01 The One I Want - 20. To Have and to Hold

Rick wasn't a heavy sleeper at the worst of times, and so it astonished him that in this moment, when he'd most needed to be alert, he'd slept so deeply. The logical side of his mind informed him that he was tired; too little sleep and too much stress over the last few days had his body on the edge of exhaustion. But this was Ben, and logic held no sway over the guilt in his heart. He'd not been there when Ben needed him.

The pain-filled whimpers, hastily broken off and smothered between pants had Rick reacting instantly, even before he was really awake.

"Ben?"

Slight movement beside him and the hastily sucked-in breath told Rick that Ben was aware and conscious, but he didn't move. Instead he listened, body tense and alert, waiting.

"Rick?"

Movement accompanied that whisper, followed quickly by a harsh breath and the grinding of his teeth. They lay on opposite sides of the bed than had become their norm in all the times Rick had stayed at Ben's home. Ben had instinctively turned towards where habit decried Rick would be, jolting the broken arm in the cast, propped up by pillows to keep him from jostling it in his sleep.

There was another gasp and a low, whimpered cry. Rick rolling over and gathering Ben into his arms drowned out the rest. He tucked Ben's face into his collar, feeling the skinned, right palm clutch painfully into his chest hair.

Ben trembled, skin slick with cold sweat, his breath coming in quick, short puffs against Rick's skin.

"Hurts," he panted. He groaned around another cut-off whimper, hand jerking as he trembled.

Rick hissed, eyes watering from the abuse to his hair, but he cradled Ben tenderly, kissing the top of his head. "I know, baby. I'm sorry."

"Hurts!" Another gasped, whispered whisper, followed by another and another as quickly as Ben could draw breath. His teeth found and grazed Rick's skin, fingers clutching convulsively at anything he could reach, consumed by the agony in his left arm and shoulder.

Hot tears dripped on Rick and he turned his head to gaze at the clock: two a.m.

"It's okay," he whispered back, hearing Ben's muffled sobs in return and feeling like a liar. In a half-hour they could be at the hospital in Reno, but there was nothing the doctors there would be able to do.

On their way North, they'd stopped and seen Ben's doctor in Anaheim, and he'd tried talking them out of the planned trip, but Rick hadn't wanted to hear it at the time. Lance wanted the doctor's report on Ben's condition for his lawsuit, and Rick had been antsy with wanting to get away. It was a short flight from the John Wayne airport to Reno and one of the very few times he'd been truly grateful to have money.

The hardest part had been arranging things at such short notice, shoved into the brief moments he'd allowed himself away from Ben's side. No, scratch that, this was the hardest part, hearing Ben's pain and unable to do anything to relieve it. Rick well knew Ben's feelings on the subject of non-prescription drugs; a conversation about an article supporting the use of medical marijuana had quickly spiraled into a loud, emotional argument.

While Rick still held to his belief that drugs were illegal for a reason, he'd been wondering about marijuana since the days immediately following the stabbing. The doctors hadn't been able to give him painkillers because they'd been worried about nausea or a stronger reaction, and so they'd put Ben in a medically-induced coma for several weeks.

Ben was abnormally sensitive to painkillers and many other medical drugs. He also had what Rick privately thought was an irrational fear of becoming addicted. To anything. Turned out he was also very against marijuana, or any other drug, which shouldn't have been surprising, but was, if only because of the very liberal views he normally sported.

The doctors had refused to give Rick any medication for Ben with him out of their hands and hospitals. They'd warned him that the pain would be intense once the psych drugs wore off, but he'd been convinced -- no, he'd been too desperate to have Ben back to listen. Now he cursed himself and wracked his mind for what to do. He'd broken a bone or two in his day -- how bad could it be? -- but he could feel Ben's whole body literally tensing with the effort in pushing back each fresh wave of pain.

Mercifully, Ben had few reserves and they drained quickly in the fight, sending him back to an uneasy sleep. Rick held him for a few minutes before getting him re-settled. Then he rose, heading to the kitchen with only a short detour in the bathroom.

To his surprise, Hunter stood in the kitchen, rapidly beating what looked like cake mix. Light on the coffee maker indicated a fresh pot had been made. Rick poured a mug and stood there, staring at Ben's flighty friend and unsure what to say.

"Brownies'll be ready in twenty-five minutes."

"Excuse me?" Rick blinked Hunter, vaguely wondering if he was awake or dreaming. So far as he knew, Hunter would rather be castrated than cook.

"Brownies. I'm making brownies."

Hunter let go of the mixing spoon and tossed a plastic bag at Rick. "Special ingredient."

Catching the small, ziploc bag, Rick turned towards the window to take advantage of what little light there was. In the bag was a clump of hay, or grass, or something that crinkled in the -- wait.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Well, it's certainly not catnip."

"What are you doing with this?" Rick hissed.

Hunter shrugged. "Figured it would come in handy." Eyes shone intently in the low light locked onto Rick's. "I saw those x-rays, Rick. It's a long-shot, thinking those bones are going to slide neatly back into place and knit like they're supposed to, and, from what I could hear in there just now, he'll need this." He nodded at the bowl, beginning to stir briskly again.

"No."

The chocolate batter went into a waiting, greased pan. "Fine, then get Ben into the car."

"What? No. And you're not giving him that." Rick took a step closer to the counter, setting down his coffee and tossing the bag of grass beside it.

"I know what I'm doing," said Hunter calmly, scooping out the last of the batter.

"I've asked him, and he doesn't want it."

Hunter snorted. "Yeah, asked him when he was sober and not in pain, but you didn't have to deal with the bitch he became when he broke his collar bone, and this is far worse. Trust me."

"Trust you?" Rick took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting the air out through his mouth, trying to calm down. Who'd been there following the stabbing? He lowered his voice again. "Why?"

"Do you know what I do for a living?" Hunter asked, setting the brownies in the oven and closing the door. He turned on the timer.

"Ah." Rick winced. What he'd heard he'd heard from Doug, and it hadn't been flattering.

Arms folded across his chest, Hunter leaned against the counter and held Rick's eyes until the taller, younger man blushed and looked away.

"Thought so. I'm a nurse, Rick, primarily for AIDS patients. You haven't seen pain until --" He looked away, shaking his head in a short, rough jerk to focus.

Rick grit his teeth. "Then where were you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hunter's eyes narrowed.

"You could have helped him, and yet you left him alone, let him deal with this mess by himself!"

"You live with him!" Hunter shot back. "What did you think I was going to do? What could any of us do? If Ben won't listen to you, what makes you think he'd listen to any of us?"

"You're his family!"

"So are you!"

Chests heaved with emotion, up and down in the moonlight spilling through the windows. They glared at each other.

"I swear to God, Hunter, that if anything happens to him, I will kill you."

The witty, facetious come-back died as all moisture evaporated from Hunter's mouth. He swallowed, shivering a little under that look. "Uh." In an instant, his preconceived notions of who was who in his friend's relationship turned on its head. Again. The calm, laid-back, gentle man that Rick normally appeared to be was gone, and in his place was someone Hunter could picture in camo with an M-16.

Then it was gone as Rick sighed softly and closed his eyes briefly, leaning back against the sink. "Sorry. It's just --" He rubbed his eyes, worry and fatigue bowing his shoulders.

"Yeah, well." Hunter didn't know what to say after that, either.

"I'm sorry."

"Rick, I like you, and I know you love Ben, but you're not the only one who cares about him, so back off. I know what I'm doing."

"I just don't like it."

"You think I do?" Hunter's mouth tightened. He turned to look out the window. "Chances are Ben won't ever forgive me if he finds out." He looked over his shoulder at the hulk of man standing in the shadowy kitchen. "I still think you were right to bring him out here, you know."

"Thanks." Rick wished he still felt as confident.

Hunter shrugged. He picked up Rick's mug and took a swallow. Together they waited, as the brownies cooked, bumping into each other in the small space as they cleaned up, and got to know one another.

"Eh?"

Hunter turned around at the small sound, smiling a little to see the once-familiar, adorably sleepy face of Ben in the doorway to the kitchen. He still wore Rick's pajamas, standing on the hems of the extra-long pants, the clothes hanging off him but still twisted up in places to reveal tanned skin and smiley-faced boxers.

Ben attempted to rub his left eye with the knuckles of his right hand and whacked himself in the nose. "Ow! Fuck." The pain in his face woke him further and he scowled. "You are not allowed in my kitchen."

"This is just a figment of your imagination."

"Huh?"

Smirking, Hunter made a shooing gesture. "Go sit down and I'll get your breakfast."

"'M not hungry."

"Uh-huh." He watched with one eye as Ben stumbled stiffly to a seat at the round table in the combined living/dining room, conveniently sitting furthest from the one place setting. Popping a bagel in the toaster, Hunter plopped a container of fruit in front of his friend and slid over a fork. "Eat."

Ben groaned and pushed it away, laying his head on the table. "Ngh." He closed his eyes, listening to the throb in his arm. It was a dull pounding, but nevertheless there. He vaguely remembered waking the night before, but surely that had been a nightmare.

"Where's Rick?" He shivered, the cold only intensifying the aches in his body. "And why's it so fucking cold?"

The toaster dinged and Hunter moved to butter the toasted bagel before slathering it with cream cheese. He set the plate in front of Ben's nose.

"Eat."

Ben grimaced.

"Eat. Rick's orders. You don't want him to beat me up, do you?"

Ben stuck his tongue out and sighed, poking the bagel with a finger. Eating meant there'd be something in his stomach to throw up. Yuck.

His brain wasn't yet awake enough to question the wisdom of Hunter being appointed as his babysitter.

"It's like fifty degrees outside, that's why it's cold, although why you think it's cold in here is beyond me." Rick had the thermostat set to 'hell.'

Hunter sat down with his coffee, watching his friend intently. "Eat."

"Fuck you."

"As I understand it, that's Rick's job now."

The discolored bruises on Ben's face mutated his scowl. "What are you doing here?"

He gave Ben his most innocent smile, a smile met with clear suspicion, making him laugh. "Moi? I'm here making brownies."

Ben's eyebrows went up and he straightened off the table. "Brownies?"

Hunter waggled a finger. "Uh-uh, not until you eat. All of it." He indicated the fruit and the bagel.

"Aw, come on!"

"Nope. Eat. I don't fancy death-by-Rick."

"He's not so scary," scoffed Ben, rolling his eyes, but obediently picked up the bagel.

"Mm-hm." Hunter carefully cut two small brownies from the different batches and brought them to the table, careful to remember which was which. He sat down. "Eat."

Ben frowned, still pushing the one bit of bagel around in his dry mouth. He eyed the brownies. Hunter made the best brownies, all chocolaty and soft and moist. Brownies were about the only thing Hunter could make, the mess he always made only barely worth the yummy treats.

Picking up one of the brownies, Hunter took a bite. "Mmm!"

"You ass."

He grinned. Like Rick, he was relieved and overjoyed to hear Ben cussing at him. The zombie-like Ben of the past few days had been more than a little creepy.

Chewing made Ben's jaw hurt and the tea he used to soften the bagel stung the healing cuts inside his mouth. Still ... brownies. With a sigh, Ben picked up his fork and speared a piece of sliced banana. That went down easier, even if it didn't taste like much.

After breakfast, they took their brownies out onto the porch. Hunter wrapped them in a couple of quilts and an electric blanket. Around them the air was cool, crisp, trucks and machinery in the distance, but nothing around them but the pine trees and view of the city miles below. They munched brownies and swapped college stories, and it was just like old times. Hunter couldn't remember the last time Ben had smiled or laughed this much.

He was passed out at Hunter's side when Rick returned. Hunter immediately wiggled out of the warm cocoon and went to help Rick with the bags.

"So?"

Rick lingered by Ben, fingers twitching, wanting to smooth the tousled hair. "Wednesday." He sighed, going in while Hunter held the door open. They unpacked the groceries.

"Good." Hunter nodded. "The sooner this's all over, the better."

Rick grimaced. He spoke mostly to himself: "It'll never be over."

Hunter didn't hear. He held up a heavy container that looked like an old, cardboard milk container and held what sounded like sand. "What's this?"

"Epsom salts."

"I can see that, dumbass," he replied, rolling his eyes and thumping the container on the counter. "What're they for?"

"To soak out some of the aches, use it like bath salts. Takes a lot, though, and it took me awhile to find. Did he eat?" Rick looked over the messy kitchen and sighed.

"Yep. Got him to eat another brownie, after which he giggled like a little kid and passed out. He was asking after you."

Rick couldn't help but look pleased, his chest swelling in pride. He pretended to not notice the amused look Hunter shot his way. "Should get him in the bath before he catches cold out there."

Hunter rolled his eyes. "It's only October, Rick, hardly cold."

"Since when? All three of us are from hot climates --"

"Fancy words, professor-man."

"Shut up!" laughed Rick. He folded the paper sacks and stacked them together for recycling. Then he moved to tackle the messy kitchen, setting some water to boil for making hot chocolate. Only after there was nothing left to fuss with did he join the two friends out on the porch.

Ben was warm and comfortable, his sore cheek nestled into a broad, strong chest, voice rumbling in his ear, the smell of pine and woodsmoke in his nostrils, Hunter laughing somewhere nearby, calm, soothing, safe.

"So," Hunter was saying, "you guys ever decide on a song?"

"Song?" echoed Rick, sipping his hot chocolate. He'd burned his tongue again at the first sip, but other than being annoying, he was used to it.

"Yeah, song," said Hunter. "You know, all couples have a song. Something to dance to. For special occasions and stuff. So, what is it? What's your song?"

"Well, it's --"

Ben interrupted, around a yawn, "We don't have one." He turned his head to glare at Rick. "Don't encourage him."

A happy smile warmed Ben inside more than the blankets and he smiled back, letting his eyes droop closed.

"I'm sure it must be something."

"No."

"Oh, come on, you know who's playing Jack and Roger's wedding! You're telling me you haven't arranged for them to play something special?"

"You've what?" His eyes opening again as he came fully awake, Ben wasn't sure if he should be grateful that Rick was involved with the wedding, or horrified.

"They needed help writing their vows," Rick explained, a flush rising to his own face as Ben continued to stare at him. "We just started talking, and, well, you weren't available ...."

"What colors did they decide on?" Ben's voice implied that he wasn't going to like the answer, not if Romantic Rick was involved, but the asshole just shrugged.

"Red, white, and blue. What? It's the Saturday before one of the most important elections in decades."

Ben felt like slapping his forehead. "Fuck, it's going to be a fucking convention!"

"will they be wearing tuxes or period wear?"

"That's not funny, Hunter."

He shrugged and shared a grin with Rick.

"I thought it was a good idea," said Rick, a bit miffed. "They wanted red and white, anyway, it wasn't that big of a change, and they didn't have to accept my suggestion."

"Oh, yeah, like two indecisive queens wouldn't change their minds!"

"What are you getting so upset about?" Hunter kept the amusement he felt out of his voice. "Not like you're getting married."

"I still have to be there," Ben harrumphed. Sudden concern flashed through him. "It's not too late, is it? I promised, and --"

Rick's arms tightened to keep Ben in his embrace. "No, no, you haven't missed it, still three more weeks."

Ben sighed in relief. "Thank God." Then he frowned. "Three weeks?" He looked over at Hunter and saw only sympathy there. Three weeks meant October, which implied that he'd lost some days recently. He'd been trying to keep track, how long had it been?

A kiss puffed against the top of Ben's head. With an effort, he let go his worries, relaxing back into Rick's arms. He could worry about it later, would worry about it later, but for now he just wanted to feel Rick's strong arms around him, chasing away the fears. For just a little while longer, Ben wanted the fantasy of this place. If not for the distant pain in his body, he'd wonder if it was all a dream.

He drifted again, listening to the sound of Rick and Hunter talking, drowsing off and on as the conversation drifted to different topics. Occasionally, a word would catch his attention, but Ben didn't strain himself to actually wake up enough to join in.

Rick stirred eventually, laughingly confiding that his butt had gone numb ages ago. He draped Ben's good arm around his neck, helping his lover back inside and sitting him at the table while he warmed up plastic containers of soup purchased in town. They snacked on french bread, flicking the crusts at each other across the table. No mention was made about Ben's injuries or the days following his disappearance. Hunter told bad jokes, Rick almost refused brownies for dessert, and night came early in the mountains.

"Ugh," groaned Ben as Rick pulled him out of his chair. "All I do is sleep, and I'm still so tired." His jaw cracked as he yawned and he stumbled, grabbing at Rick to stay upright.

"C'mon, bath time."

"Not a little kid, you know."

Hunter grinned as Rick shepherded Ben across the cabin to the master bedroom and bath. He could hear Ben complain all the way into the water, laughing to himself as he went upstairs and fell asleep in front of the TV.

They flew back home to LAX instead of Orange County. Ben was hurting and bitchy, uncomfortable and self-conscious in the airport-supplied wheelchair. The crowded lounges and corridors had his heart racing and he knew taking out his anger on Rick was a rotten thing to do, but he wasn't yet ready to admit that his anger stemmed from fear. Their idyll in the mountains had come to an end because Rick had to go back to work. Hunter was staying on to keep him company, but it wasn't the same.

Ben had tried to accept the news gracefully, but being back in LA was a harsh reminder of everything he'd been trying to forget. There would be no more avoiding the doctors or Shelly or the rest of his life. He wanted it back, but ... And Will was there, too. They hadn't needed Ben at the arraignment, but his biggest fear still loomed. The first court date wasn't for another six months and despite the reassurances that Will remained in jail, Ben couldn't stop looking over his shoulder.

His arm ached from the change in altitude and there was no first class on the little 737 they'd flown in, so all his muscles were complaining. Rick had to be feeling worse, cramped as he'd been. They hadn't been able to sit in the exit row because of Ben and he'd felt bad about that, flitting on the edge of a panic attack most of the flight, caged in against the window, surrounded by people, arm hurting, everything hurting.

"Hang in there." Rick crouched next to the wheel chair, letting Hunter collect the bags as the airport rep got them a cab. He could see the whites of Ben's eyes as they darted around. He wished for another few days away, too, but figured they could use the time better getting settled back at home before the chaos of the wedding than combining them within a shorter amount of time.

"Almost there," he whispered, smoothing back Ben's hair. They waited for Hunter before getting Ben into the cab, and a little more than ten minutes later were at the front door of Ben's home. All the lights were on, but only Genny awaited them and she sensibly stayed out of the way.

The following day Ben was as difficult as Rick thought he'd be, stiff and understandably cranky because he'd tossed and turned all night.

"My arm hurts!" he snapped at Genny when she'd chided him about not eating.

Rick and Hunter's eyes met across the table before looking away. They had no more 'brownies,' nor would Hunter be making any more.

They were quite the posse as they headed across town to pick up Rick and Hunter's cars and to take Ben to the first of what turned out to be several doctor's visits. They met Shelly when they picked up the cars and she accompanied them, fussing at Ben but otherwise as strong a support as Rick could have asked for.

Ben's primary care physician wrote out a referral for both a psychiatrist and an orthopedist to see Ben's arm, and a handful of prescriptions. He lectured Rick at length, still angry that Ben had been taken out of state and away from proper medical care. That wasn't too bad until Shelly saw the results of the toxicology screen and hit the roof. At that moment, all the work she'd been doing to stop swearing went right out the window.

"There is an element of risk," Rick argued, glancing worriedly towards the rooms where Ben was getting his new cast applied. "I know that, but." He looked to the doctor, who now appeared really uncomfortable in the midst of a family squabble. "Tell me those medicines you prescribed have no chance of addiction and I'll admit that what I did was wrong."

"Of course what you did was wrong!" Shelly exclaimed, not even pausing for the doctor to reply. "Ben needed medical care, not some mumbo-jumbo in the wilderness!"

Rick rubbed his head. "It wasn't mumbo-jumbo, Shelly! He needed time, peace, and people who care about him."

"Then I don't know why I couldn't be there!"

That's what this was all still about. Rick held back a sigh. He really didn't know what to say, except, "I'm not trying to replace you, Shelly." He spoke quietly, moving to set a hand on each shoulder and lock eyes with the small, fiery woman. "You're his family. Nothing can take that away."

"Except you." Shelly spoke equally quietly, eyes wet with unshed tears.

"I'm not Will," he repeated, again, the unfairness of it all filling him in a rush. He wasn't getting through and let his arms fall, turning away. He'd lost his family, was it so bad to wish that Ben's family would accept him, welcome him?

They skipped the psychiatrist, going straight to the orthopedist, who took several scans of Ben's arm. All the manipulation reduced him to tears despite the heavy medication. The news was about what they'd expected and although Ben bitched, they set a surgery date for the following week.

By then Ben was beyond exhausted and they went home, the family dinner postponed. He stayed in bed the next day, in pain, his strength sapped by all the travel, the poking and prodding, and, yes, pouting that Rick had left him to go to work.

He could have taken more time off and Ben had cussed him out for refusing to do so. He was still angry; angry was better than scared. While he knew Hunter was still there, ostensibly keeping him company, Hunter wasn't Rick. Rick was his only protection and although he was glad to be home in his own bed, he felt more tense instead of less, the panic swirling in his stomach, building up and building up, and he had to do something!

He didn't have a new cell phone yet and the cordless sitting on the bedside table drew Ben's attention. He kept expecting it to ring, but it never did and, finally, tired and grouchy and bored, Ben reached out a trembling hand and dialed one of the numbers on the legal pad Rick had left for him.

First was Rick's number, and Hunter's and Shelly's. He couldn't talk to Shelly. She wouldn't understand and it would be too embarrassing. Hunter was right there but Ben hadn't the faintest idea what to say to him. Neither of them could make the panic go away. Rick could, but ... His doctor's number was there, and so was another name, bringing to mind a big, big man, a comfortable office, and someone who knew almost all there was to know.

"Hello, Ben." The psychologist's voice was deep and gravely, quite unlike anyone else Ben knew, relaxing him a fraction.

"I'm going crazy."

Grant masked his astonishment at the contact under his professionalism, waving aside his assistant so he could focus on the call. "Care to tell me why?"

"I don't know why I'm calling."

Grant waited.

"What am I paying you, anyway?" He looked down at his arm. Just moving the exposed fingers hurt; the whole thing throbbed, like a club beat that gets under your skin and into your bones. "I mean, it's not like -- I mean, I want to be home, I just. I'm sorry, this is stupid. I shouldn't have called."

"Are you alone?"

Ben pulled the phone back to his ear. "Yes -- No, I mean, no, I've someone here. It's just ... Rick had to go to work, and it's not fair! Why couldn't he stay? He could've done it, I know he could, but he didn't, he didn't want to." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Am I really worth so little? He left me and what if He comes back? He knows where I live! He knows and he'll be back and Rick's not here and --" His voice had gone up and Ben cut it off to take a deep breath. He whispered, "I don't want to be this way."

"What way is that?"

"Scared." Ben swallowed a lump in his throat, cold despite all the blankets heaped around. "Of everything."

"A few years ago," Grant began slowly, "there was a guy on our team that got tackled really hard in a match, hurt his back, his neck --"

"Ugh, not a sports analogy!"

"He wanted to play --"

"But was scared, yeah, yeah, I get it."

"He wasn't afraid to play," Grant replied smoothly. "He couldn't. The doctors told him if he played again he could die."

"What?"

"That tackle broke some of his vertebrae, in his back."

"I know what they are."

"Rugby was his life, he couldn't quit, so he went to doctor after doctor, convinced that if he only trained enough, went to enough physical therapy, that eventually one of them would say, 'yeah, you're healed, you can play.' But it never happened. His dream of playing professionally was gone. Over. So, too, he thought, was his life."

"What happened?"

"Well, the first thing he did was find the players who hurt him, and he beat them up, hurt them badly. They would never play again, either."

"Oh. Revenge. Let me guess: that didn't help, either."

"Oh, well, it felt good for awhile. An eye for an eye, but that only kept the pain away for a short time. He started to drink, and then to party hard. He got kicked out of college, lost his job, pushed away all his family and friends until he was really alone."

"Was this you?"

"No. Here's irony for you: the day he decided to end it all, the police actually showed up to arrest him. All they found was his body."

Ben was quiet for a long moment. "That's really depressing." He frowned at the phone. "What's the point of this story again?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope. Think about it and call me tomorrow."

"You're insane."

"And you like it."

That pulled out a chuckle, a short one because the laugh jarred his shoulder. "Rick says that." He sighed. "Okay. Thanks for listening."

"You're welcome. Talk to you later, Ben."

"Yep." With a sigh, Ben hit the button to end the call. Letting his arm fall loosely to his side, he stared at the painting over his bureau. In the painting, a tiny canoe, with just the hint of people inside, navigated its way along a river, surrounded by trees. The view was as if from above, the canoe always inching along, forever, towards the waterfall at the end. It was a moment, frozen in time: mountains in the distance, the birth of the river, and then the waterfall at the end. Death.

The next day he called back: "You're not telling me I'll have to give up my job, are you?"

"Nope. Try again tomorrow."

"What?" All Ben got in return was a dial tone. He swore.

It was the weekend, but he called the following day anyway: "'Never give up, never surrender'?"

Grant laughed. "That's a movie quote, and, no."

"Try again tomorrow," Ben finished. He hung up, frustrated.

"You're awfully quiet lately," Rick remarked later that day.

Ben frowned. "Yeah? Well, blame it on that asshole friend of yours."

"Which one?"

Scowling, Ben glared, but the heat melted away as he found Rick's teasing smirk. In seconds he was grinning, too. "Jerk," he muttered, tossing a pizza crust at him.

"By the way," said Rick, "I'd like to go get the cats ..."

"Yeah, where are the little furballs, anyway?"

"Staying with a friend. Do you mind?"

Ben blinked. "Why would I mind? They're your cats, of course you want them home."

"Oh, Ben."

He looked over to see Rick struggling with tears and cast his thoughts back, but couldn't think what he'd just said. "Rick?" Brows furrowed together in worry. He reached out and set his hand over Rick's. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I should have said something earlier, I --"

He stopped when Rick looked at him, and the breath froze in his throat. Heat bubbled up inside Ben and his heart rate picked up until he was sure Rick could hear it. Certainly he could see the blush on his face, and Ben cast his eyes down in embarrassment.

A hand on his cheek made Ben flinch, but Rick kept on, leaning over to take Ben's lip in a chaste kiss. What he didn't count on was for those lips to part, to take him in and kiss him back.

Ben groaned as their tongues met and slid against each other. He fisted a hand in Rick's hair and held him close, not letting him get away and end the kiss early.

"Love you," said Rick when Ben released him. He pecked the corner of Ben's lips with another tiny kiss.

Ben smiled, blushing hotly, and looked away. His gaze fell on the pizza and he stabbed his remaining piece with a fork. "I'm cooking tomorrow. If I have to eat one more pizza ...!"

Rick laughed and fluffed Ben's hair. "Okay."

"Not so fast!" Ben swatted Rick's hand away, giving him an amused glare. "You'll have to help me, do what I tell you to, 'cause I only have one hand."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Rick replied, hand grazing his eyebrow in a silly salute. He grinned.

Ben rolled his eyes, but he didn't stop smiling. Then it hit him: Rick had become his whole world, and when he was gone, Ben felt lost. That's what Grant's story was about, wasn't it?

"Isn't it?" he asked.

"The answer is different for everyone," he said in reply. "If that's what you think it is, then that's what it is."

"Oh, that's just great," Ben muttered darkly. He listened to Rick's footsteps pacing upstairs above his head.

"What do you want to do about it?"

"Huh?"

"You've lost him twice, haven't you? What did you do?"

Ben remained quiet. "Yeah, but in your story, wasn't it an accident? People don't actually intend to hurt each other, do they?" It was a horrible sport, rugby. If the players really were trying to hurt each other ....

"That's not the point, Ben."

"No." He sighed. That would be too easy. "But, I have my work, I have Rick, I don't have anything else!"

"Then don't you think it's time you did?"

He frowned, silent for a time. "Are you telling me that getting a hobby will make the fear go away?"

"No. That'd be pretty ridiculous, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah. So, then, what?" Before Grant could answer, Ben groaned. "You're going to tell me to think about it and call you back, aren't you."

He heard laughter and then, "Talk to you tomorrow, Ben."