01 The One I Want - 19. Lost & Found

There was a TV, closet, dresser, and a battered table with two chairs by the lamp in the corner. There was a window with bars on the outside visible through the battered and bent blinds. Even if he could pause to draw breath and scream for help, he no longer had the voice. He'd screamed himself hoarse already with no effect.

"Fuck," he whispered.

And then he didn't have anymore breath for cursing. He woke up a few minutes later groggy from hyperventilating so much he had passed out. Grimacing from some unknown smell belonging to the mattress he lay upon, Ben blinked a few times and tried to sort out the foggy images in his head. He could swear he smelled wood smoke, ears ringing from the noise of traffic outside, and however familiar the sound was, it seemed out of place here. It was wrong somehow.

He was cold, not because of the temperature, because it was hot and stuffy in the little room, but because his feet were bare and he felt dreadfully exposed wearing only his boxers. Pain arced toward his shoulder, and when he gingerly eased himself back to a sitting position he realized that he'd badly torn the skin on his wrist and that the metal was now so tight he feared for his fingers.

That started the cycle all over again and he clutched the top of the bed frame with his left hand, desperately trying to calm down while blood dripped along his arm to plop on edge of the mattress.

The body stopped listening to logic the moment a key rattled in the lock.

"Sh -- it!" gasped Ben, turning to face this new threat. He yanked on his trapped wrist, detached from the increased agony to the abused skin. He braced his feet and pulled, but only succeeded in making the bed creak as he slid sideways.

"No, no -- God! Come on!"

The door swung open and Ben froze, heart thundering in his chest, eyes wide, sweat chilling the skin of his chest and lower back.

Small and compact like a bulldog, William Hall had a body that men everywhere, straight or otherwise, envied. With a huge, powerful chest, shoulder muscles like a gymnast, and a tiny waist, he could have been many things; but his rugged good looks made him a top draw in clubs as a dancer. That and his over-the-top flair for the dramatic.

He dropped a bucket of chicken and a six-pack on the rickety table and smiled as he turned to face the man handcuffed to his bed.

"Oh, God," Ben whimpered, turning his scarred side as far away from Will as possible. He tugged on the handcuffs again as his heart tried to leap out of his throat. He swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, biting his lip to keep from screaming like a pansy.

He panted, using his free hand to yank on the trapped one.

The impact tossed him sideways and Ben hit his head with a clang against the simple but sturdy metal bed frame. He lay there, too dazed and exhausted to do more than flinch as Will settled beside him. Ben shivered when the other touched him, earning a slap when he tried to jerk away.

Will tsked and turned Ben's hand over to look at the damage to his cuffed wrist. He reached into his pocket for the key, and Ben kicked!

He shoved at Will and lunged for the key, but the smaller man was quicker and far more mobile. He backhanded Ben and punched him in the stomach for good measure.

"That was naughty," he said, smiling. God, how he'd missed this! He patted Ben's flushed, unhappy face. "Don't tell me my little slave has grown a back-bone now?"

Ben scowled around a painful groan, trying to pull his legs up to take the strain off his belly. He could taste blood but wasn't quite sure where it was coming from. Will knew exactly how to hit without leaving obvious marks. His stomach was a favored spot and he knew he had to protect it or risk something rupturing.

"Please, Will," he managed to say, throat tightening around the practiced demand/plea that he'd used so effectively in the past. "Let me go." He wanted to sound sultry, with that little edge of mysterious temptation, but even to his own ears he just sounded desperate. "Please."

"Please what?"

He didn't take the bait, refused to continue the game. "Let me go." He tried, he really tried, but he couldn't quite force himself to meet Will's hungry gaze.

Slim fingers that Ben had once called delicate flitted over his face, mapping the shape of nose and brows, of lips and chin. He had convinced himself that the light touch showed affection, and perhaps there was some, but not love. Rick had taught him that. Ben would never be an equal in this relationship, never friend or lover. There was only master and submissive, and bile rose to his mouth.

"What?" Gentle hands turned fierce, yanking Ben's head around as Will scowled. It wasn't the words but the tone which caught his attention. "What did you tell me?"

He tried to pull away but the fingers dug in harder. "Let me go!" His mouth was too dry to spit, limbs too trembly for another strike. All that was left was a crumbling determination.

Anything beyond passive submission would not be tolerated. Another slap served as a reminder, with a gentle kiss as a chaser. "I'm glad you're back," said Will, as if there'd ever been a choice in the matter.

"I --"

"Shut up." He tugged on Ben's chin for emphasis and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Will was hungry. He needed to eat so they could get on the road. It was time to go. Another couple of hide-outs, and then the coast would be clear to get the hell out of California.

Anger for his ingrained obedience flushed Ben's cheeks and pulled his mouth down into a frustrated scowl. He sat up, ignoring the pain in his trapped arm. He knew there was no chance in escaping this way, but he needed to keep moving, keep trying, or the panic would consume him.

"F-Fuck you!" he spat, mentally calling for Rick. God, he wanted his G.I. Joe so badly! Rick, Rick, where are you?

Will turned around to silently observe the lean, rangy blond on his bed. He'd always loved the long legs and muscular thighs. If Ben's torso were as long as his legs, he'd be a much taller man, but that would have pushed him right out of Will's reach, which made him all the more precious.

He'd always considered the older man as a wild animal, more likely to chew off his leg when trapped than to submit. This made winning him, and taming the stubborn independence, all the sweeter.

Forgetting food, Will advanced towards his captive, to take his face between his hands and kiss him. Avoiding the flailing limbs and jabs was second nature and Will grinned as he grasped a single nipple, twisting and pinching just that shade over delicious.

Ben gasped and his body arched involuntarily to the sensation. Warmth flowed over his skin, pooling in his groin. His body knew what came next and obeyed even as his mind protested vehemently.

A finger and thumb jabbed into his jaw to protect against biting but Ben had to force back the desire to hurl. Icy rage filled him, Will's kisses seemed like a sloppy dog compared to Rick, drowning out the startled lusty heat with dread, deadened terror. Panic quickly followed when the conflicting desires only resulted in spasms of movement, Will controlling his body with ease.

His nails dug into Ben's chest and the jolt of surprised desire yanked him free from the grip on his jaw.

"No!" he cried, fighting the somnolence that filled him, fighting his body's betrayal. Pleasure raced from the scratches to his core and then surged outwards, making fingers and toes tingle. Angry, frustrated tears came to his eyes, spilling over one at a time. He turned his face away, scared at the desire racing through him. He wanted it, and he hated it. Not this way!

Submissives obeyed because that was how their bodies and minds were hardwired; it was instinctive and almost impossible to train oneself out of. Ben had never been that way. He could act, and been the submissive many times, but it hadn't been until Will that he'd lost the choice. There was something about Will that made Ben question everything, that stole his certainty and turned him into someone, something he wasn't.

Now the very real fear that his body would not reject Will's advances and would even enjoy them flooded Ben with sudden sympathy for the men and women raped in spirit. He'd tried, but had never been able to understand what they meant when they said they were raped, but had asked for it, wanted it even. They came to him, crushed by a too-strong or uncaring dom, unable to trust and unable to determine what was their own pleasure and what they were told they should feel. He'd never thought to find himself in their shoes.

"Stop!" he begged, wishing with all his heart to be somewhere else. He pushed against Will, but there was no strength in the gesture.

Will ignored the hand on his chest. "You can't tell me you don't enjoy this," he whispered huskily. He gripped Ben's balls and squeezed tightly, laughing as he felt the cock swell in interest. "Can your professor make you feel this good? Huh?" He squeezed again, harder, rewarded by another twitch.

"So willing. So needy." He bit down on a sensitive earlobe.

"Yes!" screamed Ben, jerking but unable to pull away. Desire turned his insides hollow and aching. "B-Better!" He fought back with his only weapons: words.

The slap sent Ben into the wall again, ears ringing.

"Do not lie to me," warned Will, hand still raised from the blow, poised for another. He paused, eyes catching on the movement of Ben's dick through the thin fabric of his boxers. The head popped against the cloth with a soft but insistent sound.

Will's hand lowered to slide lovingly over the covered erection. His mouth tilted in a predatory smile. "You are trying to get me angry, aren't you?"

Ben's eyes widened.

"Don't worry, Benny," purred Will, leaning forward to nip at his lover's nose. "I'll give you what you want."

Pulling his head back fast enough to hit the wall, Ben spat, "You have nothing I want."

Boxers were no protection against the hand which grasped him so firmly. Ben had to bite back a moan, cursing himself. He was finding his anger and outrage harder and harder to hold on to. Never in his life had he felt so trapped in his own body.

"I can feel how much you like this," said Will, cupping Ben's balls in his other hand and rolling them, crushing them together. "You know it. I know it. I am your master. You belong to me."

He caught the slap effortlessly and twisted the thin wrist mercilessly. His other hand found a slim, tanned throat. Will forced Ben backwards against the wall, the metal of the headboard digging into his back, arm extended at an awkward angle.

"You are mine," he growled. "You love the way I can make you feel." Backing up slightly, he twisted Ben's wrist a fraction more. "Say it," he demanded. Harder. "Say it!"

"Fuck!" Ben hollered. "Will, stop it! Stop it!" Writhing futilely, Ben panted, painful tears trickling down his cheeks.

Will slammed him against the wall. "Say it!"

Ben bit his lip to stay quiet, but he couldn't. "Ah! Yes, I-I love it. More." He wanted to throw up, wanted Rick with his big hands and steady heartbeat. Pressing his trembling lips together and tasting blood, Ben sobbed and wished he was stronger, like Rick, wished with all his heart that Rick would come save him like he'd done before.

Will kept up the pressure for a minute longer, but then released Ben's arm, tenderly wiping the tears from his face. Ben had always needed incentive to admit his true feelings, but he always confessed in the end. All Will had ever wanted to hear was that him loved him just as much as Will loved Ben.

There was something different, he realized as he held the shivering, weeping man. Usually by now Ben was pliant and willing, but the defiance remained. Ben's tears did not indicate defeat. His chest rose and fell too rapidly, but something kept him just this side of hyperventilating. It was as if he hadn't given in at all.

He grabbed his lover's jaw to stare into his face, memory providing him too many images of Ben and his tall, athletic project for Will's liking. He'd wanted to pull them apart, to re-claim his lover, but he had too much respect for the power in the other man's arms and shoulders. The memory of their last encounter was still too vivid. A confrontation would not work, so he'd waited and waited and waited to get Ben alone.

"What is it about him?" he asked, quietly but insistently. "What makes the professor so special?"

Ben blinked back at Will for a second, and then his eyes narrowed. That was the second time that Will had referred to Rick as 'the professor' which implied that he knew more than he ought. A shudder ran down his spine as he realized that Will must have been following him! All those times and he'd thought he was losing his mind, and it was real!

Knowing instinctively the best way to bolster an individual's confidence and self-esteem also gave Ben a knack for the words which would be most hurtful. He didn't think, just spoke.

Ben had not escaped high school unscathed. Among other things, he had learned how to take a punch, how to take a beating and walk away at the end. Sometimes, having people hit on him kept them from hurting someone else and to Ben that made it worthwhile.

In this instance, he curled his body as best he could to absorb the blows. He couldn't hold back the tears, but he knew they would do no good this time and hid them as best he could. He hated being weak, hated himself for wanting Rick to bust through the door like an action hero. He couldn't think about the future, too scared to consider what his choices might become.

This one was easy. After a beating Will was a different man, the man Ben had loved. He'd learned that, learned to provoke him to get what he wanted. They misunderstood Will, everyone did. Ben knew him, knew that jealousy would eventually drive Will to do something like this. He'd known it. Must have known it. He'd caused this, pushed Will over the edge, because he needed --

"No!" Lashing out with a foot, Ben tried to crawl away, the handcuffs bringing him up short. He stared at it, dumbfounded for a minute as Will laid into him again.

Defeat. Cold, bitter defeat wrapped its clammy arms around him, dragging him down. He was helpless, hopeless, weak, and he'd asked for this. It was all he deserved.

But a spark remained, fighting a desperate battle.

This had to be the longest week of Rick's life. When Doug had called him in July there'd been a flash of panic, but this was pure terror. Ben had disappeared.

Lance notified the police; they weren't interested until Ben's wallet was found 36 hours after he was last seen. Cleaning crews located a mash of groceries smooshed into a corner of the parking garage. Johnny, the grocer's son, said that he recognized the cheese, and the little town of El Segundo had something new to gossip about.

Rick wondered if he was going out of his mind. He walked over every inch of their little town in the city, talked to anyone who might have seen Ben. The bus stopped in front of the gas station, but the woman on duty that afternoon said no one got on or off. There were taxis always around, but none of them saw anything. Rick even staked out the market and talked to everyone who happened by.

He couldn't sleep, hardly ate, couldn't focus on his classes and finally begged his boss for a leave of absence. Rick had Lance on speed dial, talked to Doug and Shelly every day. They had the local El Segundo police department, more used to pulling over people for driving through stop signs than investigating a missing persons case, and they had the two detectives from Ben's stabbing, but they said they had other cases they were investigating and most likely wouldn't be able to help unless something more happened.

Even Doug and Shelly seemed less than frantic, convinced that Ben would turn up. Rick could see they were exhausted -- so was he -- but couldn't they see? This wasn't Ben just 'going for a walk' and he wasn't miraculously going to just turn up. He was gone!

Why would he toss his wallet, with all his credit cards and cash, behind a dumpster? Why would the groceries he'd obviously planned to cook into dinner be left smashed in a corner of the parking garage? It didn't add up to Ben wanting to run away. To Rick's mind, there were only two possibilities: either Ben had intended to disappear, permanently, or something had happened to him.

It didn't make sense and Rick couldn't get anyone to listen!

As they so often do, everything seemed to happen at once. Rick sat at Ben's computer, running yet another random Google search, a half-full mug of cold coffee in his left hand and several days of stubble on his cheeks.

He clicked on a link for a youtube video and choked on a mouthful of bitter coffee. His heart went up so high and then dropped into the floor in such a quick swoosh that he got dizzy and he leaned closer to the monitor.

Ben!

The phone rang; Rick let it go to voicemail while he set down the coffee and focused on the video. Then he picked up his phone to call Lance and the phone was already ringing.

"Yes?" he asked, out of breath.

"Rick, it's Lance. I think we've found him."

He sounded like a man braced to give bad news and Rick shook his head quickly in denial. "Let me send you a youtube link."

"The police aren't sure, but -- what? why are you? Wait, hold on."

"I'm sending it now. You should have it. Where is that?"

"Where is what?" The lawyer seemed annoyed and distracted. There was a lot of noise in the background.

The house phone started ringing, the answering machine revealing Hunter's voice, something about Ben's watch, and Rick wanted to shout at everyone to just shut up!

". . . It's a friend of a friend and I'm sure -- "

"Sorry, Rick, false alarm, dental wasn't a match --"

"Just watch the damn video, Lance!"

An IM from Genny popped up on the computer. Rick irritably closed the screen.

The phone was ringing. Rick's phone buzzed to indicate a voicemail and a text message. He ignored it for the hum of the printer, snatching the screenshot off the tray and writing down the user name and web address.

"Oh, my God." Rick focused in on that sound, of Lance's voice. "That's Ben, isn't it?"

He swallowed around a dry throat, "Yeah."

"This is not going to be ignored," said the lawyer. "Meet me down at the station."

"Which one?"

"That one with, oh, with whatshername? Anaheim. I'll sit in that office all day if that's what it takes." If he called his friend in the District Attorney's office, that would certainly speed things along if the cops got stubborn.

"On my way."

For some bizarre reason, Tuesday afternoons always had awful traffic. To complicate matters, Rick needed to fill up his car before he left. He still beat Lance there.

Marching up to the front desk, Rick thrust his phone, and the video, in the receptionist's face. "Is this a breakthrough enough?" he growled. He felt somewhat guilty for scaring the woman, but Rick was on a mission. What he wouldn't give for a Hollywood version of a police department right now!

"Mr. Wengstrom?"

He turned around, eyes narrowing as he saw the petite Filipino woman who was in charge of Ben's case.

"Detective," he answered with a curt nod. "I believe I've found something."

"Why don't you come down to my office?"

"No. I'm done talking. You were waiting for some kind of clue? Well, I've got one!"

Naomi Whitmire had a career's worth of experience dealing with belligerent people. She smiled calmly. "Your attorney has already forwarded me the email you sent him. Our people are looking into it."

"Then where? Tell me!"

"We don't know yet; it's hard to tell, but it looks like Irvine -- Rick!" She caught his arm as he tried to rush toward the doors. "Please." She waited until he looked back at her. "That's a big territory to look in. Let me make some calls. It might not even --"

"It's him. I know it is."

"We're already talking to youtube and getting an emergency request for contact information on the user who uploaded the video. We're doing all we can. Why don't you go home?"

"No! I'm not leaving! He's hurt." Much of his pent-up energy drained away and Rick resolutely straightened his shoulders. "I'm not leaving," he repeated.

Naomi saw her own worries reflected in Rick's brown eyes as terror and the need for reassurance. She wished that she could give him that hope, but she couldn't. After 72 hours, the odds of finding a mission person alive were practically nil, and they were way beyond the by-the-book timeline.

But neither did the detective give voice to her own pessimism. She only nodded and smiled sadly, and led the way to the cramped office she and her partner shared.

Detective Steve Barry looked up as his partner returned, saying, "Just got the fax ..." and stopped as he noticed Naomi was not alone, cocking an eyebrow in question. He pushed up his sleeve again where the folded fabric had slipped back down over his elbow.

"Steve, you remember Rick Wengstrom?" The other police officer nodded. Naomi gave him a look that reminded Steve of just how much their lieutenant did not want another visit from the DA.

"Good to see you again," said Steve, taking the hint. Then he turned back to his partner. "I've got the info." He waved the fax print-out. "Was going to give the guy a call."

"What about the video?"

"Offline, of course." He glanced at Rick again. "They're doing their own 'investigation,' of course."

"Of course."

Rick watched the two detectives work, taking comfort in their brisk professionalism. He wasn't sure what they were doing, but it sounded good. What was surprising, to him, at least, was the number of phone calls and paper-shuffling. He supposed he oughtn't to be surprised, considering that the police were government employees and if anyone ought to be familiar with government bureaucracy, it'd be him, but Rick had still cherished the idea of a police force that responded with flashing lights and sirens at a moment's notice.

He let them work without interruption, getting up several times to pace and join Lance, when he arrived, for a cup of coffee.

"Got him," said Naomi suddenly. She set down her phone.

Steve, on the phone with the police in Lake Forest, looked up.

"Mission Hospital, Mission Viejo."

"Yes, yes," Steve said into the phone as he and his partner both stood, reaching for their coats. "Get his statement. You've got my cell. We're heading to Mission Viejo to see the victim."

They almost ran down Rick and Lance in the hallway. A flurry of rapid questions and answers later, Rick was in the police car, speeding down the road. Lance went to pick up Shelly. Why seemed to get past Rick, who looked ready to gnaw off his arm if that got them moving faster, but the detectives voiced their approval in fetching the holder of Ben's POA.

It was a long drive in the traffic. Steve drove, both detectives constantly on and off the phone. Rick sat behind the protective screen in the back seat and stared out the window, hands clenched in front of him to keep them from shaking.

How could someone have posted that on the internet? was the question going round and round his head, followed by guilt that he was happy about it. If not for that video, Ben would still be lost. The only question was: what were they missing? What wasn't on the video?

Jeremy Dunkirk was not someone normally described as tech-savvy or on the cutting edge. He worked a job where he'd been passed over for promotion by kids straight out of college, lived in the same tiny apartment he'd been in the last ten years, with a car even older, and no bills to speak of. He didn't like to do much, frustrated with his life but unwilling to do anything to dig himself out of the boring rut.

No one could have been more surprised than he when he'd left the Sprint store with the latest high-tech mobile phone. He hadn't the least idea how the salesman had talked him into it, nor did he know how to use it, but he didn't take it back.

Tentative at first, Jeremy spent the first night with the manual open in front of him, navigating the options. When he realized he could watch his favorite shows anytime he wanted, he got a lot happier with the situation. His mother had given him her TV ages ago and he couldn't in good faith replace the thing while it still worked. Even though the phone's screen was tiny in comparison, the picture was amazing. He could even watch movies! Once he figured out how to download them.

Then he found the internet. He spent the rest of the night, and most of work the following day, surfing the web. This was amazing!

On the way home he started taking random pictures: the inside of his car, outside the windows, anything to keep himself amused while he sat in the daily crawl that was the freeway. He was at a full stop when he noticed the video option looked different. That was when he realized he could take videos and not just watch them! Suddenly, life seemed far more exciting, especially when that car swerved right in front of him, cutting him off and blasting its horn. It was just like one of those reality cop shows!

Cars were still moving in the next lane over and starting to pick up speed. Brakes screamed and horns blasted, but the beat-up, 1979 Ford Ranchero went straight through the traffic as if it wasn't there. Jeremy watched avidly, phone camera locked on the little drama.

The semi blocking his view succeeded in changing lanes, pulling ahead, and then Jeremy saw a man running along the median. He played with the zoom controls, focusing on the man as the Ranchero cut across another lane of traffic and screeched to a stop. The passenger side door was ajar, swinging open at the stop and almost hitting the running man who dodged around, bounced off the fender of a passing car, and hit the ground hard.

Jeremy leaned as far as he could to the side of his car, excitedly talking to himself, disappointed when the screen of his phone went dark. Certain he'd done something wrong, Jeremy sighed and yielded to the honking and angry drivers behind him, easing his car back into motion.

Not until hours later when he figured out that his phone just needed re-charged did Jeremy realize he still had the video he'd taken, bravely talking to a coworker who directed him on how to use youtube, a website Jeremy had discovered during work. There was so much amazing stuff on there that he just felt compelled to contribute.

Later, with the police standing at his door, and even later down at the station sitting across from not one cop but four, he started to re-think the whole darn thing.

Rick! Rick, help!"

Dropping his tools, Rick raced inside, half-way there when he heard the thump of Ben hitting the floor, and rounding the foot of the bed when he started swearing.

"Fuck! Wha -- the fuck?" Ben half-knelt on the floor, left hand partially fisted into the blankets not twisted around him and hanging off the bed. He stared at his right hand and the white wrappings. There was no part of his body that did not ache, bone-deep ache like a really bad tumble off his surfboard, hitting the bottom of the beach and ground between rocks before washing ashore to cough up a belly-full of sand.

His right eye didn't seem to want to work properly, there was a tightness to all the skin on that side of his face, his shoulder and arm, and his back hurt like a mother-fucker. His left side was mostly numb ... and his arm in a cast from knuckles to shoulder.

He drew in one deep breath after another, chest straining. "Fuck ...!" Where was the motel? The stained mattress? Cracked window? Dripping sink? "Will!" Where was he? He stared around him blindly, not recognizing his surroundings. Where is he?

"Ben ...."

"Aaaaugh!"

Rick jerked back as if burned as Ben, who he could swear had just been looking right at him, leaped away, hitting the bed and thumping back hard to the floor, the sheets a tangled mess. His white face and bulging, red-rimmed eyes stared back at Rick, and for a moment there was no sound above the harsh, wheezing gasps.

The wide-eyed fearful look faded as Ben blinked. "Rick?" he whispered.

Rick answered quietly, voice steady and soothing though inwardly he was shaking. "Yeah, Sunshine, it's me." He hadn't quite gotten to the 'me' when his arms were full of weeping, gasping, trembling blonde, and he dared to hope. Was he lucid now? Was he coming out of it?

"Oh, God!" Ben clung to Rick and tucked his face into the v-shaped opening of his shirt to breathe in his unique scent. His bandaged right hand clawed at the strong man's back. "Oh, God, Rick! Fuck. F-f-fuck. Are you real? God, be real! Please. Pleasepleaseplease."

"Breathe," said Rick, wrapping his whole body around the smaller man. "Just breathe. You're safe and I'm here. I'm here and everything's okay."

The arms around him made Ben conscious of just how much pain he was in. His left arm was bulky and strange, heavy where he'd awkwardly tried to return the hug, but the warmth and implied strength made him feel safe again. He listened to the solid beat of Rick's heart drowning out the internal monologue and slowly steadied.

He came back to himself, babbling brokenly about his nightmare -- "It was a nightmare, right? Rick? Right?" He tried to pull away, but Rick held him fast, hand on the back of his neck, the other around his shoulders.

Ben realized two things. One, he was fully dressed in boxers, a pair of Rick's sweats and an old, baggy shirt. Second, one of Rick's tears plopped into Ben's hair, ran down the curve of his ear and disappeared down the back of his neck.

"Oh, God, Rick, I'm sorry!" A cold, icy ache started low in his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm --"

"Shh," Rick cut him off, kissing the top of his head. He pulled back to look into the lost, confused, and frightened blue eyes of his lover. He kissed Ben on the end of his nose, safely away from the gravel-torn skin of cheek and forehead.

"It's okay."

"But --" He could see it wasn't! "But, Rick -- mmpf!" He melted, spine turning into pudding as Rick's tongue traced his mouth. His lips parted eagerly, sucking hard and tongue darting forward when the expected chase didn't take place. Instead, Ben hungrily devoured Rick, teeth and tongue, top and bottom, right and left. He ignored the pain in his face, his right hand sliding up to cup the back of Rick's head.

He pushed forward, leaning onto and then quickly off his knees with a wince. He blushed with embarrassment, shifting uncomfortably. "Owie," he said quietly, apologetic and playful.

It just about made Rick's heart break all over again. He brushed back Ben's bangs and kissed the left temple softly. Then he reluctantly eased his grip.

"Come on, back to bed."

"Aw." A yawn spoiled his pout and he laughed a little before relaxing and letting Rick draw him to his feet. His eyes dropped down heavily as soon as he went horizontal, but his arm swung out to grab after Rick, alarm spiking in his gut. "Rick!"

Two callused hands cradled Ben's bandaged one and he settled on the edge of the bed. "It's okay, Sunshine. Go to sleep. I'm right here."

He smoothed hair out of a face gone child-like in the drug-induced sleep. He tugged on the blankets to straighten them, making sure that he was propped up on pillows like the doctors said and not lying flat, and just staring at his lover for long moments.

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful; he was. He was grateful to Doug and Shelly, and to Lance, Ben's lawyer, for getting Ben released from the hospital, the police for keeping that lunatic Will behind bars, to multiple people who had helped the past few days.

The video had only been part of the story. There'd been a car nearby from an accident still being cleared away and had been able to respond to the 9-1-1 within minutes, almost too late.

Will. It had been Will again. Sniffling, Rick ran his fingers softly along Ben's face. Damn him! That Will. He was a lunatic. Thank heaven for cops who actually did their jobs!

They'd pulled him off from where Will had been in a rage. He'd tried to fight the cops and they'd defended themselves, but they hadn't killed him, more's the pity, hadn't even hurt him enough to warrant a hospital stay. They'd simply locked him in their patrol car and, after the paramedics arrived, arrested him for what in their eyes looked liked assault and battery. Then they'd proceeded to get statements from dozens of witnesses.

There were far more charges now, but that scarcely mattered. Rick hoped he'd be in prison for a long, long time. He sort of felt a tiny bit guilty for hoping that some of the prison stories were true and something nasty would happen to Will while in prison.

Ben hadn't been so lucky. In fact, Rick could almost sympathize with the hospital for treating him as if he was the psychotic one. He'd been unconscious when the police got to him and pretty much stayed that way because the emergency room had given him vicodin and other narcotics, not to mention antibiotics. They'd ended up having to flush his system with more drugs and somewhere in there he'd woken up and Rick could just imagine how that had gone.

It all resulted with Ben being declared mentally unstable, admitted him to the hospital's psych ward pending release to an institution, and drugged him to the gills. They could have killed him, twice over.

Lance was still piecing together the story, questioning the police, the hospital staff, and threatening everyone with lawsuits. As Shelly was the holder of Ben's power of attorney, things had gotten really hairy for a few hours as the lawyers fought it out. Rick had called Grant and got him into the argument as Ben's psychologist. With him, and Lance and Shelly, the hospital gave up. Rather ungracefully, but Rick didn't care about that.

"Rick?"

He looked up, scrubbing at his face. Hunter stood uncertainly in the doorway. Rick tried to smile, because he owed Hunter so much, but it was hard, too hard.

"You okay?"

"I don't know if this is working," Rick admitted. Shelly and Doug wanted Ben at their place, saying he would feel more comfortable there, but Rick had wanted him at home, except that he was afraid of the possible flashbacks. Grant had suggested taking Ben outside the city to somewhere more peaceful and zen, somewhere healing. Hunter had offered the ski cabin with its picturesque views, deserted during the off-season.

"It's only been a couple days. Give it time. He'll come back."

"Will he?" He traced the lizard-shaped scar on Ben's cheek.

"Yes," said Hunter confidently. "He woke up for a little while today, asked me why it was snowing." He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "The wind kicked up some of the fake stuff the truck spit out. They were running all the machines, you know."

Rick nodded absently, but he was thinking about the previous night's nightmare, Ben backed up against the wall screaming, looking at him like he saw someone else, someone whose identity Rick could guess and he wanted to hurt Will so badly!

"Hey," said Hunter gently. "Why don't you combe back out here and help me finish the railing?"

He was there because the cabin belonged to a friend and because Shelly had accused Rick of trying to kidnap Ben from her and Hunter felt he'd had to step in to prevent a disasterous fight. He promised to keep an eye on Rick to soothe Shelly's irrational fears. There wasn't room for more babysitters, though they'd tried, Lance and Shelly and Doug and Riley and Genny and God only knew how many others.

"Come on." He heard Rick sigh and the bed creaked a little as the big man stood.

At least there'd be no complaints from the cabin's owner. Rick was the kind of person who couldn't sit still and veg like Hunter could. He kept himself busy with a number of different projects. They'd spent most of the day re-finishing the old oaken staircase railing. Hunter could admit it was almost soothing work, not requiring much thought, but he'd still rather be on the couch watching TV or something less strenuous.

They were just finishing and admiring wood that practically looked new again when they heard "Jesus fucking Christ!" coming from the direction of the bathroom.

Ben stared into the mirror. Part of his head had been shaved, and taped-on gauze littered the counter from where he'd peeled the bandages from his face. He looked like someone had taken a piece of commercial-grade sandpaper to his chin, cheek, and forehead. His right eye was swollen from a bruise to his temple. Something had taken a chunk out of his eyebrow.

"What the fuck?" he demanded of his reflection.

"That's what you get for jumping out of a car."

Rick's voice made Ben jump, whirling on him. "Fuck, Rick! Ow!" The room went topsy-turvey for an instant and he banged his cast on the counter, turning his knees to jello and dumping ballast into his stomach.

Clutching the sink as the world spun around him, Ben vomited acid-tasting bile that looked like a cross between jello and those foils of cat food Rick sometimes bought.

"Ugh," he groaned, grateful for Rick's steadying hands at his waist. "Fuck."

Rick kissed the back of his lover's bent neck, so happy to hear him cursing again that he almost couldn't stand it. "I love you," he murmured.

"Even when I'm throwing up?" Ben croaked. He wasn't sure enough of his balance to relinquish his grip to turn on the tap. His arms shook just doing that, his legs threatening to send him nose-first into his oh-so-lovely vomit. On the plus side, he hadn't woken up in a hospital ....

"Even then," Rick answered with a small smile. He felt Ben tremble and quickly scooped and lifted to sit him on the narrow counter. Filling one of the cups and handing that to Ben to rinse his mouth, Rick grabbed a fuzzy towel and wrapped it around his lover's shoulders. "How are you feeling?" he asked, reaching for the first aid kit.

"Like I've been run over," Ben replied, grimacing. He spit, half-closing his eyes as the bathroom spun again. What narcotics was he on this time?

"Well," drawled Rick, standing between his lover's knees to tape gauze back on his face, thinking about how to explain.

Ben raised his eyebrow. "Well, what?" he asked. "Don't tell me I crashed my bike." He yawned around a half-smile. Everyone was always telling him how dangerous motorcycles were; he'd counter by joking about it first.

"No," said Rick, frowning slightly. "I'd say that you got hit by a car."

Ben focused on the big brown eyes with the dark circles beneath them. "I was kidding, Rick."

"I'm not." His brows pulled forward in worry. "You jumped out of a car and got hit by another. That's how you broke your arm."

"What?!" He startled upright but Rick's hands kept him seated and he was too weary and sore to struggle much.

"You were only going like thirty miles an hour, tops, and the other car not even that, so you got banged up a little, but you're fine."

"My bike?" He twisted as if to go to the garage, but again Rick stopped him.

"No, Ben. You jumped. Out. Of a. Car." Ben's eyes were still abnormally dilated. He wasn't sure how much of this was sinking in, but he kept going. "You jumped out, skidded face-first for a few feet -- scraped off a bunch of skin, some bruises -- it's real pretty -- and when you got up, got broad-sided." He smirked a little. "Literally." The police said the driver was female. "You bounced, hit the ground left-arm first, something called a FOOSH injury --"

"Shit!"

"Yeah, you'll probably have to have surgery." He scratched his head. "You know that section where the four-oh-five turns back into the five?" He waited for Ben to nod. "Right there. Police said they think Will was headed for Mexi -- Ben?"

"Will." His lips moved but he made no sound. The bandages on his right hand had come loose in places but he no longer cared. He touched the cast, hugging his arm close and looking around. "Where's Will?"

That panicky face was one Rick knew all too well and he abandoned the bandaids to wrap his arms around Ben. "He's not here," he said as soothingly as he could while wishing a horrible death on another human being. "He's not here. You're safe with me, and everything's going to be fine. Shh, Ben. It's okay."

"Oh, God," sobbed Ben, burying his face in Rick's neck. "It wasn't a dream, was it?"

"Breathe, Ben. Just breathe. You haven't spoken anything that made any sense for a couple days now. Just relax. You don't have to --"

He yanked out of Rick's grip, glaring at him. "Fuck you!" he snapped, instantly feeling even more like shit at the wounded look that fell over the soft brown eyes. He was going to worry Rick straight to a nervous breakdown, but all Ben could think of was that Will had found him once, laid in wait for him, watched him for weeks with no one the wiser, and here he was again! It was like Groundhog Day for real, only in a Freddy Krueger, teen slasher movie way.

He pushed at Rick but his limbs still weren't working right and his mouth was just babbling nonsense again.

Gathering Ben back into his embrace, Rick bit his lip, wanting to say something soothing, but too afraid he'd start sobbing if he opened his mouth.

"He'll find me! He's going to find me again! I can't -- can't stay here! I can't! He'll -- he'll f-find --"

The warning signs of another of Ben's panic attacks gave Rick something to focus on, some good he could do. "Breathe," he coached. "Breathe, Ben. That's it. Breathe. You're safe."

"No!" He shook his head weakly. How could he make him understand when his brain felt like it was on acid? When the world looked like the Beetles' Yellow Submarine? He gasped and tried, he really did, but the steady beat of Rick's heart was missing. He was going to float away at any moment and be back in the nightmare.

"No, you're not," said Rick. "You're not going anywhere. Neither is Will. He's in jail, Ben. Now, shh, shh, you're safe. You're safe."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. The only other person here is Hunter, I promise. Are you breathing?"

"What do you think?" Ben snapped half-heartedly. He held on and kept his eyes closed until he needed to shift into a more comfortable position. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes, blinking as the log walls stayed put. "Where are we?"

"Mount Rose. It's a ski --"

"I know what it is. Doug and I used to ski there, but why? Ugh, I feel dizzy. My arm hurts."

"I know, but I can't give you anything but Tylenol. Doctor's orders."

"Stupid doctors." He yawned again.

"Here, let's get you back to bed."

"I don't wanna go to bed," whined Ben, sagging against Rick as the big man helped him down. "I need to piss."

"Well," said Rick, allowing a smile, "if you can stay awake long enough to hold it yourself."

Ben craned his head back to stare at him. "You're kidding me."

"Nope. Still need to pee?"

"Yeah, dumbass, I need to -- how'm I supposed to do this with one hand?"

"Sit down."

"Get real."

"I suppose I could help, though I have had other offers, and less testy, too."

"What?" Ben slipped on shaky legs as he jerked around to scowl at Rick. If not for the other man's steadying hands, he would have fallen. He did recognize a teasing smirk, though.

"God, I hate you."

"Tell me how you really feel." He did a double-take as Ben started trembling. Looking in his eyes, Rick saw that he was gone again and he simply sat on the toilet, Ben on his lap tucked under his chin.

He resigned himself to waiting it out just as Ben whispered, "D-don't say that. E-ever." Eyelashes brushed against Rick's neck and Ben's grip gained in strength.

Rick held his breath.

"I'm s-sor-ry," Ben continued, "but ... he used to say that. He wanted, he --"

"It's okay --"

"No! No, it's not okay. I have to, I have --" He closed a stiff fist in Rick's shirt, pausing to breathe in his sweaty smell. Like how you always knew a smell was freshly-cut grass, even if you couldn't see the yard, you always knew -- Rick was like that. His scent was earthy and rich, with the lighter scent of his shower gel wound in, like walking into a greenhouse, with all the soil and compost, and the flowers. This was Rick. Fredrick, like the pretentious, Russian ballet, but soft and squishy in all the right places.

"It's not something you choose," he continued quietly. "To be in a relationship like that. That's not how it works. It's slow. It creeps up on you a little at a time until one day you realize that that's how it is, and you can't say how you got there, can't see a way out."

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "I still respond to him. I can't -- it's hard to resist, to remember that he no longer rules over everything I do. If he came in here right now and told me to, to hop on one foot, I'd do it, without thinking about it first. I know it sounds crazy! I know it does."

"It's not crazy."

"How would you know?" Ben demanded, angry to be afraid, angry that he was so weak, just angry-angry-angry! Rick was an easy target. "You don't know, how could you? You'd never be in a situation like that! You'd --"

"Ben, Ben." Rick caught the back of his lover's head and held him firmly. "It's not your fault. Quit beating yourself up."

"It is my fault! It is! You just don't know --"

"Ben." Rick stopped him by cupping his jaw and staring into his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Let it go."

"But, how can you --"

"Let it go." He kissed the tear-reddened nose.

"I can't!" This was the truth about who he was! How could Rick just brush it all aside? It didn't make sense!

"You are who you are," Rick said. "I love you anyway. Nothing you could tell me would change that. I. Love. You." He punctuated his words with kisses and wondered with a pang of despair if Ben would ever truly believe him.

"I'm sorry."

Rick held in a sigh. "You keep saying that, but there's nothing to be sorry for." He wanted to shout, but kept his voice calm even though it felt like he was banging his head into a wall.

"But ...."

Reaching up, Rick gently pulled Ben's face back to look him in the eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Ben wet his lips. "Yes," he whispered.

"Do you believe that I won't lie to you?"

"Yes."

Rick softened a bit. "Are you lying to me right now?"

"No. Maybe." Ben blushed, trying to look away.

"Thank you for being honest," he said with a smile. "Please believe me, Ben. It's not a lie: it's not your fault and there's nothing to apologize to me for. Really. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied, but Rick could see he didn't really believe it. Nevertheless, Rick let the matter drop.

"So, are you hungry? Want to go back to bed?"

"I have to piss."

Rick chuckled, cradling Ben once more to his chest, feeling tears in his eyes and squeezing them back. "Of course you do. How about a bath, too?"

"I'm a mummy."

"I'll help you."

"No!" He couldn't bear for Rick to touch him, not Rick who didn't know what he was. Not his G.I. Joe. Not Rick.

Rick swallowed his hurt. "Well, Hunter's here, maybe he --" A shadow of movement caught his eye and he started, but it was only Hunter, creeping forward into the bathroom. Rick gave him a dirty look to warn the other man away. Ben was his and he could do it!

"No, it's not that."

"You won't be able to reach, it's just a sponge bath, and I've done it before."

Ben cringed. "Please. I just -- just need to do this myself."

"Okay," Rick agreed slowly, "but I'm staying out here, just in case."

"Thank you."

Two simple words that had Rick feeling like the meanest bastard in the world. He helped Ben maneuver around and deal with his toiletries, smiling as Ben smiled to get the ten days of scruffy growth off his face, wincing with him as Ben inspected his body, and reassured him that he really was okay when those blue eyes latched on him with worry and fear, scraped-up right hand against his side.

Rick unrolled the bandages and helped Ben out of the borrowed clothes, pulling off his own socks and shoes and rolling up his pants. He fetched the plastic stool out from under the sink and set it in the bathtube, running the water about ankle-deep.

Ben hissed as the water touched the tender soles his feet. He had a sudden, mental vision of running flat-out, barefoot, car exhaust thick in his nostrils, horns honking, tires crunching stray gravel, brake lights flashing. He came back with Rick's hands under his arms to keep him upright.

"He took my clothes, my shoes, everything," said Ben, looking up at Rick. "And my watch, Uncle Charlie's watch."

"It's okay, Ben. C'mon, let's get you sitting down."

"I lost my uncle's watch." Ben grabbed at Rick's forearm, not letting him draw back. He needed that strength. "I ran, Rick. He said." Ben shook his head, frowning in concentration. "He wouldn't let me go, and I ran." Dark, deep marks on his wrist, skin torn. "I -- I said I needed to piss, but he wouldn't stop. Told him I'd piss my pants and he said to use a plastic bottle -- there was so much trash in that car, it smelled really bad, and the air conditioning didn't work. Water bottles -- pee in a bottle, he said."

"Ben ...."

He continued as if he hadn't heard. "I said I couldn't, that I needed both hands. I was trying to earn his trust, did everything he said, Rick. Everything." He pleaded with his eyes for Rick to understand. "I did it, I got away, but I've ... I did things."

"Oh, Ben, it's alright."

"I ran," whispered Ben harshly. "I ran and it wasn't good enough. I tried. I did. My arm hurts."

Sitting on the edge of the tub, Rick put his feet in the water, holding his lover as he reached for a washcloth and scrubbed him down, feeling Ben's tears wet his shirt.

"Hunter found your watch," he said as he worked. "Found it in a pawn shop. We got your wallet, too. Nothing's been touched. You're bike is at home in the garage --"

"The garage! He got me in the garage!" Ben blurted. He shuddered. Closing his eyes only made the images worse. "He bragged about it, yelled at me for not doing what he said, for not coming to him when he called. I'm sorry, Rick, I thought I was imagining it all. You were gone and I told that bitch and she said it was only me being crazy and I ... I didn't want you to stop."

Rick stopped the dripping water by dropping it in the water so he could hear, but he missed it. "Stop what, Ben?" he asked.

"Don't touch me!" Weakly, he struggled to get away, nearly pushing his head right into the wall as he grew unbalanced. "Don't touch me!" he protested. "I'm dirty. Don't."

Rick swore as water soaked his pants, but he saved Ben from cracking his head. "You're very beautiful, Ben," he said in all seriousness, ignoring Ben's efforts to pull his hands away. "Nothing dirty about you, 'cept maybe sweat. Nothing a little soap can't get off."

"No, no, no. Don't, please." How could he make Rick understand? He wanted to but then he didn't want to tell him, because surely if he did Rick would walk away in disgust. Rick, with all his romantic preconceptions, how could he shatter that image of himself as perfect in Rick's eyes?

"Just a little longer," said Rick. "It's just all the drugs talking, you'll be fine once they're all out of your system. You'll be fine." Was he talking to Ben or himself? "Just fine. Just a little longer. I'll get you all cleaned up and back to bed, you'll eat something, and you'll feel better. I promise."

He continued murmuring nonsense, speaking over Ben's babbling. Rick was almost as wet as Ben was when they got out. Ben was half-asleep in his arms, staggering and taking short, mincing little steps with accompanying "ows" as they navigated across the wooden floor back to the big four-poster bed. Rick sat him down and got him dressed and under the covers, wrapping up his wounds again. By that time, Ben was asleep again.

"That was a long one," said Hunter, sitting on the stairs to the upper floor. Rick just stood outside the master bedroom, staring at nothing, and Hunter had to say something.

"I'm going to kill him."

"What? Rick? What are you talking about?"

Rick strode to the bar and yanked out the first thing he saw. He took a few long draughts, coughing a little but heedless of the burn. He pounded a fist against the bar's surface.

"He better never get out of jail because I'll kill him."

"Oh." Hunter sighed in relief. "Well, if that's what you're after, you'll have to stand in line."

He clenched and unclenched his fists. "I am so ... pissed off right now."

Hunter blinked, and then he smiled, a bit pleased, a bit sad. He wouldn't be able to do it, to take care of Ben through all this. A longing he'd nurtured for a long time finally slipped completely away, leaving the grudging admiration he had for Rick turn into genuine friendship and respect.

"What?" Hunter was smiling at him and that was weird.

"Nothing, but I know the perfect bar to pick a fight at."

Rick stared at him a moment before a smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. "Do tell."