01 The One I Want - 11. Knowing is Half the Battle

Rick woke to the alarm on his watch, fumbling groggily for where it would normally be, but he'd fallen asleep on the couch, the watch still on his wrist and not the nightstand where he normally placed it for bed. He pressed the buttons, groaning and rubbing at the crick in his neck. The alarm was his five minute warning before class started, but school was out for the summer; he didn't have to worry about that for another two and a half months. He pushed back the laptop prior to getting up, bumping the mouse and flicking the screen back to life.

He hadn't been able to sleep for anticipating Ben's midnight phone call so had gotten up to peruse more websites, looking for something that might help his situation. Last night, for the first time, he thought he might have found something. The forum was a support group for PTSD caregivers, and some of the topics hit way to close for comfort. A lot of things added up, but still Rick wasn't sure. Understanding Post Traumatic Stress as a soldier was just part of the deal, but part of him didn't want to believe that he was seeing it now.

And yet, what else could it be? Nothing else he'd seen seemed to fit. Nothing else addressed the frequent rages that surged up out of nowhere, the listlessness, the nightmares, the irrational anxiety over everything, the times when Ben just seemed to freeze. According to the posts in the forum, those moments of complete paralysis indicated a flashback of the trauma. Learning that Ben was re-living his attack over and over again made Rick hurt inside, and he thought he might now understand better some of the things Ben blurted out when caught in the grips of those episodes. If it was PTSD, then why hadn't the doctors at the hospital caught it? They'd certainly interviewed Ben plenty of times. He'd seemed okay, like he was handling everything in stride, just as he always did.

With a sigh, Rick shut the lid of the laptop. He was in over his head, but if Ben wasn't willing to seek help, what could he do? He couldn't just do nothing, but he had to be careful, too. What he needed was more data.

He resolutely set aside his worries, fed Snowball and set the coffee maker. By the time he finished his shower there was coffee ready to be poured in his travel mug. Dressing, he grabbed the paper from his doorstep and headed over to Ben's. He perked up as soon as he opened the door; he smelled bacon.

Tyler ran at him from the vicinity of the bedroom and Rick paused to pet him before wandering into the kitchen. Fresh grease hardened in the pan on the stove, and a carton of eggs sat on the counter, but no Ben. There were plates out, and a half-glass of juice, and ....

Rick looked down at the wet crunch underfoot. He dropped immediately, fingers reaching into the green and red mess, but all he came up with was tomato and pepper.

"Oh, thank God." He rose to set coffee and newspaper on the counter. "Ben?" he called, but he didn't really expect a response.

He picked up cutting board and knife and put them in the sink. He shivered, mind going blank for a moment as he struggled with his own fear. If it really was PTSD, if Ben had really had another flashback, then anything might have happened. He had to find Ben!

Dropping the items in the sink, Rick grabbed a couple paper towels to wipe off his feet and sprinted out of the kitchen. "Ben? Ben!" Oh, God! Let him be okay! "Ben, where are you?"

The door to the office was open; he wasn't in there. The bed was still unmade; he wasn't in there, or the bathroom. The garage, too, was empty, the plastic tubs still sitting along the wall where Doug had stacked them, but the motorcycle was also there. Not that Ben could really handle the bike right now, but there was no telling what he might try to do in a panic. Upstairs, then, but there were fewer places to hide and he didn't see Ben anywhere.

"Ben!"

Ben huddled deeper into the dark, unable to move, or even cry out. Sounds came and went as if from a distance. He could hear Rick moving around, calling, but he felt paralyzed, unable to draw any attention to himself. Even his eyes didn't want to open, keeping him in the comforting, consuming darkness, his shield, his protection. As long as no one could see him, he was safe. Still there was some small portion of his mind that would not remain silent and even though he raged at himself, that he was better off alone, that told himself Rick would just leave eventually anyway, that still managed to beg, In here, Rick! Here, here! Find me! I'm here. I'm here. Help me.

Rick had to stop, standing in the middle of the living room, and force himself to calm down. He was no good to anyone if he panicked. He clenched and unclenched his fists, eyes continually roving the empty room, pawing at his hair in distraction. Where was he? Where could he be?

He opened his mouth to call again, but all that came out was a tiny croak. Swearing at himself, he spun in a short circle, kicking the sofa in frustrated agony.

"Think, Rick!" he muttered. "Think! Would he have gone anywhere?" He shook his head to that question, no. "Then he's got to be in here somewhere, okay? Okay. Okay. Let's do this."

There was nowhere to hide in the living or dining rooms, or kitchen. Ben was too big to fit under the sink or in the pantry. So, start in the hall. Front closet? Empty. Nothing on the floor to even go through. Office next.

He flipped on the light, bending over to peer under the desk, and walked over to look through the closet. Nothing. Back out to the hallway, then. Since it was right there, he pulled open the doors to the hall closet, but only the washer and dryer were there, so he turned into the bedroom. Tyler meeped at him from where he sat in the middle of the floor. Rick didn't spare him a glance, moving to check under the bed. Still nothing. He swiped at the mussed blankets, just to be sure, and then went to the closet, shoving the doors all the way open. He looked to left and right but didn't see anything, but there were no lights in the closet and he knew the sides extended into the walls beyond the spread of doors.

"Ben?" he called softly, giving his eyes a chance to adjust. There was a slight, almost imperceptible rustle. Relief instantly thawed the giant icicle in his gut and Rick gulped in two quick breaths before he could fight back the relieved flood of tears. He cautiously put a hand to the wall to guide himself to the floor. He felt forwards along the rug, searching in the direction of the noise.

Ben jerked as something touched his foot, drawing a fearful whimper from his lips. He pressed harder into the corner of the closet, the dig of the wall into his shoulder bringing him back to the moment, making him want to scream, but his jaw would not work.

Rick homed in on the tiny sound, following the foot up a bare leg to bent knees. Ben sat hunched over, arms tucked between thighs and chest, pressed into the corner as if he were trying to meld with the wall. Rick didn't say anything, just crept closer and leaned his head back against the wall, clothes brushing the sides of his ears and the tops of his shoulders. Feeling Ben shudder and shake under his touch, he let go, telling himself to trust in what he'd read and to just wait it out. After a little while, Tyler climbed up into his lap and he patted the cat mindlessly, letting his mind wander.

Ben broke the silence: "This isn't happening. Tell me this isn't happening, Rick?"

"What's not?" Rick glanced at him. Did he know what was happening to him? If so, then maybe it wouldn't be quite as hard as he'd thought to get Ben to help.

"All this. I ... I really don't know how much more I can take."

Rick scratched Tyler's back, thinking hard about what he wanted to say. Maybe Ben did know what was happening to him. He looked over, catching the glint of Ben's eyes in the dark. "Well, I can't say as I know what you're going through ...."

Ben snorted, a gentle sound that nevertheless conducting a whopping spoonful of contempt. "No shit."

"But," Rick pressed on anyway, "can you ... uh ... Can you talk to me about it?"

"About what? What's to talk about?"

"About ... uh, about Will, the attac --" He could practically feel Ben pull away, even though he didn't move, and Rick scrambled for something else to say. "O-or about anything, really. I'm just here, and I wanted you to know I'm here, whatever you need. Really. Anything."

"Dammit." Ben blew a huffy breath out through his nose. "Stop that. Just stop, okay? God, you're so ... so -- such a goody-two-shoes. You can't just give and give and give and expect no repercussions! Why can't you be normal and selfish like everybody else? Fuck! You're so annoying!"

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," said Rick slowly. This was more like the Ben he knew, but ice filled his gut again as he recognized the denial, the avoidance, just like what he'd read.

"No! Shit, Rick! You're a re-bound guy, you know that? Have you ever wondered why?"

"Not really," he answered, taken aback by yet another change in topic.

"How can you say that?" Ben demanded. "Are you really so blind? You need people to need you, that's how you validate your shitty existence, but everybody always leaves you in the end. They use you until they don't need you anymore, then they toss you away!"

Rick frowned. "That sounds more like you than me."

"I fucking do it on purpose!" Ben thumped his fists on his knees. "That's the point! It's for their own good, and I don't want to settle down, anyway."

"I didn't, either," Rick pointed out calmly. He needed to get this conversation back on track. "Ben --"

"Uhg! You are so fucking infuriating!"

Before he could stop himself, Rick chuckled, picturing the pissy look sure to be on Ben's face.

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not, honest, it's just ... you can't get rid of me that easy."

"What?"

"Throw whatever tantrums you want, but I'm not going anywhere. Rick Wengstrom always gets what he wants."

"Does he now."

It wasn't a question, but Rick answered it anyway. "Yes, he does." He gave up on pushing Ben, for now, and pushed Tyler off his lap. "So," he asked, with a small, sly grin, leaning forward, "are you ready to come out of the closet?"

A moment's silence and then, "Oh, hardy-har-har. Fuck you, asshole."

"Okay, then do you mind if I eat the bacon, then? Seems a shame to let it go to waste."

Ben scowled. Talk of food only served to remind him of what had driven him in there to begin with. "Oh, God, what a mess."

"Don't worry about it," said Rick, hauling himself to his feet and ducking under the clothes rail. "I'll clean it up."

"I don't want you to clean it up." That wasn't fair, he'd made the fucking mess.

"I don't mind."

"I mind."

"It's really not a big deal." Certainly not worth fighting over.

"Yes, it is! I don't want you always cleaning up my messes! It's not right."

Rick sighed, but he smiled, too. He extended a hand. "We'll do it together, then, all right?"

"Together."

"Yeah. Together." He grinned. "And, if it'll make you feel better, I'll even charge you some eggs for the privilege."

Startled, Ben's mouth dropped open. "Of what?"

"Hey, people pay good money for maids these days."

"A-heh-haha-ha!" Ben slapped a hand over his mouth, but continued to chuckle anyway. Rick, a maid! Shaking his head, still chuckling, Ben slipped his hand into Rick's. "Okay," he said between only slightly-hysterical chuckles, "Miss Ricky, it's a deal."

Rick hauled Ben to his feet and they moved into the kitchen. Ben swallowed hard, freezing on the threshold, and Rick threw an arm around his shoulders in a brief hug before releasing him to grab the roll of paper towels.

"Just veggies," he promised, kneeling down. He was glad to have something to keep his hands busy. Ben looked like crap, his hair and clothes a mess and dark circles under his eyes. It was enough to stir Rick's inner caveman. What he really wanted was to grab hold of Ben and never let go, but he couldn't. It still killed him to see Ben looking so vulnerable, so lost and afraid.

"Yeah," said Ben faintly. Gripping the counter with a shaky hand, he lowered himself, extending a hand into the chunky, green and red sea. Tentatively, not sure the tomatoes would stay tomatoes or turn into something else, he reached out and grabbed a handful. They squished, juice running between his fingers.

"Tomatoes," he murmured, wrinkling his nose at the acidic tang. He looked up at Rick. "Just tomatoes."

"Just tomatoes," Rick agreed, watching intently. He scooped and wiped quietly, then reached over with a paper towel. "Here, Ben, let me get that off you."

"It's just tomatoes."

"Yes. Here, give, that's it. Why don't you go wash your hands and I'll finish up in here? Go on."

Ben nodded dumbly. "Okay." He wandered back over to the bathroom, watching with fascination as water sluiced the tomato juice down the drain. Just a fucking tomato. What is wrong with me?

When he returned, he heard a rythymic schlock-chop-chopping noise and paused. Rick turned to look over his shoulder and smiled. Ben shrank back a little, holding onto the wall. It wasn't right, it just wasn't. He wasn't going to go in there, he couldn't!

Setting his knife down where the cutting board hid the blade, Rick turned to offer a hand to Ben. He gave his best reassuring smile. So often these days Ben became this timid creature who watched him as a stranger might, a scared little kid afraid to reach out, so Rick did it for him.

"Come on," he urged, wiggling his fingers. "It's all right. Think you can teach me how to scramble eggs without burning them?"

Ben snorted, fear fading from his eyes. He smiled and stepped forward to take Rick's hand. He was trembling again. "Not likely. You really were being honest; I've never met someone who can actually burn water."

"Once!" Rick protested, rolling his eyes, but Ben felt far too good, tucked up under his arm, for there to be much heart in the denial. He'd set water to boil and forgotten about it. He'd been afraid the pan was ruined; Ben had laughed until tears ran down his face. That was days ago, now.

"I'm going to work today," Ben announced suddenly, sounding more like his old self as he pulled away. He turned the stove back on, glancing covertly at Rick, but the bigger man had his back to him again.

"That so," Rick returned evenly, returning to chopping the vegetables.

"Yeah." He cracked eggs into a bowl and grabbed the milk. "Told Doug this morning."

"Good for you." Rick wanted to tell him he thought Ben was being a fool, that he obviously couldn't handle even more stress. He'd be alone out there, without support. It didn't occur to Rick to tell Shelly or Doug, or even Riley about his concerns.

"Yeah," Ben continued, letting out a sigh. He'd anticipated an argument, rather let down that Rick was taking this so well. "Had him set me up an appointment for two o'clock."

"So, who're Jack and Roger?" Rick fought to keep his voice level, to show interest. He couldn't let Ben shut him out like he was doing to everyone else.

A not-so-charitable laugh tumbled from Ben's mouth, making Rick turn, surprised. Ben just shrugged, pouring the egg and milk mixture into the heated pan. He started slicing cheese.

"They're just a coupla gays that want to get married."

"Oh? That's great."

"I guess. They've been coming to see me for pre-marital counseling. Now that it's legal, they're practically frothing at the mouth to actually do it."

"Legal until November, at any rate," sighed Rick.

"You don't think it'll last?"

"I don't know. I just," he pushed the finished veggies into a bowl and stepped aside, carefully keeping board and knife hidden from Ben, to wash the tools in the sink. "You remember when all this craziness started? All the 'marriages' done up in San Francisco? I'd hate to see the same thing happen again should that stupid bill get passed. As if we need more legal prejudice in the world."

Ben shrugged. Talking about someone else's problems kept his own at bay. "They'd been planning on honey-mooning in Toronto, anyway. Legal there. But, a piece of paper doesn't bind a couple together, Rick. That's just a formality."

"Yes, but that's like saying a diploma doesn't make for a degree, that it's the process that counts, but if you don't have that little slip of paper, nobody will give you the time of day. A valid marriage license means you're legally responsible for your partner, without any extra legal rigmarole. Make it easier to have kids, too, if you wanted, and property, and --"

"And messier divorces."

"Well, yeah, I guess." He leaned against the sink, watching Ben cook for a minute. "Would you ... ever want to get married sometime, Ben?"

"No." He didn't even need to think about that, not with the swirl of panic such thoughts produced. Give someone that much control over him? No! Never again. "I don't need to pretend to be straight to get satisfaction out of life."

"That's not what it's about," objected Rick.

Ben frowned at him. "What is it, then? Equality for equality's sake is meaningless. Just words."

"No, it's not. Sure, California has some tough, domestic-partnership laws that are almost as good, but there's some things the state just can't grant that a federal law can. Or will."

"Never happen." Ben turned away to pop bread in the toaster.

"No? It just takes time, Ben. Like with the military. It's not so much people our own age that we have to worry about anymore, but the graybeards in charge. Equality will win out, it's just a matter of not backing down and staying firm to what you believe, exactly what all those bible-thumpers have been doing for thousands of years."

Ben shrugged. "If you say so -- oh, shit!" He hurriedly flipped up one side of the eggs, frowning at the darkened bottoms. Burned. "Dammit." He just couldn't seem to concentrate lately.

Laughing, Rick moved to set the table, bringing over juice and glasses. They sat in, for once, comfortable silence. Ben ate almost half of his omelet, and both pieces of toast. A begging, whining Tyler even got some bacon.

"So how'd you sleep?" Rick asked, turning a page of the newspaper back from his plate.

Ben shrugged, yawning, "Not enough to avoid a nap."

"No nightmares, though?"

"Not that I remember." In truth, though, he hadn't slept hardly at all, but he wasn't going to tell Rick that. The man was worse than ten Shellys. Having Tyler had felt good, and Ben wanted Rick to feel good about that. He owed him, and there was so little he could do to pay him back. There just didn't seem to be enough of him left to give. "I'm going to go lay down."

"Okay."

Rising, Ben started out of the dining room, but paused. "Um, Rick?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Thanks."

He didn't say what for and Rick didn't ask, though he couldn't help but wonder. "No problem."

Ben picked at the seam of his sweats, shifting feet. He ducked his head against a blush, feeling ridiculous and embarrassed, wanting to ask, not wanting to ask, afraid, angry at his own weakness, but certain above all else that he could sleep if Rick was there. This time. Just once, because he was so tired and he needed all the energy he could get to face everyone else. He refused to consider his own feelings; they didn't matter, and were stupid anyway. He didn't need somebody else to make him feel safe!

"You want, uh, want to join me? For a little?"

Rick almost dropped his paper. Hastily, he said, "I would really like that. Go on, get settled while I clean up out here. I'll try not to wake you when I come in."

"Oh." Eyes fallen, he backed away quickly. "Oh, okay, sure."

Rick abandoned his newspaper and the remains of his breakfast, rising to his feet quickly. "Ben," he called, stopping his retreat. "Would you like me to hold you, as you fall asleep?" His heart beat a quick, excited rhythm.

Ben nodded, staring at the ground. He knew it was girly, but, after the morning he'd had ... He stubbornly pushed down the little tingle that started in his stomach at the thought of them together, side by side. He just fit so perfectly next to Rick, but it wasn't right, wasn't right at all, to take and take and take and never be able to offer anything in return. Oh, God! He was going to cry again. Shit!

Biting his lip, Ben ducked away from Rick's touch, darting away and to the bedroom. He didn't need to undress, still in the pants and t-shirt he'd slept in, and just scurried under the covers, pulling them up and over his head, back into the darkness, to safety.

Rick watched him, a little crease of worry between his brows. He didn't bother with the light switch, there was more than enough light to see by, just undressed quietly and laid his clothes on the dresser. Having Ben flinch back, away from him made Rick feel like a bully again. He decided not to seek Ben out, just turned onto his back, hands behind his head, and waited, hoped Ben would come to him.

With a rather confused but self-satisfied, beeping meow, Tyler leaped up to settle over Rick's ankles. A short while later, Ben wormed his way over to settle against Rick's side, barely touching. They both sighed, at almost the same time. What seemed like only a second later, Ben's breathing settled down into a slow, even rhythm.

Slowly, carefully so as not to disturb him, Rick eased his arm around Ben's shoulders. He kissed his forehead, pushing shaggy bangs back away from his face. God, he liked to watch Ben sleep! It was really the only time he relaxed anymore. Funny how things changed. Invincible one moment, crushed and broken the next. But, he reminded himself, Ben was a fighter. He'd make it, and Rick was determined to be there when he did. Hopefully they could still celebrate together at the end of all this.

He knew he should probably get up, before Ben turned into an octopus, but he couldn't bring himself to move, and then it was too late. Ben snuggled even closer in his sleep, in danger of kicking Tyler off as he threw a leg over Rick, but the cat just gave the two men a disgusted, annoyed glance and resettled himself. Rick chuckled softly, choosing to ignore the dirty dishes awaiting him and enjoy the moment. Who could say when he might next have a chance like this?

But, as all things must, their quiet time came to an end. Rick felt Ben shiver and looked down to see a frown spread over his love's face. He twitched, groping at Rick, and then made a funny, groaning-whinging noise in the back of his throat, twitching and rolling back over to his other side.

Rick leaned up on his elbow, alarmed to witness Ben's nightmare. "Ben?" he called, reaching for his arm. "Ben, wake up." That was met with more strained, wheezing noises and Rick sat up fully. "Ben? Ben! Breathe, Ben!"

Eyes wide open, but unfocused, Ben grabbed for his neck, starting to turn very red.

"Ben!" cried Rick, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "Ben! C'mon, c'mon, just breathe." His lungs were burning as, finally, Ben took a deep breath, snapping awake with a sudden cry and pushing away.

He swayed for a moment, sitting up on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths. He swiped a trembling hand through his hair, wiping at the cold sweat with the back of his wrist. "Fuck."

"You okay?"

Ben jumped, lurching off the bed to sway for a minute, face pale as he searched for, and found, Rick. "Uh, y-yeah," Ben croaked, rubbing his face with his hands. He gave Rick a sad, self-mocking little grin. "Yeah, fine. I'm ... gonna go get ready now."

He fluffed up Tyler's fur as he slid from the bed. Rick watched him go, resting his arms on his knees. He was more convinced than ever that something had to be done, and even more uncertain as to what.