01 The One I Want - 10. In the Dark

Rick paused only long enough to shove feet in sandals and grab his keys before dashing out the door, down the stairs, and racing down the street. He dodged parked cars and cars inching along the crowded road, the old lady with her great dane, the young women with their toddlers, and the teenagers on their skateboards. He ran up the small hill, past the daycare center with its screaming kids, the dance studio, the pet store, and the little shopping plaza on the corner. He pounded across the grass and through some bushes to take a shortcut through Ben's apartment complex, and cut across the back lot of the town center, jumping over the hood of a cop car to avoid getting slammed by a suddenly opened door, and dodged the little bit of traffic to cross Main Street. Then his feet hit concrete past the travel agency, Wendy's cafe, the unknown CPR Center, and the tanning bed, to go up the ramp of the parking garage behind the movie store. He threw open the door to the family-owned, all-natural food market across the street from the strange, little furniture store that never seemed to be open.

All the way, Rick had his cell phone gripped tightly in his hand, cursing the whatever-it-was about El Segundo that cursed the place with dead zones. Could it be living so close to the airport that the community was always fighting LAX over noise ordinances? Or was it the fuel processing place? Or was there just some weird, magnetic anomally that just played havoc with cell signals? He supposed he'd just have to get Genny to explain the physics at some point, if he remembered.

A small crowd stood in the produce section. Rick barelled right through them, earning a number of angry looks, but he shot right back at the accusations with a glance of his own that snapped, 'Fuck you!' and dropped to his knees by the fruit stand.

"What happened?" he asked Johnny, peering beneath the stand to see Ben curled around one of the supports. The scene was so reminiscent of the original attack that Rick's heart gave an uncomfortable lurch.

The teenager in his green apron shifted from foot to foot, chewing on a fingernail. "I don't know! I just touched him!"

Rick forced himself to take a couple deep breaths. "It's okay," he said, giving the boy a confident smile. "You didn't do anything wrong. Just move everyone away, okay?"

Johnny nodded and Rick dismissed him from further consideration. Ben's cell phone still lay open in easy reach, so Rick pocketed the tiny device, leaning on elbows and knees to speak in a low, hopefully soothing voice.

"Ben? It's Rick. It's okay. Can you hear me? You can come out now. I'm here. It's okay now, I promise." He talked soothingly, calmly, not giving in to the panic he felt.

Nose to knee, arms wrapped protectingly around his head, Ben loosened his death grip enough to tilt his face towards that familiar voice.

There was no way Rick could fit under there, so he had to entice Ben out. "Yeah, Sunshine, it's me. C'mon, now, take my hand. You're fine, everything's fine now. Just give me your hand."

He didn't reach with one, but rather lunged at Rick with both arms outstretched, climbing into his arms there on the floor, tucking his head tight against his chest, shaking and gasping for breath. "Oh, God, Rick! I thought -- F-fuck! He c-came at me from behind! Oh, God! I'm such a pansy, I just panicked! I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry ... Fuck!"

"Shh ... Shh, it's okay, nothing to be sorry for. It's okay." With one arm around quaking shoulders, Rick held his love close, leaning his cheek against touselled, blonde hair, and massaged the back of his neck. He just wished there was something else he could do, something that Ben would let him do.

They'd been home two weeks now, but instead of getting easier, things only seemed to be harder, more difficult. Ben insisted on being home alone, steadfastly refusing to let any of his family stay with him, even for those first few days. Only Rick's close proximity and his promise to check in daily won the argument. How could he say no when it meant keeping Ben in his life?

Ben seemed determined to take care of himself, and just as equally unable to do so. He got that Ben had a lot of pride and recognized that he wouldn't want people hovering over him if their positions were reversed, but with each passing day he felt more and more like he was in over his head. Physically, handling Ben's healing injuries was straighforward; it was everything else. How could no one else see the haunted look in his eyes? or the way he was withdrawing from everyone? Shelly griped that Ben never answered his phone or any non-work-related emails, but still no one thought much about it, as if this behavior was normal.

Maybe it was just that Rick saw more of Ben than the others. He'd noticed early on that Ben was jittery about people behind him and took pains to stay close in situations like at the grocery when they had to stand in line. Just walking, Ben seemed to do okay, and he'd done all right at the movies until the idiot behind them let her kid climb on the back of their seats. Ben had held onto the armrests, staring straight ahead and gasping as Rick turned around to address the parent, but the second time was too much. Luckily they'd sat on the aisle. When Ben had bolted, he hadn't had to trip over anyone.

Rick wasn't immune, either. He'd come across Ben sprawled out over his couch one afternoon. Smiling, Rick picked up the dog-eared paperback from the floor, sitting on the coffee table to just watch Ben sleep. He wasn't sleeping well, so often cat-napped. This time face down, the tops of his feet on the armrest, fingers of one arm brushing the floor, the other wedged into the corner. Rick had leaned over to give him a soft kiss, one of those few, stolen moments he treasured, and Ben chose that instant to spring awake.

The silent scream was even worse than the petrified grimace Ben tried to hide by twisting and rolling away. Rick made the mistake of trying to grab him. Ben kicked him, and even bit him, squirming free over the back of the sofa and lying there in a painful heap while all Rick could do was watch.

Rick hugged Ben tighter. He could list a hundred such episodes of which this was just the latest. "Oh, Ben."

Ben stirred, pulling away. He pushed hair out of his face with a frustrated sigh, giving Rick a sheepish grin. "Sorry." His eyes were red, but he wasn't crying and there were no wet spots on Rick's shirt.

Knowing better than to reach for him, Rick sat still. "Are you okay?" he asked, knowing full well that Ben would lie to him and still unable to not ask.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." He rubbed still-moist palms on his thighs, trying to smile and grumbling, "All I wanted was some oranges."

"You wanted oranges?" Rick repeated. Getting Ben to eat was a trial in and of itself. Rick knew he couldn't cook, but he could re-heat, and Genny and Gran had left plenty of food.

Ben reached up to pluck a fist-sized object from the bin by his head. "Yeah," he forced out with mock good humor, offering the fruit to Rick. "Oranges. Something wrong with that?"

Smiling uncertainly, Rick shook his head. "No, of course not. Why didn't you say something? I would have gotten them for you. Or come with you to get them."

The fragile smile vanished. "I didn't want you to!" Ben snapped. The panic fluttered in his chest again and he forced it down, scowling to keep his mouth from trembling. "You're always following me around!" he accused, pointing a finger at Rick.

"Well, your sister, and Shelly and Doug, made me promise to --"

"I do not need a fucking babysitter!" snarled Ben. He threw the orange and missed by a mile. This time he let the rage surface instead of holding it back, using the emotional fuel to aid him to his feet. "And I don't need you!"

Rick was on his feet in an instant. "Wait! Ben? Ben!" He turned to lean on the fruit stand, staring down without seeing the various fruits on display. He pressed forefinger and thumb to his head, massaging lightly, eyes half closed. His headache was back.

With a sigh, he bagged some oranges and picked up the one Ben had thrown.

"Rick?"

"Yes, Johnny?"

The teenager came timidly around another produce display where he'd hidden when Ben passed. Beyond him were more customers, some more blatant than others about their staring.

"I'm sorry."

"Now, you listen to me," said Rick seriously, setting his hand heavily on the skinny shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong. Ben's had a difficult time lately, that's all. You had nothing to do with it. Okay?"

"Doc got my parents back together, when they split up," mumbled Johnny, twisting his hands in the apron. He stared up at Rick pleadingly. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Of course he is," Rick said, with all the confidence he could muster. "Now," he set the bag and lone orange in Johnny's hands, "why don't you ring these up for me?"

The walk back to Ben's house was a lot calmer and slower than the run to the market. Rick swung the plastic bag lazily as he waited, this time, for the crosswalk signal. Almost the end of June now. The forecast threatened rain for the Fourth, but the skies were currently bluer than blue and there was a fiesty enough breeze that it didn't feel like summer yet.

As he walked, folks waved and smiled and Rick forced on a polite smile to greet them. The small-town feel was exactly why Rick loved El Segundo so much. It felt like home.

More people worked there than lived there, which was hard to believe until you got more familiar with the side streets. Beyond the Chevron fuel processing plant, there were a number of smaller aerospace companies based in El Segundo. The town was very proud of its income, an independance they were quick to flaunt, especially in the face of the L.A. School District. Main Street was beautiful and old-fashioned, and attracted many a movie producer to film there. The people were heavily white, middle class, suburbanites, a little snooty for Rick's tastes, but generally good people. The town even blocked off sections of the street for a weekly open-air market, for mini-marathons and bicycle races, and for such things like the Boy Scouts' annual soapbox derby. Right now, the big debate was over the Army Reserve outpost being built on Grand. Not the business itself, however, but the possible blocking of traffic flow along one of the busiest streets.

He took the longer, less direct path back to Ben's, using the keys Genny had given him to get through the gate and then into the house itself. The place was tidy as always, but now Rick knew it had more to do with the maid who came by twice a week than Ben's habits. He sighed a little as he toed off his shoes.

"Ben?"

No answer. The house may as well have been empty. He knocked on the closed office door. The door was locked, so Ben was in there, he just wasn't answering. He'd been doing that a lot lately, hiding out in his office. Shaking his head, Rick set the oranges and cell phone in the kitchen, pausing by the office again on his way out.

He knocked again. "Ben? Ben, I'm leaving. I'll be back tonight, we can order pizza, maybe play some pool?" Ben sucked at pool, which Rick found more than passing strange for someone who owned his own table and sticks. "Ben?"

Huddled on his chair, knees tucked under his chin, Ben listened, but he stayed quiet. On the computer, new messages flashed at him, but he ignored those, too. Eventually, he knew, Rick would give up and go home and Ben mentally urged him along. He'd unplugged the office phone, so there was no way for anyone to bother him in here, not with the curtains drawn, the window closed, and the A/C on. His eyes fell to the watch on his wrist.

Four o'clock. Two more hours until Rick came back. He was as regular as clockwork,and without the laxatives Ben was still required to take. Not that he was hungry, Ben was never hungry, but the house felt less oppressive when Rick was there. He could listen to music, but that was as empty as the house, and brought no comfort. Everything he wanted to listen to was too depressing.

Usually, when he got like this, he could throw himself into work, but even that didn't interest him. At the moment, he didn't even have the energy to flick the screen off. Cold and hurting, he curled tighter around his body, telling himself that everything was fine, he was fine, his mind was just playing tricks on him, that was all.

He wanted ... he wasn't sure what he wanted, except to go back to the way he'd been before. He saw people walking around, at their ease, happy, without a care in the world, and Ben had to wonder if he'd ever meet the person he used to be. He was trying, trying so hard, everything would just be okay when he was allowed to go back to work full-time again. He could put this whole nasty business behind him and everything would be fine again. Just fine.

He had to get over this irrational insecurity, the fear. What did he have to be afraid of, anyway? People came to him for help, damn it! There had to be a way past this. There had to be!

So he continued to sit there, counting off the seconds, the minutes, until Rick came back.

"Ben?"

He startled out of a light doze, heart leaping into his throat. The expected knock on the door still made him jump, however, the chair creaking.

Rick put his hand on the door. No light showed under the crack, but ... "Ben, I know you're in there. Will you come out? Please? I've brought someone, and I've got the pizza." He glanced down at Tyler, clawing his leg and looking mournful, nose wiggling after the pizza in Rick's other hand, and sighed.

Flipping on lights -- Why is it always so dark? -- Rick moved into the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge and perching on one of the bar stools. He fed a piece of pepperoni to Tyler and picked at the pizza, but his ears kept straining for footsteps. Ben hadn't joined him for dinner the night before, or the night before that, and Rick couldn't be sure he'd eaten at all.

Eyes falling on the oranges still on the counter, Rick got up to put them in the refrigerator. He kept one out and sliced it, sliding the pieces on a plate while he cleaned up. Then he walked down the hall to the office again, staring at the stubborn door. It opened inwards, and although there wasn't a hole for a push-button lock, there was an odd, screwdriver shaped impression. Mind made up, Rick knocked again.

"Ben? Ben, are you coming out? There's oranges, and pizza, and soda." He waited a few breaths. "Ben, if you don't come out, I'm coming in after you. You've got medicines to take." He rested his head on the painted wood. Please, Ben.

He stepped back, mouth set in a grim line. "Okay, then, I'm coming in."

Nodding to himself, and Tyler following, Rick went into the garage. He opened the toolbox on the workbench and pulled out a flathead screwdriver. So armed, he returned to the office and soon had the lock popped. Shoving the door in, he flipped on the light.

"What the hell?" demanded Ben, glaring at the intruder. He hadn't thought Rick was serious. He understood the need for privacy better than anyone else Ben knew. "Go away."

Stuffing the tool in his back pocket, Rick advanced. "No." He steeled his heart against the stubborn-little-kid-pout Ben could wear so well. "Get up. You're going to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

Rick grunted. "Fine." He grabbed the back of Ben's chair and pulled him backwards, off the plastic mat and onto the rug.

"Hey!" He could have jumped free, but Ben's legs had long ago gone numb. He grabbed for the edge of the desk, but reacted too slow. Then he tried for the doorjam, but Rick was having none of that. He yanked and Ben leg go with a soft cry, wrapping his arms back around himself.

Rick stopped at once, swivelling the chair around. "Are you okay?"

"Fuck off, asshole!"

Rick grinned. "Good. Into the dining room with you, then." He pushed the chair across the living room and to the table.

"Hey!" said Ben, catching sight of a long, black tail. "What's he doing here?"

"Well," said Rick slowly, "I thought it was something we could try, maybe, to help keep you company. I would have brought Snowball, but I didn't feel like getting clawed gettting her in the carrier. So, Tyler's here to stay with you instead."

"Don't I get a say in this?"

"I could stay."

"No."

"Ben ...."

"No! Give me the goddamned pizza already."

Rick set out pizza, plates, and sodas and fetched Ben's pill box. Sitting down, he took a slice and nibbled on the sausage, watching Ben mechanically chew through his piece.

"Ben," he started to say, to ask why Ben continued to refuse him, but a single-eyed glare from the individual stopped Rick's tongue. He stared down at his plate, eyes flicking back at Ben in longing. Their somewhat casual, friendly relationship of before was gone, like it never was. All Ben seemed to want to do was fight, when he wasn't tripping out and holding onto Rick like a drowning man. It wasn't like Ben wasn't attracted to him, so what was it?

Looking up as Rick's soda can thumped the top of the table, Ben almost choked on the pill he was trying to swallow. Rick's honey-brown eyes seemed darker, his mouth pressed down into a firm line, brows hunched forward. He stared at Ben for a long moment, and then slipped free of his chair, twisting Ben's chair away from the table and grabbing his legs.

"H-Hey!" Ben yelped. Returning sensation made his legs heavy and pricklish. He clung to the armrests for support, arching his back against the pins and needles. "Asshole! Ahh!"

Rick hooked an arm behind Ben's knees and yanked him forward. Hands made quick work of belt buckle and fly next, tugging pants free with one, careless jerk.

"Rick!" hissed Ben. He couldn't kick, couldn't feel his legs beyond the oh-my-god-ness of returning circulation. "Ah! Shit! What are you doing? St-stop it! Crap, nnngh!"

Buttons next, shirt-tails tucked aside, then boxers, and then Rick sucked up the exposed, limp member. He coaxed Ben's legs around his sides, his arm around Ben's hips for support and to keep him from wiggling away. Rick felt a hand fist in his hair, but beyond the first, uncoordinated tug, there was no protest.

"You ... h-ah! Sonuvabitch!" gasped Ben.

Ben didn't need much coaxing and Rick soon backed off to where he was comfortable, before diving back in to make Ben squirm and swear between pants. He stopped just before he went too far, sitting back on his heels. Ben's fingers caught in his hair and Rick untangled him, smug smile tugging at slightly swollen lips.

Ben's head fell sideways against the chairback and his shoulder, to regard Rick with half-lidded eyes. "F-fucker!" he wheezed.

Rick just smiled. "Can you stand?"

"N-no ...?" Ben groaned, shifting in the chair and letting his head fall back, eyes closing. Stand? Was he kidding? Hands wrapped around his waist and Ben twisted a little, but it was only Rick, speaking softly to him. He let himself go, to be eased down to the floor to his side. Rick lifted a leg to rest the thigh over his shoulder and Ben's eyes suddenly went very wide.

"OH! Oh my god! Rick! Ah, fuck! Fucking hell ... mmm-gah-nnh ...!"

Ben clung to the pleasure, letting incomprehensible syllables tumble from his mouth until, just like earlier, something changed. The bottom dropped out of his world with an abruptness which was startling and unnerving to the extreme. His erection wilted, stomach flipped inside out, and that chattering returned to his teeth.

"Shit!" moaned Ben, flopping a hand at Rick, but the man was out of reach. "Rick! R-Rick, st-stop! Stop! Fuck!"

He stopped and sat up, frowning with concern. "Ben?"

"Fuck!" sobbed Ben, pressing his face into the carpet. "Fuck. I fucking hate you -- h-hate-hate you ...!" He smacked the floor with an open fist. "Fuck, fuck, f-fucking fuck."

"Hey," said Rick softly. Laying down beside Ben, he pulled the slighter man into his arms, feeling him shudder and shake and second-guessing what he'd just done. "I've got you," he whispered into an ear, kissing the side of his head, and praying that he hadn't just made a dreadful mistake. Why had he thought sex was a good idea? He was so stupid!

"It's okay, Ben. It's okay. I've got you. I've got you, it's okay."

Ben clung to him, weeping as he hadn't wept since leaving the hospital. What was wrong with him? He'd thought he just needed out of the hospital, away from the continuous poking and prodding and hours of visitors. He'd just wanted some peace and quiet ... but being home hadn't eased the fears; if anything, they'd intensified, and that just would not do. He couldn't fucking help other people if he couldn't help himself, damn it!

He pushed away, rubbing his eyes furiously. "Fuck me, Rick."

His eyes blinked in confusion at the sudden change in mood. "Uh, are you sure?"

"Would I ask if I wasn't?" Ben demanded. He needed this, needed to just not think of things for a little while.

"If it's what you want," said Rick cautiously, but Ben wouldn't look at him.

"It is! God! Fine!" He pulled away, using the table to pull himself to his feet. He threw off his shirt. "You won't do it, I'll fucking do it myself!"

"Ben!"

"And get him off my fucking sofa!"

Rick followed the stabbing finger to see Tyler stretched out along the back of the black leather sofa. He scrambled to his feet and after Ben, now stalking towards the bedroom. He slammed open dresser drawers, rummaging through them with no regard for their contents before slamming them closed again.

"Um, what are you looking for?"

"Don't you know what a fucking dildo is? Dammit! I have --" He paused, frowning. "Had." He'd thrown out all his toys when he'd moved here, more than happy to purge all traces of Will from his life. "Fuck!" He leaned on the dresser, shaking his head against creeping memory, shadows of touch making his skin itch, spinning around to kick the closet door. He thought he'd kept the black one. He'd enjoyed playing submissive for Toby, teaching him that just because he couldn't see didn't mean he couldn't top or initiate the action. He'd liked that; they'd had a lot of fun together. He must have tossed that out with the rest.

He kicked the closet door again, harder this time. "Fuck!"

"What are you doing?" Rick hurried across the room, to pull Ben away, but he whirled beneath that touch, pushing viciously at Rick so he staggered backwards, standing uncertainly a few feet away. "Ben?"

Ben watched him a few seconds, breathing heavily, as jittery and on edge as if he were surrounded by people, and Rick stood between him and the door. He just had to do something! The urge to run conflicted with the desire to fight, something, anything! And he couldn't move, couldn't decide, desperate to cling to anything to keep from sliding off into another panic attack.

He darted forward and Rick flinched, but Ben ignored that to grab his head in both hands and crush their mouths together in a needy kiss. The soft material of Rick's clothes felt amazing against Ben's skin and he pressed their bodies closer, but there was something missing. The usual play of Rick's lips, the give and take, was gone. Opening his eyes, he drew back, scowling at the man. Anyone else he knew would've been all over him long ago, why did he hold back?

Grabbing the taller man by the belt, Ben forced him backwards until he had to either sit or fall down on the bed. Ben stepped between the spread knees and climbed up into his lap, tilting Rick's head back to kiss him again.

"Fuck me, Rick," he said at his best seductive voice. "Fuck me hard. I'm yours, do with me as you please."

If anything, Rick thought he might have shrunk at those words, staring at the man perched astride him, trying to figure out where Ben had disappeared to. He batted away the hands at his waist, certain that this had not been how he'd anticipated spending the evening. He ought to be excited, but seeing Ben this way ... he just couldn't.

Ben reached again for Rick's pants and he had to grab those wrists and hold them off. They rolled sideways together, off-balance, and Rick ended up kneeling beside Ben, still holding his wrists, and leaning over him.

"Ben?"

He screamed and Rick immediately let go, but not swift enough to avoid a kick or two.

"Get off me!" yelled Ben, scrambling away across the bed. "Fuck you, then!"

Rick crouched on the pillows, frozen in place for a seemingly interminable second as Ben dashed away, into the bathroom, and slammed the door. The sound jolted Rick into motion, but he made it into the hallway just in time to have the other door slammed in his face, followed by another thump and a crunching sound.

"OW!" Ben swore, pulling his foot out of the hole he'd made. "Goddammit!"

"Ben?" Rick banged on the door. "Ben, open the door! Ben!"

"Go the fuck away!"

"At least tell me you're okay!"

"Fucking fine!"

Rick tried the handle, but of course it was locked. "Ben, come on, you're scaring me!"

"Leave me alone! And get out of my house!"

"Please, Ben."

There was no sound but that of Ben retching. Rick's stomach twisted at that awful sound and he slid to his knees, forehead resting against the door. "Ben," he murmured, reaching up with one hand to wipe away a few tears. He was making things worse, he knew he had to be, but Rick didn't know what else to do.

In the fresh silence of the dark bathroom, Ben heard Rick's soft sobs. The thought that he'd hurt Rick badly enough to drive him to tears made his chest ache, as if he'd been stabbed there, instead of his side. His stomach clenched up again, but there was nothing left to throw up. Shivering, Ben crawled into the shower, curling up against a corner and just letting the water pour over him, to wash away his hurts, his sins, everything.

The massaging spray made it safe to whisper: "Help me ... oh, god, help me! Help me, help me, please, God!"

He hurt and wept and wanted to crawl back into Rick's arms, to beg for forgiveness, but shame held him captive. He didn't deserve someone like Rick. There was fear, too. He didn't want to chance opening that door and not seeing Rick there, waiting for him. He wanted him, so badly! Wanted to hear that low, soothing voice telling him that everything would be okay, even if it wasn't, even if nothing could ever be okay again.

Why did it have to be him? Why so fixated on a man he barely knew? A man so immersed in his own problems that he should be the one receiving comfort, not giving it. For all that he'd hidden his life from them and lied for years, family was the center of Rick's world, and that hurt, that Ben couldn't give him what he needed, that he'd turned into the exact opposite of what he'd meant to be, someone that Rick could turn to. He was supposed to help people, but instead found himself mutated into some spineless, needy twink.

He wasn't! He wasn't, goddamn it! He, Ben, was the person people turned to! Why! Why was this happening? It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair!

The water turning cold finally drove Ben from his sanctuary. He opened the bedroom door timidly, but Tyler was the only one there, rolling over to peer at Ben. The lamp on the bedside table was on, but the house looked and felt dark. Empty. Quiet.

He didn't bother calling out, knowing that Rick was gone. He moved towards the bed, patting Tyler awkwardly on the head, surprised, but gratified when the cat butted up against him, purring loudly. He saw Sherbert propped up on the pillows, so Ben sat down where the covers were folded back, pulling off the new note.

'Ben,' he read, 'Riley called, wants to know if you can come in for a few hours in the afternoon. Jack and Roger are begging to speak to you, said you'd know what it's about. Let me know and I'll drive you. Love, Rick.'

Folding up the note again, Ben rose to place it safely with the others, and then settled back in bed. As soon as he lay down, Tyler walked up to sit and then lay on his chest. Ben petted him automatically, staring at, but not really seeing, the ceiling. He'd hoped, he'd really wanted Rick to still be here. Even though he knew he didn't deserve such affection, he couldn't help the lonesome ache that made his eyes prickle with new tears. He was all cried out, though, too exhausted to do more than just lie there while the hurt just went on and on and on.