real birthright. It was really a courtesy title.

His real title was King. He was supposed to be addressed as `Your Majesty'. No, that wasn't quite right, either. He was "Your Imperial Majesty".

He was a king.

His father, his grandfather and going on back to like forever had been kings before him and now it was his turn.

If you wanted to get technical, he had been a king from the moment he was born.

He was a king…sure, he had refused the crown and all of that, but the fact was that his people (and wasn't that a thought? Garth had `people') still thought of him as their king and were just waiting for him to come back. All he had to do was walk into the palace and sit on whatever passed as a throne and he was in. He would be the top guy and even Arthur would have to sit up and take notice of him then. Sometimes I wondered if that was why Arthur had sent him to the surface, to get him out of the way as a rival. God knew Garth was a lot more likable than Arthur was, a lot more reasonable. I really do think that had something to do with him living up here for so long. I never asked him and he never said anything, but that's my opinion. Take it or leave it. Arthur wanted to get rid of the competition.

Jesus. Garth was a king.

He may not want it, he could refuse until he was blue in the face, but nothing would change the fact that he was a king. No matter what he said or did, the pharaoh's had descended from his family. Rameses and Ptolemy shared a gene pool with him and if you looked you could see the family resemblance that was still evident between Garth and Nefetiti in his long neck and that amazingly graceful column that makes up his throat. We used to joke that it was just the place for hickeys since there's so much of it.

He is a king, born to a line of kings and queens that stretches back over seven thousand years and will likely continue for a thousand more. In fact, wasn't this what the problem was about, or at least part of it?

But he had still lied about it.

Passing into another gallery, I came to the portrait of Garth done when he was a child, maybe ten years old or so. His eyes were the same, that deep magical purple, and in the painting he was sitting on a mosaic floor, holding and staring at an antique sextant, lost in thought.

I've seen the same expression on his face when he was trying to find the solution to some diplomatic snarl causing him to lose sleep or some treaty that resisted agreement despite his best efforts. He would sit, usually in the big chair by the window and mull his options over again and again until the right combination of factors would present themselves and he would decide on how he could handle whatever was resisting his efforts.

He was good at his job. He usually found the solution.

He thought he had found the answer of what to do about his marriage and the desire to balance that need with the needs of his lover.

He thought, Garth had, that he would be able to make me see it didn't mean anything to us as a couple, that it was just business as usual for the job of royalty and that the woman, his wife, was of no more real importance to him than another secretary. She was another employee or retainer, as far as he was concerned, nothing more.

But that didn't change the fact that he had lied.

Walking further through the exhibit I found myself in front of the case holding the robes and royal jewels, the symbols of his station that Garth had worn to the exhibit opening a few months before. They were the same rig he would have to wear when he had to attend various state dinners and the like. He had always made a face when they were cleaned and pressed, ready for his use, saying they were heavy and uncomfortable and that he always felt like he was on show when he had to wear the things.

I always liked seeing him in the ornate costume, though. It served as a reminder of just how different, how special he was, how unique, even though he'd piss and moan about it. He looked incredible in the clothes, foreign and remote and exotic. Amazing.

Damnit.

Garth wasn't the boy next door and nothing would make him so. Nothing, no amount of pretending would make Garth like anyone else I've ever met or would ever be with. He was different, he would always be different-but did that mean that a different set of rules applied?

Well-maybe.

But how different could the rules be and still be something that I could accept?

Damnit.

And the thing was that I missed Garth. I missed waking up beside him and feeling the warmth and weight on the other side of the bed. I missed having someone to talk with over breakfast and knowing that I wouldn't have to eat dinner alone.

I missed sex.

Sex with Garth was amazing.

Sure, I could get laid pretty easily if that was all I wanted, but it wasn't. I don't just want a body. I've done that and I'd gotten tired of it. Fast. I didn't want to go back to that. I wanted Garth. I want to feel Garth on me and under me and in me. I want to feel his skin under my hands and taste his mouth. I want to hear the quiet sounds Garth makes when we're together and see the gentle smile he always has after we're finished. I want to see the amazing colors Garth's eyes turned when we make love-like a mosaic, changing as I watch.

I miss Garth.

I love Garth.

Yes, he'd lied and I don't think I'll be able to forget that. I understand it, though. I understood it almost from the moment I found out.

The question now became what would I do about it?

I walked through the rest of the galleries, through all thirty-four of them, stopping and looking, really looking at some of the things I'd just glanced at before. There was a small bowl, something I guess you'd use for nuts or candy or something like that, just a bowl, nothing special until you took a look and saw that it stood up on little legs with big feet. They were just there to make you smile, no other reason.

That bowl used to sit on the coffee table by the couch in our living room, Garth liked to keep raisins in it. I missed it being there.

I tried to think of any time in all the years I'd known Garth when I- or anyone for that matter-had ever caught him in a lie. I couldn't. I couldn't think of a single one in all the years I'd known him other than the lie of omission we were in the middle of right now.

Never; not one lie in all the years I'd known him. How many people can you say that about? Not too many.

He'd sworn to me that he had never lied about anything else. He swore it and I believed him. I did. I do believe him. That's the kicker. I believe him and I also believe that he's as torn up about this as I am. I believe that he wants me back, that he wants us together. I believe that.

Walking through the galleries I got to the one that held clothing. There was an example of an Atlan bridal outfit and I couldn't help wondering if his princess had worn something like that. I guess she probably had. It would have had to be a state affair for them. It would have been fancy. They would have observed all the rituals and traditions that are expected in their culture.

He kept saying that it didn't matter.

He forgave me the couple of times I slipped. He did. He wasn't happy about it, but he did. He said he knew it was a mistake, that it wouldn't happen again and that he trusted me. He'd kissed me and we'd made love and he'd never brought it up again.

I asked him, before he'd moved out, if the woman, if his wife would ever come up to the surface. I didn't think I was quite sophisticated enough to pull that one off, thanks. He promised me that she never would, that she didn't want to and that she would be busy back home. Besides, he didn't want her up here.

He kept saying that the two things-yes that's what he said, the two things, her and me were completely separate and that there was no reason to mix everything up. They were separate. I was a different part of his life; she was a different part of his life. Christ-talk about being able to compartmentalize, why don't you?

I was just exiting the last gallery, walking into the final room which the museum had set up as a gift shop to take advantage of all the tourists. I heard that it was doing record sales. Everything in it from the jewelry to the tee shirts to the books and posters and CD's were manufactured in Atlantis. That had been one of the negotiating points Garth had insisted on. He insisted that his own people get the job of making all that stuff. He also insisted that at least some of the sales staff and tour guides be Atlan so that the surface people could see them and talk to them. The young woman behind the counter seemed to recognize me and smiled when she saw me and, thinking back I remembered that I'd seen her at the opening. She was one of his councilor's daughter's, a nice girl, sweet. I smiled back and made small talk for a couple of minutes before she had to turn her attention to the seventh graders who were threatening to overwhelm her. I like her.

I was just about to leave, walk out through the Temple of Dendur when my cel rang in my pocket. The guard gave me a dirty look and told me that they weren't allowed in the museum, please turn it off. I checked the caller ID. It was Garth. Damnit, I had to take the call. I really did.

There was a men's room down a flight of stairs. I went in, hoping that no one would bother me.

"Yes?"

"Rob? I'm sorry I took so long to call you back. I was caught up in a meeting." The story of his life. Like I hadn't heard that before. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the Met."

"…What are you doing there?"

"I went through the exhibit again. I just finished."

Whatever answer he expected, I was willing to bet that wasn't it.

"…I have to go to the townhouse-I'm about to get a cab. Can you come over? We can talk." I guess I took too long to answer. "I could come over there. Where are you? I'll meet you."

The townhouse was only half a block from the museum but it was his turf. I wasn't all that comfortable there. "I'll meet you on the front steps of the museum in ten minutes."

Five minutes later he was walking over to where I was sitting, he stood in front of me hesitantly.

He spoke first. "Do you want to go inside?" He didn't seem awkward, like he didn't know what to say to me.

"No. I was just in there." Besides, it was a nice day and the sun felt good. He sat down next to me but before we could say or do anything, the crowd of seventh graders who had been in the show came out, swarming around us on their way down to the buses. One girl glanced at Garth as she went by. You'd have thought she'd just seen Justin Timberlake from the scream. I could feel Garth brace himself for what we both knew would happen. I got up fast and went up to the main doors to get a couple of guards to make sure he could get away without losing an arm or something. By the time I got back he was surrounded by at least fifty kids, the cameras were out and the crowd was growing. I had three guards with me, but he just glanced up, caught my eye and shook his head. He was fine for now, just doing his job, it was all in a day's work.

The kids and their teachers pelted him with questions he answered in turn, but politely refused to sign autographs, telling them that he wasn't supposed to because he could accidentally put his signature on something potentially embarrassing. Used to this, he allowed the pictures and handled the questions with tact and humor for a good half hour.

Finally one of the kids asked who I was, the guy Garth had been sitting with when they'd first spotted him. His answer was easy, "He's a friend." "Is he from, you know, Atlantis?" "No, he's a local." That's all he said and if the kids thought there was any more to it than that they forgot when he chose that moment to stand up and tell that that he'd had fun, but he had to get back to work. He caught my eye, one of the guards came over to clear a path for him and we went up through the main revolving door, waited about ten minutes while the kids loaded onto the buses then walked back outside as soon as they pulled away from the curb.

There was still a small crowd of tourists who had been watching him and they started to converge again as he made his way down the stairs. He knew the tricks, though: keep moving and no eye contact, when we got to the sidewalk he turned left, towards Central Park. This was New York; people were used to seeing celebrities and they knew when to leave them alone. No one followed us.

We entered the park, staying about a foot or so apart. Usually we'd be holding hands and the Hell with what anyone thought. Today we just walked next to one another, strolling, no place to go and in no hurry to be there.

Neither of us seemed to know what to say to break the silence and that was killing me we'd never not known what to say to one another, not in all the years we'd been friends and certainly not since we'd become lovers a couple of years ago. Finally he made the first move-I guess that's a theme with us. He usually is the one with the courage, not that he'd acknowledge that.

"…I've missed you."

Oh, God, I'd missed him every minute. "Me, too."

"You know…you know that I never thought it would become like this between us like this. Maybe I was naïve or blind or something, but I never thought.... If I had, I wouldn't, I mean, I'd never have…I would have handled it differently."

I knew that. I did. "How much time will you spend with her? Do you have to live with her?"

He hesitated; maybe he knew I wouldn't like his answer. "No. Gods, no. I'll only see her when I go back and we won't even really live together-neither of us wants to. She's no happier about this than I am."

"How will you pull that off?"

"It's a big palace. We can live in separate wings." It took a moment for me to realize that wasn't a joke. I could almost accept that, I really could. It was a job, something he had to do as part of his birthright and all of that. I got that. Fine. OK. Now for the sixty-four dollar question.

"What about the fact that you lied to me and manipulated me?" I stopped walking, turned and looked straight at him. "What else haven't you told me?"

He looked around, at the trees, the ground, the traffic over the walls of the park, everywhere but my face. This didn't take a genius to figure out.

"I promise you that I've told you everything that I can. I always have, I swear that. The only things I haven't talked to you about are things that are classified."

I looked at him. God, was he lying now? I couldn't tell anymore. "Was your marriage classified?"

"Until it was finalized, before it was definite, it was." He hated this, I knew that. Well, I hated it, too. All I really wanted to do was put my arms around him and hold him and kiss him and then go back to our apartment so that we could make up without anyone watching.

God, I'm such a coward. Losing him…I can't, I just can't.

"Garth, if I ever find that you've lied to me again, or that you haven't told me the truth or any of that-if you don't tell me something that matters to us again, I'll leave and it will be final. I swear it will."

He drew a shaky breath, probably feeling about as scared as I was, and nodded. "I promise." He reached out and touched my hand, asking if it was all right, if we were all right by the tentative nature of his touch. Turning my palm over, I lightly held his fingers. We were both still wearing the wedding rings we'd exchanged over a year ago. Neither of us had taken them off and I wondered if this made him a bigamist. "Come back to the to the townhouse with me?" I knew what he was asking. He wanted to make love, reconnect. God, so did I.

I nodded.

Leaning towards me, his mouth brushed against mine. It wasn't sexual, it was just a reclaiming, almost asking if it was all right. This would take a while, getting past this but we had just agreed to make a start.

I kissed him back.

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