01 The One I Want - 18. Jumping at Shadows

The phone rang, dragging Ben out of a weird dream. He didn't remember what it was about, other than the initial impression and he sat up groggily. There was light from the street, coming as a faded glow through the blinds. The time was around 3 a.m. and Ben scowled at the clock. Why was he awake?

The ringing sound happened again, sending Ben out of bed in a flash. His sleepy brain fixated on the only person who would be calling him at this hour of night, not considering his cell phone at all. Something had to be wrong!

"Rick!" he said into the phone, fumbling with the buttons to press talk. "Rick?"

"I saw you with that tramp."

Ben almost dropped the phone, staring at it in horror.

"Ben!" squawked the phone. "You answer this damned phone right now!"

The phone went to his ear. "Y-y-yes?" he whispered, shivering on the cold tile of the kitchen floor.

"I'm here. You better be ready to go."

Ben's fingers tightened around his phone and he gripped the edge of the counter. For a second, he couldn't speak, could barely breathe, and sweat dripped down the sides of his face.

"Ben! Get your ass out here!"

He licked dry lips. "I-I c-can't," he stammered, closing his eyes.

"You will! You belong to me and I won't have you associating with those people any longer."

"N-no. I don't belong to you -- or anyone!"

"Don't you contradict me!"

Ben jumped and the phone slipped free of numb fingers, crashing to the floor where the battery popped free. Ben shrank against the cabinet doors, grabbing a handle as he huddled in the dark, tears wetting his cheeks, gasping for breath, jumping at any small noise, wanting to bolt but unable to work his limbs.

Pain clawed his right wrist and Ben yanked, but he couldn't get loose. The scent of mold, dust, and urine filled his nose and he pulled harder, scrabbling against the soft floor he sat on. The bed swayed and creaked. So cold!

Footsteps! Wood creaked underfoot, a heavy tread coming closer. Ben pressed his back against the wood, socks catching on the uneven tiles of the floor. He was stuck! He couldn't get his hand free!

"Ben?"

He screamed.

"Ben! Shh, it's okay. It's me. Rick."

He tried to scoot away, but was backed into the corner. Something warm trickled down his wrist and he cried, pulling away as shadows coalesced into a hand, two hands, reaching for him. Then a cloth-covered chest met and caressed his cheek. Flannel, warm enough to snuggle into. The familiar, muscled body and hands spanning his back sank into Ben's spinning mind, changing his frantic protests into welcome as he plastered himself against Rick.

A Rick he sank into ... and through ... and then he was falling, hitting the carpet with a thump that jarred his whole left arm.

Gasping, Ben sat up, leaning shakily against his bed. Sweat plastered his clothes to his body and he couldn't stop shaking for the longest time. Daylight filtered gray through the blinds, turning familiar shapes into shadowy gray blobs.

Ben's stomach heaved. He staggered into the bathroom, flipped on the light and collapsed over the toilet. A few minutes later he lay on his back, half-cushioned by the scruffy rug, and inspected his arms. They looked perfectly fine. Throwing an arm over his eyes, Ben curled up on the rug.

There Rick found him when he got home, dragging a grumpy Ben into the shower, into clothes, and giving him a kiss goodbye. Ben looked like he'd had a rough night, but as much as Rick wanted to pry, he couldn't. Work would not wait. He promised he'd talk to Ben later that night.

Ben was just glad to be left alone. Talking out his history the day before had taken a lot out of him, his sleep interrupted by nightmares, he was glad for the time to get his head back together.

But instead of sitting around all morning, Ben took his motorcycle and headed North, back into the Hollywood area. The ring appraised as junk, just as Ben thought it would, but he left the small jewelers quite satisfied. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed talking to the owner, one of his first clients, an ex-naval man named Jon.

The hour was quite late by the time he sped across town on his way to work. He knew he shouldn't rush, that he'd get there when he got there, but the thrill of success made him anxious.

While he'd been talking to Jon, trying to explain what he wanted and why, Jon's wife, Rosalee, had walked up to Ben and cuffed him upside the head. Aside from scaring the living shit out of him, she'd done the one thing for him no one else had.

"Idiot!" she'd snapped, though she had remained smiling. "Of course you love him! Go all googly-eyes when you speak of him." The she'd snorted and kissed his cheek. "Men. You are all so stupid. Two is worse."

When Ben had fished his jaw off the floor, he'd smiled sheepishly at Jon. "Still as blunt as ever, I see."

"Aye," he replied, giving the tall red-head a kiss.

"And needs it, too," she teased back. "You men are all the same. Know nothing about love. Comes from the heart." She tapped Ben's forehead. "Not the head. Silly." Still clucking softly, she disappeared into the back of the shop.

"So," said Jon, clearing his throat. "Engagement rings?"

They haggled for a long time over the design and price for the rings. Rick's would be more flashy, to suit his tastes, but they would both follow the same basic design as the one Ben had found. He left that one in the care of the jeweler, with promises to have the finished product by Halloween, though that was something less than six weeks away.

Rick was a romantic sucker, and Ben certainly needed time to think about this. Did he have time? Jack and Roger planned to get married at a chic locale somewhere near San Diego on November 1st. Ben had been there before and remembered the big house and beautiful gardens with fondness. The lawn was huge and overlooked the ocean. The wedding party would be out there the night before, since it was an early afternoon event, and stay the night after, so Ben would have plenty of time to stake out an appropriate spot.

If, that is, he decided to do this.

He was late to work, suffering some heckling by the staff, but nothing could spoil Ben's good mood. He was in Shelly's office feeding Ollie when he got the call.

"This is Ben," he answered, tucking the phone into his shoulder so he could hold the baby and bottle and still talk. "How may I assist you?" No words on the other end of the line, only breathing.

The bottom of the world fell away, Ben's stomach inventing its own roller coaster. He froze where he sat, as fog descended to block out the baby's gurgling, the clackety-clack of Shelly's typing, the murmur of voices in the office, and even the hum of the A/C. He couldn't even think for a minute, as panic bells started clanging in his head.

Ben let the phone fall from his ear and snap shut on impact with the carpet.

"Ben?" Shelly asked, hearing the sound and turning around. She called his name a second time as Ben's cell phone began to ring, Darth Vader's death march filling the room. Ben didn't move, frozen with Ollie in his lap happily sucking at the baby bottle.

Slowly, so as to not startle him, Shelly touched Ben's hand. "Ben? Ben, what's wrong?"

His eyes tracked to hers like a rusty cable. "He ..." he gasped, taking in a deep breath. He was too late! "Rick."

"What about him?"

"I ... he ..." The words wouldn't come; breathing became gasping sobs, and he hugged the baby close. He was cold and he shivered, Shelly's touch and her questions miles away. He stared at nothing, because nothing was there.

"Ben!" He was there, but Shelly could see the distance growing between them. He looked straight ahead, but also straight through her as if she didn't exist. He breathed in harsh, wheezing, shallow pants and tears were in his eyes, but they did not fall. Shelly didn't care that the phone kept ringing, didn't really care to know what was going on, she just wanted her best friend back!

She reached for him again and Ollie's chubby baby hand grasped hold of Ben's thumb. He gurgled and smiled, big brown eyes sparkling with innocent joy.

Ben scooped up the baby, burping him automatically as Shelly had taught him, and embracing the small amount of body heat that was nevertheless hot enough to melt the ice forming in his chest.

Crouching at Ben's feet, her hands on his knees, ready to snatch back her baby on the least notice, Shelly watched her friend worriedly. "Ben?" she tried again.

"I love him, Shelly. I really do."

"Oh, Ben." She patted the top of the blond head, which was all she could see. "I know you do."

Something halfway between a snort and a shrill giggle leaked out around the baby's jumper. "How does everybody know that but me?"

She poked his knee. "Weren't you the one who said that the closer you are to a problem, the blinder you get?"

Ben didn't look at her, his noncommittal, "Maybe," muffled.

"What's wrong?" she pushed, doing her best not to frown.

Ben jiggled the baby on his lap, avoiding Shelly's gaze. Babies had such a simple life. They ate, slept, and pooped, and cried when needing to do any of the other three. Such was the way of things with babies. Ollie was cute, with his mother's eyes in Doug's narrow face. He had a shock of brown hair, like a troll doll, but the wrinkly, formless body was oddly endearing. He still didn't think he'd ever want one, though.

Shelly frowned as Ben ignored her. That was his biggest problem. Ben's first instinct was just to ignore things, as if by hiding his problems would just go away on their own. If he couldn't see danger, then danger couldn't see him. It just made her want to slap him silly.

"Ben." She jabbed him in the thigh. "Have you told him?"

"Told him what?"

Now he was just being difficult. She poked him again. "Told Rick, dummy. Told him how you feel." She sighed in exasperation to see the guilty, embarrassed look accompanying the head shake.

"Well, why the hell not? Heck. Why the heck not? We all know you do."

"But what if he doesn't?" Ben whispered, not looking at her, looking at Ollie instead. "What if he changes his mind once he gets to know me? It'll just hurt more if --"

"Don't be an idiot, Ben! Those other guys, you were just stringing them along. They didn't know you. Rick does. He knows you, Ben, and he loves you. He's gone through hell for you! How dare you trivialize everything he's done!"

Oh, no, that was the wrong tactic, she realized as Ben ducked his head again. Making him feel guilty wasn't going to help the issue.

"Hey, I'm sorry. He's just a really great guy and I know how much you care for him."

He peered over Ollie's head at her. "What do I do, Shelly?"

She stared at him. "What do you do?" she repeated, stunned. "Why are you acting the uke about all this? You march your booty right over there and tell him how you feel, that's what!"

"What the?" Ben blinked. He would have been less surprised if she'd slapped him. "How do you know what that means?"

She laughed. "Please. I'm a healthy, heterosexual woman and you're my best friend. Don't you know that yaoi was designed for women?"

"Okay," said Ben, standing up and handing Shelly the baby. "I think that ends this conversation."

"I guess then you don't want to hear about my fantasies?" she replied, grinning as she re-situated Ollie on her hip.

Ben stopped in the doorway. "No." He shook his head. "No, I don't." That'd be like wondering about Genny's sex life. He shuddered. "Fuck, no."

"You don't know what you're missing!" she called after him.

He pressed his hands to his ears. "I'm not listening!"

Riley and all their afternoon employees looked up at the sibling spat and smiled at each other. For the ones who had been there awhile, this was the agency they'd come to work for. This was the by-play missing for the past couple years. Those who were new laughed, too, caught up in the playful ambiance.

"I'm listening!" said Riley, knowing the rhythm of the teasing and not above adding a little of his own.

Ben scowled at him, but he paused by the older man's desk. "Don't you start," he warned.

"Ben's in lo-o-ove!" said Shelly cheekily, coming towards them.

"I am not!" he snapped back, arms crossing his chest defensively, but everyone could see him blush.

"Right," drawled Riley, giving Shelly a wink. "And I thought you had new news."

"Hey!"

Perching on a corner of Riley's desk, perfectly aware of their audience, Shelly cradled her son, beaming at the man who was like a brother to her.

"Shelly," he said, knowing that glint in her eye.

She ignored him, winking back at Riley. She said, in a stage whisper, "Someone needs to get laid."

"What?" Ben squawked.

Riley gave the startled, younger man an appraising eye. "Yes," he agreed, nodding. "I think you're right."

"I can't believe you two!"

"Think we can let him off?" Shelly continued.

"Oh, I think it can be managed."

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

"Sure, Ben," said Shelly cheerfully. "Just call Rick right up and tell him you're coming home early. I'm sure he'll run right over so you can plow --"

"Shelly! I don't talk about your sex life!"

"Of course not," she said brightly, with a too-innocent widening of her eyes. "What's so shocking about a man and a woman having sex? Been there, done that, seen it in the movies. Two men, on the other hand ...."

"I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe this." He stared from Riley to Shelly and back again before spinning around and stomping to his office. "You can all go to hell!" he snapped as he slammed the door.

Riley gave Shelly a high-five. "Nice."

"I know."

"Five bucks says he's out of here in less than five minutes."

She shook her head. "I don't bet on a sure thing, Riley." Still laughing lightly, she returned to her work.

Ben only paused long enough to shove his feet into his boots and grab his motorcycle gear. He was not being an uke! Damn her!

He'd show her, he'd show them all. Rick was his, and he was damn well going to know it before the night was through!

Rick generally left school around five, after his office hours, and wouldn't be home until six or six-thirty, which meant that Ben had plenty of time to plan out his ambush.

He stood for some time staring at the clothes in his closet. He wanted to look sexy and confident and powerful, and he put together outfits in his mind, throwing pants and shirts onto the bed as he rapidly changed his mind. He finally pushed the problem to the back of his mind, pulled on some old jeans, and went up the street to grab ingredients for dinner.

Passing Town Hall, he stopped and looked back. He couldn't see anyone following him, but that prickling insistence that he was being stalked persisted. The day wasn't that hot; in fact, October had been surprisingly cool this year, but still had to wipe sweat from his brow.

Shaking his head, he pressed on, walking a little quicker and glancing behind himself often.

He thought the feeling would pass once he stepped inside the market, but if anything his feelings intensified. He had to walk up and down the aisles more than once as he couldn't concentrate enough to remember what he needed. The store was mostly deserted, but he kept hearing footsteps, echoes of his own. This was worse than wondering if something bad was going to happen the moment he turned his back on someone, because the feeling followed him around.

He'd been doing much better since coming home, but lately his old fear had gotten worse again. Every time he came around an aisle, he expected to run into someone, and time seemed to slow down the way it did in nightmares so that the bad things could catch you.

He wanted to go home, run away, but he needed the food. Rick, Rick, he thought, and then forced himself to get a grip. There was no one there. There never was. It was all in his head. He was a grown man, damn it! Too big to be jumping at shadows. The people in town knew him, he was perfectly safe.

Humming one of Rick's favorite country tunes, Ben lingered over the vegetable stand. The recipe called for fresh tomato, but he considered what he might use instead. He and tomatoes had a strict non-fraternization policy. He didn't buy them and they stopped making him do stupid things when he tried to cut them up for various foods. Tomatoes were tools of the devil.

"Okay," he said, gingerly grabbing one of the fruits. "That's just being stupid. I like tomatoes. Rick likes tomatoes. Nothing bad will happen." It didn't matter what Will liked any more. He held the fruit in front of his face. "I'm going to eat you," he told it. He waited for the end of the world, but all that happened was the woman at the register laughing loudly on her cell phone.

"Right. Well, I'm insane. No doubt about it." He bagged the tomato and went to check out.

Relieved that he'd managed to get out of the store without making a total ass out of himself, Ben froze halfway across the parking garage. His head snapped up, jerking from side to side as he scanned the crowded garage.

If this was one of Rick's animes, then the colors of the world had just inverted and his 'spider senses' ought to be kicking into gear, but he couldn't move. Every breath felt forced, and sudden tension made every noise ten times louder, closer, and more threatening. That sense of being watched had intensified, surrounding him, clamping around his heart. He was sure the tomato was laughing at him, the harbinger of doom.

But there was no one else around. Cold sweat dripped down Ben's back, his breath coming faster, eyes darting around for the source of the danger prickles on the back of his neck. The late fall afternoon was no longer cheerful and warm, but cold and oppressive.

Oh, my God, he thought, when his thoughts made any sense at all. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

He ached with the need to run, anywhere so long as it was away from there, but his feet refused to budge. He physically couldn't move, gulping in larger and larger breaths as his escalating heart rate started to drown out all other sound.

"Hey, Ben!" Johnny, the teenager who worked the store with his parents, popped out from behind a parked car, a paper-wrapped item held out.

Ben jerked and lurched, hitting his elbow on a side view mirror and spilling one of the sacks. The bag ripping at least stopped him from cowering, but he still felt color rush to his face. He wanted to duck down and hide.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he snapped instead, relief loosing his anger. "Make some goddamn noise next time!"

The teen jumped when Ben jumped. "S-sorry!" he stammered. "You, uh, you forgot your cheese."

"Oh." Ben accepted the wrapped bundle gratefully, and unknowingly smiling in a soft, wicked way. "Thank you."

"Sure. Uh." Johnny gestured to the spilled groceries. "Do you need any help?"

"No. No, I'm okay." The idea of asking a sixteen year-old to escort him home was too ridiculous for words. "Just a little jumpy today, that's all." Still wielding the cheese, he waved the boy off. "Go on, off with you. I'm fine."

"Okay. Bye!"

Ben watched him leave and then sighed a little for the mess at his feet. At least he hadn't dropped the eggs. Down on one knee he started scooping things into bags. The strange prickling returned, but this time he was determined to ignore it.

Nothing's there, he told himself firmly. It's all in my head. It's all in my -- What was that?!

He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, throwing his purchases into the sacks with less care as his head swiveled around. He could swear he heard footsteps, but he couldn't see anyone!

Hard-soled shoes on concrete had a very distinctive sound: ta-thump, ta-thump, ta-thump.

Coming closer!

"J --" he started to croak around a dry throat and stopped. That wasn't Johnny. Johnny wore sneakers.

There were a thousand other people who could be walking through the parking garage, since anyone who wanted to take a shortcut past this corner walked through here.

"It's no one," he whispered. "It has nothing to do with me." But the ta-thumping strides mocked his efforts to stay calm, his spider senses hooked into his spine like the demon cat's claws. Oh God, oh God!

The footsteps came closer.

Ben crouched beside the spilled food and golden-bronze SUV, unable to tear his gaze away from where those footsteps would show around the last car on the row. Lifting a hand to his mouth, he bit down on a knuckle.

The whirr of wheels snapped Ben's head to the right, catching his heart in his throat. A boy in ripped jeans held his pants up as he rode his skateboard down the ramp, nearly colliding with a man in Chevron overalls and steel-toed shoes holding a hard-hat.

Ben bit his lip against a sob of relief. "Yep," he muttered. "Fucking crazy." His shrink was going to love this.

He wiped his forehead with the back of a hand and bent once more to grab his things. Then he made a beeline for the closest exit.

He caught his foot -- he must have tripped on the concrete bumper he stepped over -- and fell. Weight hit his shoulders, snapping his arms forward, and pulling a yell of surprise and pain from his lips. A sweet, sticky cloth covered his nose and mouth, but the force on his back held him immobile.

Panic loaned him strength, but his quick, gasping breaths undermined any efforts to keep breath, making the ground lurch and spin around him and black spots appear in his vision.

"Rick!" he gasped breathlessly, though he couldn't hear the words. Fuck! Help! Help me, oh God.

He was able at last to reach forward with one hand, but by then all feeling was lost to his legs, and gray-blackness descended on the world.

A minute after the attack began, Ben fell unconscious.

Ben's motorcycle was in the garage when Rick pulled in. That Ben was home was surprising, but that was also one worry gone. Ben hadn't been far from his mind all day long.

He stepped inside and stooped to pet Tyler. Snowball was, as usual, nowhere to be seen. He grumbled to himself as he followed the trail of Ben's clothes into the bedroom, standing for a moment staring at the mess between closet and bed. Dropping the dirty clothes, Rick took a few, large strides and shoved clothes aside to stare into the closet. No Ben.

"Thank God," he breathed, pressing his palm to his forehead. But, if Ben wasn't hiding in the closet, where was he? They had an agreement. Rick would leave him alone, and Ben, when he needed to hide, would hide in the far corner of the closet until he calmed down.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed Ben's number. No surprise there; prick wasn't picking up. He hadn't answered earlier, either. He also didn't hear it anywhere in the house.

Rick frowned, and then walked down the hall to check the office. No Ben. Nor did he find him in the kitchen, although pots and pans and an assortment of other things littered the counters. So, he was cooking. That was a good sign.

There was no point in starting dinner while he waited. Ben would have his hide if he touched anything. Instead he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and changed into something more comfortable before heading upstairs. He'd forgo his usual afternoon run and just wait for Ben to come home. They could talk while Ben made dinner. That way he couldn't run away.

After an hour Rick stopped kidding himself that he was actually getting any work done. He set down the essay he was trying to grade and snooped through the house again, but, no, he hadn't missed Ben the first time, and, no, he hadn't sneaked home without Rick noticing. So where was he?

With the motorcycle at home, he couldn't have gone far, and the cooking preparations indicated he'd tried to go shopping by himself again. Sighing in irritation, because annoyance was easier than worry, Rick shoved his feet into sandals and grabbed his keys.

He didn't see Ben at all during the walk, though he waved to several other people he knew. He walked every aisle at the market, and checked in the few places he'd known Ben to hide, but didn't see him anywhere. While he searched he called everyone Ben knew. Nothing.

"Hey, Rick!"

He turned, smiling. "Hey, Johnny. How's school?"

"Fine. What can I get you?"

"Huh?"

The teen laughed. "Figures he'd forget something. What did he send you for?" He held his hand out for the list Rick was sure to have.

"What are you talking about?"

Uncertainty crept onto Johnny's features. "Uh, didn't Ben send you back for something? He was in such a hurry ...."

"When did you see him?"

"Um, four, I think?" That coincided with what Shelly and Riley had said: Ben had gotten to work around one, left at three-thirty.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed the time as past seven. Rick closed his eyes, thinking bad thoughts, but trying to calm down.

"Um, is something wrong?"

Rick forced his hands to relax and opened his eyes. "I'm looking for Ben," he told the youth. "Do you by any chance know where he might have gone?"

"With all those groceries?" Johnny questioned, looking confused. "Home, I guess. Why?"

"Because he's not there." Rick tried very hard not to snap at the kid. He had a very bad feeling about this. Something was not right. "Look, just, if you see him, tell him I'm looking for him?"

"Uh, sure."

"Thanks."

He re-traced his steps, but he hadn't passed Ben unawares. He wasn't at home, so Rick checked his apartment next, but didn't find him there, either, or any other indication he'd visited recently.

He walked up and down Main Street, but there was no trace of the blonde, surfer dude he'd somehow fallen madly in love with. Standing on the corner by the bank and staring at the clock as it struck eight, Rick listened to his phone ring.

Pick up, pick up, pick up! he thought.

As soon as he got his hands on the man, he was going to wring his lover's neck for scaring him like this. Ben wouldn't leave without his motorcycle. He wouldn't go anywhere. Doubtless he'd just gotten a scare and was lying low for awhile.

Yeah, that was it. Ben wasn't like a lost pet that would come to some biscuits and a whistle. He ought to go home and wait. He'd be back soon enough. He'd come home. He would. He had to.

God, Ben, where are you?