01 The One I Want - 7. Klingon Love Poetry

Stepping out of the elevator on the floor he'd been directed to, Jazz paused. There was a good-sized lounge by the elevator, enclosed on three sides, with large couches, a t.v., and vending machines. To the right were the bathrooms and to the left was the nurse's station. He saw a woman he recognized from Rick's birthday party and went towards her. There was no recognition; she walked straight by with only a small, polite nod.

When Rick missed practice on Thursday, Jazz wasn't overly concerned. He knew Rick wouldn't skip without a good reason; he was more surprised to learn that Rick hadn't called in the absence. He always did that. When he wasn't at the game on Saturday, and still no one had heard anything, Jazz told himself it was okay to worry. He called and left messages on Rick's cell phone, but Rick didn't call back. Tuesday and Thursday came and went again and Jazz decided it was time for a little detective work.

Jazz stepped up to the glass and peered inside. Rick had his laptop propped up on one of the small, rolling hospital trays. The screen was dark. A stack of papers elevated the mini-mouse, and another thick packet rested on the edge of the bed. Rick was hunched over on the stool, head on his bent elbow, his other hand out, fingers curled around another hand. Just looking gave Jazz a crick in his neck.

Instead of the normal, white hospital blankets, a green and white quilt was tucked around the sleeping body in the bed. Jazz recognized it. Not the blue and white, extra-large, vaguely military-esque blanket that Rick kept on his California King mattress, the green one was a twin-size. Jazz had seen that one when Rick had moved into his current apartment. Rick had confessed that he had no real need or use for it anymore, but couldn't bear to get rid of it. He'd had that quilt on his bed from childhood through high school graduation.

Jazz also recognized the orangey doll, stuffed animal thing tucked next to the sleeping men. According to Rick, he'd bought the thing for a niece, and then had forgotten about it. Jazz had always wondered, because the thing sat on Rick's dresser in plain sight, and yet, there it was. Between the quilt and the orange devil, the sterile hospital room felt much warmer and more welcoming. He was surprised they let them keep the stuff.

"Can I help you?" The woman was back. She was a tall, leggy blonde, with light-brown eyes and tanned like a model. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, her mouth perpetual worry-frown lines, and the hair pulled back in a ponytail hung limply.

"I was looking for Rick." Jazz navigated his way cautiously, knowing that tired women were often bitchy women.

"You found him." She arched a suspicious eyebrow, hands going to hips.

Jazz stuck out his hand. "Call me Jazz. I'm on Rick's rugby team." He name was Jamarcus, but everyone called him Jazz, and had for as long as he could remember. He'd met Rick at a parade he'd helped organize for the Veteran's Administration in Long Beach where he worked. Rick was an imposing figure in uniform, and they'd struck up a conversation and a quick friendship.

"Oh." Fingers tapped on her hips, plainly waiting for him to get to the point.

"Yes, well, he hasn't been returning my phone calls. I just wanted to be sure he was okay. What happened?"

Genny rubbed her eyes tiredly. She'd sent Shelly home for the night, but Rick had refused to leave. He barely left for food and to shower, or to work, spending every minute he could at Ben's side.

Most had been able to stay those first few days, but everyone except Shelly and Gran had to return to work the following Monday. Those who lived close visited daily, and Genny and Gran were staying at Doug and Shelly's. Shelly's mother, Mama Caroline, was also there, and Uncle Charlie, who'd only arrived that morning. There hadn't been much change to report to the frequent calls and condolences. Flowers weren't allowed in the ICU, and they wouldn't be moving Ben until he woke up. So far, he'd stayed stable, but there'd been no change in the weak vitals, something that Shelly, Gran, and Genny were all-too familiar with, made only slightly less terrifying by the doctors' reassurances that the coma was artificial.

"I'm sorry," said Jazz cautiously. "I don't mean to intrude, it's just that Rick completely slipped off the radar, and we've all been worried."

"Him most of all," sighed Genny, nodding toward the room. She yawned. "This is going to sound bad, but, have we met before? I'm too tired, I can't think."

He smiled. "Yes, we have. I'm Jazz. You came to Rick's birthday party, didn't you?"

"Oh, of course. Yeah, I'm Genny. Ben's my brother."

Right, thought Jazz. Ben. Skipper's new Gilligan, the junkie. He'd known he was getting attached to this one, but to sit at his bedside for a week? That was new. "What happened?" he asked again, not sure he really wanted to know.

Genny leaned one palm on the glass, peering inside. "They do look cute, don't they?" She'd finally gotten the truth out of Rick and was still amazed, every time she saw him. While she knew Ben could sometimes have an incredible affect on people, she still found Rick's dedication shocking. Fate. Or God. She hadn't been sure she believed in either anymore. Until now. Now she suddenly wasn't so sure. She'd even gone to church with Doug and Shelly and Mama Caroline. Shelly hadn't been to church since ... well, for a long time. She'd long thought Shelly was odd for a Catholic. Now, after meeting some of the others at their church, again she wasn't sure. They were just people. Shelly didn't think she'd ever want to be Catholic, they were so strict about a lot of things, but the thought of returning to church more regularly no longer seemed so abhorrent.

"Is he going to be okay? Your brother?"

"We don't know. His insides are like sushi right now." Her voice hardened. "If I could just get my hands on that asshole for just five minutes ...!"

Jazz looked at her, seeing a flicker of pure hatred before the exhaustion reasserted itself. "Are you okay, do you need to sit down?"

"No." Genny smiled wanly. "Been sitting down most of the day." She glanced from Jazz to Rick and back again. "Do you need to talk to him? I'll wake him up."

"That's not really necessary, I'll just come back."

"Don't worry about it," said Genny. "He's a light sleeper, he'll be awake again soon anyway. Maybe this time I can convince him to go sleep in an actual bed for a change. Or you, yeah, you do it. Get him to eat, too, if you can."

"Um ...."

Genny opened the door and went in. She placed a hand on Rick's shoulder, watching as he startled awake. Rick groaned and massaged his neck.

"You have a visitor," said Genny quietly, motioning to the door.

Rick turned. "Oh. Jazz, crap, I -- thanks, Genny." She smiled and patted his arm again. Rick squeezed Ben's hand, scooped up his papers, and closed the laptop. He rolled the tray out of the way against a wall, and then went outside. "Hey, Jazz, been meaning to call."

"Sure." He accepted the apology. "You look like shit, man. Want to get some coffee?"

Stretching, Rick sighed and rubbed his face. "Yeah, coffee sounds good. There's a nice little all-night cafe down the block."

"All right."

Rick waved to the night staff, they smiled back, and then walked quietly next to Jazz out of the hospital and down the street.

"So," Jazz began, once they were in a booth, nursing steaming cups.

"I know, I haven't returned any messages. How did you find me, by the way?"

"Staked out your place. Ran into Traci."

"Ah."

"Skipper? Everything okay, man?"

"No, everything's not okay!" he snapped. "Does it look okay to you? He almost died, Jazz!" He brought both hands up to lean on his elbows. "I don't know what's happening to me! I think of my life without him in it and I can't stand it. I can't stand it! What if he never wakes up? He's been teetering on the edge so long, I -- the doctors, they think we don't know, they think they're so clever, whispering in their acronyms and lingo, to keep us from worrying, but we know. I don't -- I ... I could fucking kill that son of a bitch!"

Jazz stared. He'd heard Rick swear maybe a dozen times in all the years he'd known him and here he'd sworn twice in as many minutes. "Hey --"

"No!" Rick lifted his head to glare. "I know what you're thinking and it's not about drugs! Want a goddamn report? It's automatic, you know, they ran all sorts of tests when he first came in. He's not a junkie, he's just Ben! My Ben, my -- oh, h-h-hell." Laying his forehead on the table and wrapping his arms around his head, Rick wept.

Jazz moved their coffees to a safe spot and moved to Rick's side of the booth. "Hey, man," he said softly, awkwardly putting an arm around the larger shoulders. He sat quietly by Rick's side, waving off the delivery of their food when the waitress caught his eye from the counter.

Once started, the flood was not easy to stop. He'd held them back too long. When Rick lifted his head, however, he felt more tired than ever, but also a little lighter. The tight knot of worry remained, but no longer seemed so oppressive. "Sorry," he sniffled, wiping his face on a napkin.

Giving him one last pat, Jazz moved back to his seat and took a sip of his now cold coffee. He grimaced and pushed the cups to the edge of the table. "Gonna tell me what happened?"

"Some whacko tried to kill him, is what." Rick grabbed some more napkins out of the dispenser to blow his nose. "Hard to believe so much blood can come out of someone so little."

"Little?" snorted Jazz. "He's taller'n me, man. You find him?"

"Yeah. We were out here to get some things. Got stabbed, Jazz." Rick's fingers went to his side. "Carved a fricken 'C' in him, bashed his face in, tried to strangle him, too."

"Shit. Somebody meant business."

"No kidding."

"Know who did it?"

Rick shook his head. "Suspect, yes, but the bastard's skipped out. Police are working with the authorities in Nevada, too, but no one knows where he is."

They paused in their conversation to thank the waitress with their food and fresh coffee. She smiled warmly, used to grieving families and tightly-wound hospital staff, but she didn't say anything, just left them alone.

Rick shoveled in food mindlessly, surprised at how hungry he was. Jazz watched him and sipped his coffee.

"Wish you'd let somebody know," he said at last. "Shouldn't have to go through this alone. Coach --"

"Coach can go to hell, I'm not peeing in any more cups."

Jazz sighed into his mug. "Not that, idiot. He was worried about you. We all were. You talk nothing but this kid all day, then show up with someone looking stoned out of his mind, then disappear? What else were we to think?"

"He's not a kid."

"What?"

"He's not a kid! That 'kid' as everyone keeps saying, is older than me! He's smart and funny and so busy helping out other people he forgets to take care of himself. He -- what?"

"Oh, man," said Jazz, hiding his smile behind his mug and shaking his head. "You got it bad, Skipper."

He frowned. "Got what? No, I don't." Do I?

"You know what Pickles said? When you didn't show up to practice last Thursday, he said that -- what was it again? Oh, yeah, that you were probably too busy, uh, 'fucking that cute ass into the --' no, 'through the mattress.' Yeah, that was it." Oddly enough, Pickles seemed to like the kid, too.

Rick stabbed his rubbery steak ruthlessly. "Pickles needs to mind his own business!"

"Uh-huh." Jazz almost felt sorry for that steak. "So, does he feel the same way?"

"Who, Pickles? He damn well better not!"

Jazz chuckled. "No, no, man. Ben. Does he like you, too?"

"I don't know." Rick stared into his coffee. "Like me, maybe, as more than just a casual fuck, I don't know."

"Do you want more?"

"I don't know, Jazz." He sighed, eyes unfocusing. "What he can do with his hands, it's unreal. He drives me insane, but I ... And he's so cute, should be illegal to look like that for how old he is."

Jazz gave that a silent amen. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Thanks for coming, Jazz."

"No problem. Why don't you crash with me tonight? Do you good to get some sleep."

"No. I don't want to leave him." He looked up and his face was haunted. "What if ... if that's it? I couldn't take it, Jazz. I just couldn't."

"It's not that far," Jazz tried again. "I'll bring you back first thing, or isn't there anywhere else you could stay?"

"Yes, but --"

"Then I'll drop you off there before I go. Skip -- Rick, listen to me, man. You'll do Ben no good if you worry yourself into an early grave, or make yourself sick. Take twenty-four hours and rest. You'll feel better, and folks'll stop worrying 'bout you so much."

"Genny put you up to this, didn't she?"

Jazz smiled. "Maybe, but I agree with her."

"She shouldn't be there alone."

"Then somebody else can go. Can't save the world by yourself, Skipper. He'll either get better or not, and staring at him won't make a difference."

"It might."

"Skipper." He reached across the table and squeezed the back of Rick's hand. "Trust me, okay? Go get some sleep and rest. Give the folks one less person to worry about for awhile, huh?"

Rick looked at him and felt his resolve crumble. He really was tired, and not just physically. He looked down again at the remains of his mangled meal, and nodded. "Okay."

He was almost glad for the intervention when he woke up late the following afternoon. Mama Caroline used the daybed in the nursery, Gran the old, German fold-out bed in the office, so Rick was on Uncle Charlie's expensive air mattress in the den. It was one of those 'as seen on t.v.' types that came with its own stand. Whatever it was, he'd slept deeply and felt almost rested by the time he opened his eyes and realized he was wide awake. As he sat up, he saw Genny sprawled on the couch, tucked under an afghan, hair spilling everywhere. He must have slept straight through the changing of the guard, as it were.

He found Shelly and her mother out on the back patio after a shower, shave, and change of clothes. They looked up at him and smiled as he stepped outside to join them, fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

Mama Caroline looked at her watch. "Slept almost eighteen hours, young man. How do you feel?" His stomach growled and he blushed. The women laughed. "Let me make you something, what would you like? Eggs? I make a mean omelet."

"No," said Rick, looking away. "Not eggs, thanks, I just, I'll find something."

Shelly and her mother exchanged puzzled looks. Mama Caroline rose. "Nonsense, Rick, you sit down while I make you something to eat. There's some lasagna in the fridge, how about I heat that up?" She'd spent the first couple days cooking vast quantities of big-batch foods that were easy to cook and re-heat. "Sit down. I'll be right back."

Rick sat. The wooden swing felt nice, tucked away in the shade of the vine-covered trellis above them. "Who does all the gardening, Shelly?" he asked. It'd been sort of niggling at the back of his mind since he first saw the rose bushes.

"Doug does," she answered.

"Ben mentioned allergies?"

"Antihistamines and a mask. Ben has his boat, I have my books, and Doug his flowers. Idiot man." She said the last fondly, a soft smile on her lips. She gestured to the trees along the wall surrounding the back yard. "We've got oranges and lemons, and a pomegranate tree. Over on the side, there, more roses, and this thing above us is grapes. Never got anything from it, but it's shady. Doug keeps threatening to dig it up and grow something pretty, but I like it."

"Who's at the hospital?"

"Uncle Charlie's with Gran."

"How is she doing?"

Shelly sighed softly, staring off into nothing, her voice quiet as she said, "You've got to understand, Rick, how hard this is on her. She watched her own son die like that, then almost lost her only grandchild once before." She shook her head. "It's just hard."

"Wait, isn't Genny Ben's sister? I thought ...?"

"Half-siblings. Gran's son was a ... well, to put it politely, he was a pusher and a gangster. Got involved with this girl when they were both teens. A lot of girls, most likely, but, anyway, they had Ben. Anna wasn't a real prize, either, but her parents blamed Gran and Elly -- Elliot, that was Gran's son -- for all the rest of it, the drugs, the gang, yadda-yadda. Elly was shot in a gang-war and died when Ben was ... four? I think, not sure. Anyway, Genny came later. Gran'd been fighting for custody of Ben since forever. Finally got him, and Genny, after their mom went to prison."

"Wow. That's something."

"Gran blames herself, you know. She was a young mom, too, trying to make it alone. I was pretty sheltered, growing up. Never knew there was that kind of ugliness in the world until I ran into it. Still find it hard to believe sometimes."

"Yeah." Rick pushed off with a foot to rock the swing gently in the lazy afternoon heat. For only being a few miles inland, Anaheim was several degrees warmer than the beach cities that Rick preferred. The blue, West Coast waters were so much prettier than the green of the East. Blue, like Ben's eyes. "Shelly?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think? I mean, I really like Ben."

She smiled. "I know."

"Doug said ... He said that Ben only dates people to, well, to help them mend their broken hearts. I don't need help like that, and I wouldn't want him just because he feels sorry for me."

Shelly laid a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes, still tired-looking despite the rest. "I wish I could say, one way or the other, but I don't know. All I can really say is that I've never heard him talk about someone the way he has about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really." She patted his knee and sat back. "He talked my ear off that Sunday." She grinned, especially when Rick blushed and looked away.

"Come inside," Mama Caroline called. "Lunch is ready. You eat, too, Shelly."

"Aye, aye, Mama!" laughed Shelly with a mock salute. She winked at Rick. For a moment, the world seemed brighter.

The blackness roiled around him, lifting and falling, and shifting from side to side. Thunder roared, and a myriad of noises filled his ears, too loud to make any sense of. Had he fallen? He seemed to be lying down. Oh, god, he hurt!

"Ben?"

Voices pierced through the night, stabbing into his skull and bouncing around like a pinball machine. He groaned, only to discover the obstruction in his throat. Lead-weighted eyelids shot open, to be squeezed tightly closed again. So much glare!

"Ben? Can you open your eyes again for me?"

Go away! I'm sick, go away! He tried to groan again, nostrils flaring with the desire to breathe. He couldn't feel his body! Just -- oh god, oh god, oh god! Somebody stop it! He screamed silently, not even his mouth wanting to obey him.

"Ben ...."

He knew that voice, deep and resonant, gravelly and strong. Uncle Charlie!

"Ben, son, look at me."

He could no more disobey that voice than he could grow tits. Hesitantly, one eye at a time, he tried to focus on the weather-beaten face just beyond his nose. He didn't see the relieved smile or the dark circles, he was lost in blue eyes so like his own, in a face that, even if he couldn't see it, looked enough like his own that people had mistaken them for father and son.

"That's it, young man. Now, listen to me carefully. You've been hurt, bad, and the --" the face turned away. "Just a minute." Then back, "Easy there, sonny-jim, you're still groggy from all the happy juice."

But I'm not happy! The bright lights made his head ache, at least he could feel his head, but he still felt like he was moving, floating in rough seas. He was going to be sick, he knew he was, and there was nothing he hated more than throwing up.

"Mr. Eavey, please."

"Just a minute! Ben. Hey, kiddo, everything's going to be okay, okay?"

The eyes withdrew and he let his fall closed again, cringing inwardly as they were forced open and an even brighter light seemed to sear his very eyeballs.

Auughnn! He fought back feebly, shaking his head, but that just made him dizzy and more sick and he cried and screamed, but there was no end to the dislocated pains and agonizing nausea until the darkness sucked him back down.

Dr. Leslie Frank released Ben's arm, nodding his thanks to the nurse who'd administered the sedative into the IV, and stepped back. He frowned at the elderly man with the cane. The disagreeable old coot just glared right back. Clustered around the door were a few more worried but excited faces. He hated to crush their optimism.

"It's too soon," he said. Only the old codger seemed happy about that. "I'm going to put him back under for a couple more days, try again. Now, please, everybody outside, I need to run some tests."

Charlie turned and waved his cane at the rest. "You heard the man. Out!" The nurses shut the door on his heels and drew the blinds. He limped away from the room toward the lounge, to sink down onto a proper chair.

Shelly hugged Hunter as they followed. "Damn. Practically takes an act of congress to get Rick out of here and Ben wakes up while he's gone. He's never going to forgive us."

"So we don't tell him," Hunter replied.

"No good," Riley disagreed. "He reads that chart more often than the doctors do. He'll know."

"He wouldn't of wanted to see that," said Charlie, "but Riley's right, it's been long enough."

"Ain't that the truth!" sighed Hunter.

Shelly squeezed his hand. "But he's awake now, it's really going to be okay!" Relief made her giddy.

Charlie shook his head silently. He'd survived major surgery to remove a section of his intestines, of which he still had nightmares. Complications were almost impossible to predict and quite often fatal. Charlie had been in the hospital for over a month, and on bed rest for several months more after that. He still had a fairly strict diet, the number one contributor to his current weight. He hadn't been this slim since he was a young man. Not that he could complain a whole lot, he just wouldn't necessarily have chosen this exact method.

The two and a half weeks since the stabbing had not been without problems. As careful as the doctors had been, they'd still needed to operate again to clean out a resultant infection. Charlie remembered from his own surgery, the doctors told him it was like a spray'n'wash for the abdominal cavity. Ben would've had much more 'junk' in there. Operating was risky, but doing nothing wasn't an option. Even pumped full of antibiotics, Ben's fever stubbornly persisted. At least he was breathing on his own again. During the third surgery (to remove more bone fragments from the chipped rib), the doctors had removed the chest tube, slightly ahead of schedule, even though they persisted in being pessimistic about Ben's recovery.

Rick liked Uncle Charlie. Bold as the proverbial brass, he quickly had the hospital staff bullied into doing anything he wanted and wasn't above using his own disabilities to get his own way. He was gruff and abrasive and spoke his mind without regard to how it might be perceived, but he was still charming, for all that. When Charlie said Rick was better off not having been there when Ben woke, Rick believed him. Didn't make him any more willing to leave Ben's side, but he didn't begrudge the loss.

He was there the second time, however.

A soft tap-tap-tapping accompanied Ben to awareness. He still floated, but the journey was smoother, the constant pain further away. He couldn't place the whirring and beeps from back behind his head, but the steady typing was soothing. He only wished he could remember why. He tried to shift, but had no coordination, his muscles not responding. He wanted to lick his lips, but something large kept his tongue plastered to the bottom of his mouth. He wrinkled his nose. Ammonia and disinfectant, gross.

He could move his left arm, he discovered, and found something soft, and hairy, under his hand. His fingers found big, plastic eyes and appendages that made him frown in a lopsided way. Someone was muttering softly in the direction of the typing, and someone else snored on his other side. His right arm burned coldly in a way he recognized, but couldn't place.

Eyes crept open slowly, blinking rapidly and tearing in the lights. So bright! Did he forget to turn the lights off? If that was the case, it was no wonder he felt so groggy. Gradually, his eyes brought a man's profile into focus. Shaggy brown hair, good, strong shoulders, the collared shirt seemed wrong, somehow, jeans. Back up to a firm, smooth chin and wide mouth. The pencil grasped between his lips clacked against his teeth as he muttered to himself.

Ben turned his head slightly, finger-grooming the stuffed animal's fake, soft fur and watching the man typing on his laptop. It all felt comfortable, and normal, soothing him back to sleep.

Pain drove Ben to consciousness the third time. He scowled around the tube in his mouth and groaned. Fuuuck! He was in the hospital. He hated hospitals, they smelled weird, and they were so noisy, and cold. His feet were freezing. He opened his eyes to glare and tell whomever it was to go the fuck away, and was met by bright, happy smiles. He flinched and drew back, hugging Sherbert, Rick's horribly ugly stuffed animal, to his chest.

Where was Rick? He wanted his G.I. Joe!

He glanced from face to face, then turned away. He wanted to roll over onto his side, he hated sleeping on his back, but that hurt too much. The hand with the IV curled into a fist. Voices filled his ears. Ben lifted Sherbert to cover the side of his head, weeping quietly into the pillow. Everything hurt, hurt so much!

He wanted Rick, where was Rick?

Shelly stared at Genny in shock. They hit the call button like they were supposed to, and then stepped out of the way while the nurses swarmed all over Ben and the doctor on call checked over his vitals. They tried to take away the toy and had a fight on their hands. Ben hit a nurse with it, still crying, but with that pissed-off look that said he'd be swearing at the top of his lungs if he wasn't still intubated.

Strangers' faces in their 'friendly' coats and stethoscopes took the place of the familiar, but the incessant talking remained. Grabbing one of Sherbert's arms, Ben swung the critter at the annoying, patronizing doctor, smacking the clipboard right out of his hand. The doctor grabbed the stuffed animal on the next pass, plucking it from him easily. The still-feverish flush on Ben's cheeks darkened instantly. He threw a pillow, which fell short, and then the other, which connected. The effort got him on his side and he started to retch from the pain, arms wrapped around himself, head spinning.

Why didn't they leave him alone? What was going on? Where was Rick?

By the door, Genny and Shelly clung to each other, watching the tantrum with wide eyes. The doctor barked out orders, but Ben didn't settle again until he had Sherbert back and even then watched them suspiciously.

Go away! He glared at them all. His chest and throat burned, beyond whatever nightmare that had its teeth in his side. Antibiotics made him nauseous, didn't they know that? He retched again around the tube, rolling his eyes with the awkwardness and helplessness. The nurses were still trying to reinsert the IV, so Ben grabbed for the tube with his other hand.

The nurse abandoned one wrist to grab for the other, calling, "Doctor!"

Ben yanked his bandaged right hand out of the other nurse's grip and tried to push Valerie away. He kicked at the doctor, eyes screaming in frustration at them all.

Rick pushed his way through the growing crowd in the doorway. He dropped his satchel and all but leaped to the bedside. "Ben!" He muscled the doctor aside and slid onto the bed.

There he was! Rick! Ben reached for him, collapsing in his arms, head pillowed on one strong thigh. Exhausted, he succumbed to sleep with his arms wrapped for dear life around Rick's leg.

Those present stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Without a word, an older nurse picked up the stuffed animal and handed it to Rick. He tucked it back at Ben's side, brushing his fingers through soft, blonde hair soothingly.

"What happened?"

That set everyone to talking all at once, but reinforcements had arrived in the shape of Leslie and a few more of his staff. He pointedly closed the door on the crowd and joined the flustered doctor who had just picked the chart up off the floor.

"He needs restraints!" he muttered.

"No," said Rick, still petting Ben's short, silky hair.

"He tried to take his tube out."

"He just panicked."

"My ass."

"Henry," Dr. Frank warned in a low voice.

The other doctor scowled and shook his head, but shrugged. "Your patient, Dr. Frank."

"Thank you, now let's see about getting that IV back in, and bring that ultrasound over to take a look at his innards. Geri, see if you can push up tomorrow's MRI. We'll need to make sure he didn't tear anything. It's alright, Rick, stay put, even I can see he feels more comfortable with your presence. Now, let's see here ...."

Rick kept his gaze firmly on Ben's head while the doctors and nurses checked Ben over. He'd had the misfortune to have a catheter once, when he'd had his appendix removed, and the memory still made him cringe. Same thing for the tube, but watching the doctors touch that wasn't nearly as disturbing as poking at Ben's penis. He'd have thought he'd be used to it by now; in the first days, someone had been in to check on Ben every five minutes, it seemed like. But, no, it was still creepy.

The wound on his side had split, a few stitches torn, so that had to be cleaned out and re-closed. The IV had to be hooked up again, as well as most of the other sensors fastened to Ben's chest. The stitched-up hole where the chest tube had been also needed tending. The gash on Ben's arm had seeped, but not torn, so that was cleaned and wrapped back up quickly. As soon as the IV was back in, a nurse placed the limp arm back on Rick's leg. She smiled up at the man and arranged the pillows to support his back so he could lean more comfortably against the wall.

"Thank you."

She grinned, leaning closer to whisper, "I've been wanting to smack Dr. Muir for ages!" She patted Ben's shoulder affectionately.

Rick chuckled, settling back into the pillows with a sigh. Though the procedure seemed to take forever, the staff was efficient and the room quickly emptied. Dr. Frank sat on the edge of the bed, jotting down his notes and observations.

"That was pretty exciting, wasn't it?"

"That's one way to put it."

"It's actually a good sign, that he had enough energy to throw a fit, I mean. I just wish that fever would break. I don't want to give him any stronger antibiotics, his history doesn't make that an attractive option, but I would like to get him out of here to somewhere more private. I'm sure you lot feel the same."

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll see. I'll come back when I get the results of the MRI. Keep him from moving around, and keep him calm, if you can. If you can't, we'll probably have to put him under again."

Rick swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Good man." Dr. Frank patted Rick's knee and hopped down. He hung up the chart and left, pausing at the door to look back. "Ben's a real lucky fellow."

Rick's cheeks warmed. "Thanks." Looking down, he listened to the doctor's footsteps fade away, thankful he wore light dress slacks. They hid more. Having Ben nestled so snug in his lap was having some unexpected side-effects, and didn't that just make him feel the perverted bastard, getting turned on by an unconscious man?

"Hey."

He looked up. Shelly leaned in the doorway.

"Everything okay?"

"Ask me again in a few minutes when my entire leg goes numb."

"Can I get you anything?"

"I have a book in my bag, and I'll love you forever if you take my shoes off."

Shelly grinned. "That I can do. We're going out to the cafe, want anything?"

"I grabbed a bite on my way down."

"Okay, see you later, then." Shelly also stopped in the doorway. She wished she had a camera. Since she didn't, she stared hard, hoping to imprint the scene in her memory forever.

Alone, Rick eased open his belt and pants and untucked his shirt, getting as comfortable as he could. He read for a time, but gradually his arm lowered, head falling back against the wall. He slept.

Ben stirred reluctantly, warm and secure, supported both front and back, and clung to the peacefulness of his dreams. Awake, the pain came crawling back and Ben tried to nuzzle deeper into his pillow to hide. Only his pillow moved!

Rick leaned over with a smile. "Hey there, Sunshine. Back with us?"

Rick! Ben grabbed the hand on his head, curling his fingers around Rick's.

"Hey, what's all this?" Rick brushed at the fresh tears spilling onto Ben's cheek. "I gotcha, no worries, right?"

Ben's eyes flashed in irritation. Letting go of Rick, he tugged on the end of the plastic and tubes taped to his mouth.

Rick caught his hand. "No, it's got to stay." He chuckled. Ben could certainly still look pissed, even with his mouth hanging open. He smoothed back the hair, grinning unrepentantly when Ben slapped his fingers away from his ear. Next Ben tugged on the quilt around him, lifting an eyebrow in question.

"It's mine, is that what you want to know? No? Um, I dunno, it's a quilt?"

Ben rolled his eyes, then made a writing gesture with his hand. Rick looked around, but there was nothing within reach.

"If you'll let me up, I'll --"

Ben's uninjured arm tightened around Rick's leg and he gave him a wide-eyed stare. Don't you fucking leave me! The heart-rate monitor bleeped as Ben's heart picked up the pace.

"Or not. Shh, shh, Ben, I won't go." He picked up his book. "How about I just read to you a little? When somebody comes in to check on us, I'll ask for something, okay?" Ben nodded and Rick sighed. "Okay, then, it's a plan. You ever read Pride and Prejudice? Hey, don't give me that look, it's not a girly book. And," he tapped on Ben's forehead, "it's not like you have much in the way of options, now, do you? Hush, and if you're really good, I won't follow it up with Klingon love poetry."

Ben hugged his leg, so Rick took that for assent and flipped back to the beginning of the book. He hadn't yet completed the first chapter when Riley tapped on the door with a finger to his lips. Rick looked down. Ben slept again, right arm pillowed on Sherbert. Smiling, Rick closed the book and beckoned to Riley.

"Hear I missed quite the little show today," said the older man, taking a seat on the stool.

"He was pretty upset," Rick agreed.

"Disoriented?"

Rick shrugged. "Not like he can say, which reminds me, would you grab out a pad of paper and pen from my satchel? I do know he doesn't like the tube in his mouth."

"Can't imagine anyone would." He rolled the stool over to rifle through Rick's bag. "How you holding up, son?"

"Fine." Riley shot him a disbelieving look. "I'm good, Riley. And tired. Scared we'll hit another bump in the road, madder than hell, and I'm really, really starting to hate this place."

"You and I think everyone else," Riley quipped, heading back over with the requested items. "But at least we're out of the ICU."

"True."

He clipped the pen onto the paper and handed them to Rick. "Things're going to get rougher for awhile. I know you can handle it, but you let someone know if it gets too much, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Heh, none of that, you'll make me feel old." He smiled.

"You are old."

"Hmpf! Younguns these days! No respect for their elders." He winked. "Would you like company, or would you prefer to be alone?"

"I'll take the company, would love some water, too."

"Give me a minute and I'll send for room service."

Rick smiled. He idly stroked Ben's hair while they talked, so glad to finally be able to do that again. The water was good, except that made him need to use the restroom, and that involved a complicated maneuver in which Ben was carefully peeled off his leg, both Rick and Riley shaking with restrained laughter. Sure felt good to laugh again, too.

He was cold again. Why always so goddamned cold? Reaching up to rub his gritty eyes, he felt the familiar cold burn of an IV. Oh, god. Hospital. What, was he intubated? Oh, gross!

"Mr. Blythe, I apologize, but I must ask you to hold still."

What? Eyes opened to weird, yellowy glowing, like he'd crawled inside playground tubing, but that annoying, just on the low scale of high-pitched humming -- and then started its tch-tch-tch-grriiiiind -- and humming again, was also familiar. Arms shot out automatically, palms to the MRI machine just above his head. Oh, fucking god, he hated these things!

The technician was speaking again, but Ben ignored him, forgetting his startlement, too, as he stared at the winding, white bandages on his right arm. His chest hurt, burned, really, The left hand reached over to touch the right. There was discomfort, itchiness, and a strange kind of muscle tenderness, but the majority of the pain radiated out from his stomach. Under the thin blanket he seemed to be naked -- Why the fuck am I naked? There was always one of those stupid, paper gowns that never covered enough, but at least you had the satisfaction of wearing something -- Which made the bandages over his midsection easy to determine.

Ah! Shit-shit! Hurts! Oh, god, he was going to throw up, never a fun experience with a fucking tube down your throat! Oh! Dammit! The faster he breathed, the more stuff hurt, the more it hurt, the harder he tried to breathe. SHIT!

He rolled over on his side and the world went white. Sparks shot of in his head, and then he couldn't breathe, couldn't see for the tears in his eyes, couldn't fucking scream for the tube in his mouth. The sensation of moving wasn't lost on him, it only made the dizziness worse, and he tried to retch again. He wanted to hit someone. Whose bright idea had it been to give him antibiotics? He'd recognize that sick, queasy feeling anywhere!

A face in a white coat leaned over him. "Ben, I'm Dr. Frank, you remember me?"

Lights, lights in the fucking eyes, what is with that?

Leslie grinned at someone on Ben's other side as his pen-light was thrown across the room. "I'd say that was a yes." He leaned back down into Ben's field of vision. Under the fever, he'd gone pasty-white, face scrunched up in discomfort. They'd given him the strongest drugs they could. The good stuff upset his stomach, however, which was something they absolutely had to avoid for the meantime.

"Ben, I know you're in a lot of pain, but -- what is it?"

He shook his head frantically, putting an arm in front of his face. He knew about the damned drugs, okay? Just go away! Go away! Go away! He pushed weakly against the hand that came towards his face.

Leslie frowned. There was no strength in the attempt to manhandle him. He drew back and pulled a small notebook out of his coat pocket. He held the book in front of Ben.

"Think you can tell me what you're thinking?" he asked. Ben snatched the pen he offered and Leslie smiled again. The hand shook, and the writing went everywhere, but it was legible enough when he looked: 'go away'

"Sorry, can't do that. We've got to finish this MRI. Can you hold still for another fifteen minutes?" From behind the sheltering arm, Ben shook his head. Leslie sighed. "I can put you out again, would you prefer that?"

The 'NO' made Leslie smile again.

"Then you have to cooperate with us, Ben. You tore open some stitches yesterday, we have to make sure nothing is leaking in there or shifted where it's not supposed to be. It's only a few more minutes."

The pen was more erratic. Leslie could see Ben fighting exhaustion, but he didn't quite make it. The excitement was too much. Picking up the notebook and pen, Leslie studied the letters, trying to make sense of them while the nurse and technician got Ben stretched back out again.

'joc'? Or was it 'juc'? Maybe 'jac'?

He showed the note to Shelly when they got back to the room. She frowned for a minute. "Joe? Who's Joe?" Uncle Charlie and Riley looked at each other and shrugged. "Well, maybe it's something else. When does he get his tube out?"

"Few more days, when he's awake long enough to understand he's not to try talking yet. He's likely to be confused when he wakes up, so keep talking to him, take things slow, you know the drill. I've got to get back on my rounds."

Uncle Charlie clomped over to the bedside as the nurses finished straightening the quilt. The last one tucked Sherbert in against Ben's chest, giving the stuffed animal a pat on the head before she, too, left. Uncle Charlie's rheumy, knotted fingers patted Ben's. He looked over his shoulder at the other two.

"Is that maybe his attacker?"

Riley looked thoughtful. "I can check the logs, see if Ben's had any contact at work recently with anyone named Joe. Thought for sure, though ...."

"Yeah, we all did," Shelly agreed.

Waking up sucked. Really, really, really sucked!

Until fingers brushed against his cheek. His feet were still cold, but there was a warm support at his back and far less background noise here. He reached up to rub his eyes and turned his head to look up.

"Afternoon, Sunshine, have a good nap?" Rick laughed as Ben flipped him the bird. He ruffled the hair. "Hey, look, your Uncle Charlie's here."

Turning his head back, Ben saw his grand-uncle sitting on a chair by the bed. He reached out over Sherbert to take the man's hand. Behind him, he heard Rick shuffling his papers.

"How you feeling?" Ben frowned. "Not so good, eh?" Uncle Charlie grinned at Rick. "Ben, you remember when I had my stomach surgery?" A nod. "Good. The docs had to do something similar -- now, don't panic, they didn't remove anything, your ass is fine." Uncle Charlie had to struggle to keep a straight face. Rick, at least, had the decency to look puzzled. Far be it for Uncle Charlie to describe the particulars of having your intestines disconnected from your rectum ....

"Pretty much had your windpipe, there, crushed," he continued, "so the tube stays. Know those aren't too pleasant, but stick it out just a little longer, hey?"

Ben lifted his hand to touch his neck, fingers ghosting over the fading bruising. Rick looked at Uncle Charlie, but the old man shook his head. Ben grabbed for Sherbert and pulled the stuffed animal closer up under his chin. He closed his eyes and the two men left him alone, letting him pretend until he really did fall asleep.

When next he woke, Rick had his laptop out, typing away, muttering to himself. "Stupid! No concept, whatsoever, geez." He looked down when he felt Ben move, smiling. He was waking up more often now. Putting the laptop on the bedside table, Rick grabbed the notepad and pen. He leaned over to put both next to Ben on what empty space remained on the hospital bed. On the other side of the room, Doug and Shelly looked up from Ollie. Rick shook his head slightly and they stayed where they were.

"Talk to me, Sunshine," he whispered. "Do you know where you are?"

Ben rolled his eyes. 'Certainly not a resort,' he wrote.

Rick grinned. "What's the last thing you remember?"

'MRIs suck big hairy monkey balls.'

Rick laughed, but quickly sobered up. "And before the hospital?"

Ben stayed still a long moment, then wrote, 'You still owe me a grope.'

"What? I don't think so, you ...!" Remembering that they weren't alone, Rick scowled.

Ben drew a smiley face.

"Maybe if you didn't have a catheter," Rick leaned over to whisper.

The smiley face turned into a frown.

"Yeah, well, you've been out of it for almost three weeks."

'Three weeks?!!'

"Yep."

'Fuck.'

"We weren't exactly happy about it, either. See, me they could just pump full of vicodin or percocet or some other fancy narcotic once off the morphine, but they make you sick, so, what with all the antibiotics, they just kept you unconscious through the worst of the pain."

'Worst? Fucking hurts, asshole!'

"At least we know you're feeling better."

'Fuck you! My feet are cold.'

"Oh. We must've forgot to put your socks back on. Hang on."

The warm, comfortable weight at his back vanished and the effort required to steady himself brought pain-filled tears to Ben's eyes. He could hear shuffling, but not see anything, which knotted up his stomach in fear. He couldn't see the door, he faced a wall, there was only the incessant bleeping machines and the hurts of his body. He wanted to scream but couldn't. Rick!

The notepad hit the floor with a slap. Rick looked up from the bag he rummaged through, then sprang to his feet. Ben had his arms around his face, knees bent like he was trying to curl up, and shaking. Rick ran around to the far side, kneeling on the chair to scoop Ben's shoulders and head into his arms. Ben's fingers gripped him tightly.

"Shh, Ben," murmured Rick. "It's okay, it's okay, shh." Rick continued to whisper, lips almost touching Ben's ear. He didn't see Doug and Shelly approach, but he certainly felt Ben jump in his arms when touched. Rick looked up. 'Not now,' he mouthed. To his relief, they backed off.

"Should I call the docs?" Rick asked softly. "They can make you sleep."

Ben shook his head. No! Just don't leave me!

"Oh, Ben." He laid a path of kisses along Ben's temple and cheek, nose and forehead, being careful of the lines and tubes still sticking out of him. When the shakes eased and Ben stopped holding on so tight, Rick chanced an ear nibble. He got smacked for his troubles and grinned. Ben scowled at him. Rick just used a corner of the sheet to wipe Ben's cheeks and eyes.

"Better?"

Ben let go abruptly, as if he just realized he was holding on. Grabbing Sherbert, he held the stuffed animal like a shield over his face. Rick smiled and stood. He didn't get further than a single step; Ben's hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist. Halting, Rick saw blue eyes glittering at him from around bright orange fur. He squeezed Ben's hand.

"Right here, Sunshine. Not going anywhere, alright?"

Ben nodded. Rick sat down in the chair, holding Ben's hand and speaking softly until he dropped off.

"What was that about?" asked Doug as Rick bent down to pick up the notepad.

"No idea," he lied. He had a fair idea, just wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it. He tugged the quilt back over a bare shoulder, running his fingers through Ben's hair. "He didn't react like this before?" that was for Shelly.

She shook her head. "No, he pretty much always wanted to be alone."

Doug looked from one to the other. Why did he get the feeling he was missing something here?

"Well, he was alone when he got hurt, maybe that's all it is."

He did wonder, though. Ben woke several times during the night, flailing about and throwing things. Braving the nurses' wrath and trusting Uncle Charlie to back him up, Rick slid onto the bed during the second fit and gathered Ben to his chest. He tucked Ben's head under his chin and kissed the top of his head.

The time after that, when Ben woke, his hands reached for and tangled in Rick's shirt. He breathed in deeply, and almost instantly was back asleep. Rick didn't find sleep that easy. Every time Ben woke up, Rick woke up, too, taking longer and longer to get back to sleep. In the wee hours of the morning he just gave up, simply laying there, fingers idly tracing random patterns across Ben's back and shoulders. Ben finally seemed to be really resting, so Rick decided it was probably safe to get up. He needed to get ready for work.

He had a devil of a time disentangling himself from Ben. He got the hands loose and started on the legs, only to have Ben grab at him again. Rick finally got free and fixed the blankets, only to have Ben wake up and give him that mournful look Rick remembered from his birthday party.

"Morning, Sunshine," he said, giving Ben a peck on the cheek. "Got to go to work today."

Ben grabbed one hand in both of his, shaking his head fiercely. A chill ran up Rick's spine. He ran the back of his hand over Ben's cheek.

"I got to go," he said. "Just today, then I have the rest of the weekend. Three days, and I won't leave your side, but I have to go now."

No! Ben stared at him, trying to put what he couldn't say into his eyes. Don't leave me, Rick! Please! Don't go, don't go!

"Oh, Ben," sighed Rick. He reached for the notepad and pressed paper and pencil into Ben's hands.

He wrote quickly, 'Don't leave!'

"I have to."

NO!

Rick looked at all the underlines and exclamation marks and then up at Ben's tense face. "Why?"

Ben dropped his gaze, poking Sherbert with the end of the pen. Rick stood.

"If you won't tell me, then I'm going."

Ben slapped the paper angrily, brandishing the 'No!' sign he'd just made.

"Then tell me," Rick replied, hands on hips.

Ben pointed to the sign again, but he wasn't angry anymore.

Rick pursed his lips. It broke his heart to deny what Ben wanted, he wanted to stay, too, but Rick wanted answers. He shook his head. Ben pointed to the words again and Rick started to turn.

'I need you to stay!' Ben scribbled quickly.

"Why?"

'Because!'

"Not good enough."

Ben threw the pen. Rick! he screamed with his eyes when he got the man's attention again.

Rick grabbed the pen and gave it back, taking a seat on the chair to lean in close. "Who attacked you, Ben?"

'It's not like that.'

The anger that surged through Rick pushed him to his feet. He paced to the wall, leaning there for a minute. Then he whirled around. "He almost killed you!" he shouted. "How can you still protect him? You almost died!" Several times, as he'd read in the charts and Shelly had confirmed. "You could still die! If that gut of yours decides to object after all. All it'd take is a twist in one of the intestines and that's it! That's it! Oh, God." He leaned forward, hands on his knees as his head spun. "Damn, Ben."

'You don't understand.'

"You're right, I don't." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't do this again, Ben. I can't sit back, like everyone else, and watch you kill yourself! I can't do it! I l-l --"

Shutting his mouth with a click, Rick turned away. Fists trembled at his sides. I did not just say that! He took several deep breaths before going back and sitting on the edge of the chair. He took Ben's hands.

"You are a very special, very talented man. God knows you've helped a lot of people." He'd met dozens over the last few weeks. "But you can't help everyone. Sometimes, you just got to let the professionals handle it."

'He didn't mean to hurt me.'

"God, Ben." Rick pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Only you could be so forgiving. But, if you want to help this guy, then you have to work with us. If he hurt you, he might hurt someone else."

'No. No, he wouldn't do that.'

"Who's to say he hasn't?"

'No!'

"Tell me who it was, Ben. Please! If you want to help him, we'll get him help, but he needs to face the consequences of what he's done. If he'd killed you ... He knows what he did! He has to! What would he have done next? Where would he go? You know, now tell me!"

Ben stared at the angry, frustrated, frightened face of his lover and knew that the next decision he made would change his life. Which one did he want? Both needed him, wanted him, but Ben only needed one of them.

He gripped the pen and wrote in a trembling hand.

Rick followed the pen's slow, halting path with his eyes. Then he took Ben's face in both hands to kiss him repeatedly, tears trickling down his face. He couldn't speak and just hugged the other man close, leaving the paper to crinkle between them.