01 The One I Want - 8. Truth

Ben held his eyes closed. His mind stayed carefully blank, as if it, too, wished he were somewhere -- anywhere! -- else.

He tensed, listening for footsteps, but all he heard was the ever-present beeping of the machines by his bedside and the unsteady patter of his own heart. Shivering, he pulled the quilt up and over his head, tugging on the IV line when that stuck on a fold of the blanket. A pillow over that muffled the machinery, but then he couldn't half-breathe for wondering who might be able to sneak up on him from behind. Cursing his overactive imagination, Ben tossed aside pillow and blanket, burying his face in Sherbert's fur instead.

He came awake with a start, wide-eyed and gasping, certain for long moments that he wasn't alone. Pawing at his neck, Ben threw his feet over the side of the bed, forgetting all in his overpowering need to flee. Weak muscles wouldn't support him and he crashed to the floor. Agony ripped through his body, and then he really couldn't breathe.

"Ben?" Rick paused with the door open, staring at the empty bed without comprehension. The swinging of the IV bag caught his attention, and understanding lent Rick speed. He rushed around to the other side, to see Ben on the floor, coughing and retching, wild-eyed as he yanked at the tube in his mouth. Lunging over Ben's sprawled body, Rick grabbed up the call box and jabbed the button twice in quick succession.

The tube came free with a sickening sqelurching sound. Ben sucked in huge mouthfuls of air and threw the damned tube away from him where it slapped against the side of the hospital bed. His throat stung, raw and sore, bringing tears to his eyes, and he still couldn't breathe!

Rick dropped to his knees, pulling Ben against him. Two nurses came banging into the room as he snagged the quilt down to cover Ben's hips. One of the nurses stayed; the other dashed back outside, but Rick didn't have attention to spare for what either were doing. Ben alternately clutched at him and pushed him away, his raspy, gasping breaths awful to hear.

"Easy, easy," Rick murmured. "I've got you. Just breathe."

"I ... fuck ... am!" Ben retorted.

Rick fought back a grin and waved aside the nurse trying to push forward with an oxygen mask. He grabbed for and held Ben's palm against his chest, looking him straight in the eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out. Then another.

"Breathe with me, Ben." He counted his heart beat, keeping time to breathe on at a steady, even pace.

Fuck that shit! thought Ben, but the steady, calm pulse beneath his hand was soothing in some weird, subconscious way. He found the chorus of "A Brown-Eyed Dancin' Man" repeating endlessly in the back of his mind as he met Rick's gaze, and felt his resistance just crumble. He sagged forward, placing his ear next to his palm, listening to the regular thump and closing his eyes to block out everything else.

Slowly but surely, Ben calmed and, the steadier his breathing became, the greater his look of discomfort. Instead of reddening with embarrassment, however, he paled.

"Agh," he groaned. He wasn't sure he wanted to open his eyes just yet. "Shit. What happened?"

Dr. Frank crouched down beside the men, taking the oxygen mask from the nurse and pressing the soft plastic to Ben's mouth and nose. "That," he explained evenly, slipping the elastic band around his patient's head, "is what we call a panic attack. Good job, by the way." He addressed the last to Rick.

Ben accepted the mask stoically, grimacing and coughing shallowly as the cool air stung his tender throat, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. "Ick," he complained weakly, and he didn't just mean his throat. How long had it been since he'd had a panic attack that bad? A year? Little less?

"That was probably the worst way to remove a breathing tube," continued Dr Frank, prodding Ben to check for damage.

Shivering, bare ass exposed to the cold linoleum, Ben scowled and cursed the older man silently in his head. The only warm bits of him were the parts touching Rick and he instinctively huddled closer. Opening his eyes only made him light-headed and nauseous, so he let them stay closed, drifting on the edge of exhaustion yet again. This fucking sucks!

"How'd you know to do that?" he heard the doctor ask.

"I looked it up," Rick replied, continuing to run his fingers through Ben's hair. "We, uh, had a bit of an issue when we first met, and I figured I'd better know how to deal with it should it come up again."

"Good technique." Ben groaned as Dr Frank patted the quilt back in place. "Yeah, I'll bet that hurts," he said lightly, with a small sigh. He looked at Rick. "Well, let's get him back in bed."

"I got him," said Rick. He put Ben's arms around his neck and took a firm grip around his shoulders, rising slowly to his feet. Ben reeled, falling forward against Rick's chest.

"Shit!" he groaned, muffled by plastic.

Rick caught him before he could slip, placing a gentle kiss on Ben's forehead. "Easy, Sunshine."

"Don't call me that!" Ben shoved him, rather ineffectually, even he could admit that. "Don't ...!"

Dr Frank reached out as Rick's grip loosened, stopping Ben from sliding free. Ben jerked, leaping back into Rick's arms.

"Oh, fuck! F-fuck, fuck, shit!"

With deceptive ease, Rick scooped Ben up and settled him back in bed with a kiss for each tear. "Hey, Sunshine, it's all right."

Ben ripped the mask from his face. "Would you quit saying that? My name is Ben! Now fuck off! Augh."

Rick pulled up the blankets, exchanging a glance with Dr. Frank while they both tried to ignore the way Ben's shoulders shook under the pillow he'd dragged over his head only partially muffling the hoarse coughing. At the doctor's directions, the hovering nurses then went to work cleaning up the small wounds from all the medical apparatuses torn loose.

"Putting them back in?" asked Rick, shooed away from the bedside, but lurking nearby.

Dr Frank looked up from where he scribbled into the charts again. "Yes, need to finish the current cycle of antibiotics. Then we'll get him back on real foods again and, if our luck holds, you can take him home in a few more days."

Rick sighed. "Good."

"He can have water only. Small sips, don't let him talk too much, and I'll send someone back with some lozenges for his throat. Probably pretty sore." He gave Rick a sideways look, a small smile tickling the corner of his mouth. "After this little episode, his throat's not going to be the only thing that's sore. Take it easy."

"Beg your pardon?"

Dr Frank nodded at the nurses. Rick turned to look. Instead of reattaching everything, they seemed to be taking things away.

"He really only needs the IV now. Have to take the reintroduction of food slow, so as not to tax his insides. Was going to wait until tomorrow, let him have a firm forty-eight hours awake for observation, but ... well." He shrugged. "One of our psychiatrists will be by for an evaluation, next day or so."

"Psychiatrist? Ben will never talk to one."

"Want to or not, he needs to talk about what happened."

"Quit fucking talking about me as if I'm not here!"

"Uh-huh. Well, keep the noise level down, don't get him too excited, and send for help when he needs to use the restroom. Don't think you need the physical assistance, but the nurses'll show you how to navigate with the IV drip. Any questions?"

Rick shook his head.

"Fuck you!" was Ben's response.

"By the way," added Dr Frank, hanging up the chart, "the door locks." He winked, waved, and was gone.

Rick circled around the departing nurses to Ben's side, perching on the edge of the bed. "Switched hands, did they?"

"Said the other one's been stuck twice -- Look, Rick --"

He placed a finger across Ben's lips. "You're not supposed to be talking, remember? Now, put this back on."

Ben flipped him off, but was too tired for more. He never even felt Rick kiss him or tuck Sherbert back into his arms. When Shelly came in, she found Rick still standing there, arms crossed over his chest, watching Ben sleep.

"Brought the clothes you asked for." Shelly dropped the small bag on the couch. She asked quietly, "Ben had a panic attack?"

"Yeah."

"Which you handled admirably."

"Apparently."

"How do you always know what to do?"

"Ben's not the only one with experience putting people back together again, though they always seem to find me and not the other way around. I've done my share. More than that, feels like sometimes. But, Shelly, I don't know how to deal with this."

"Did he say something to you?"

"No, not really, only ... He asked, awhile back, if whether I picked up a guy because they were what I wanted or I was what they wanted."

"That makes no sense."

"It does to me, but it makes me wonder, too, if, maybe, he was really speaking for himself? Shelly, I don't know if I can do this."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed Rick's strong fingers. "Do what?"

". . . this! All this! First that creep Will -- which, by the way, Ben gave me the address for a cemetery. The detectives are getting permission from the county before they go up there, but why a cemetery? Do you know anyone called Jose?"

"Other than my brother-in-law?" Shelly shrugged and shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of, no."

"It doesn't make sense! Anyways, and here at the hospital, it's nightmares and tantrums, and he totally freaked this morning. Wide awake."

"He was always a terrible sickie. Never wanted any help or company, prefers to be miserable alone. He can be a real shit when he's not feeling well."

"I just, I don't know." Rick spun away, wishing there was a window to pace to and stare out. "I don't know what to do!"

"None of us do, but, Rick, this isn't your fault."

"If I hadn't left him alone, I --"

"Maybe it wouldn't have, but maybe it still would've happened. You don't know that. Nobody knows that."

"Ben knows."

"Rick ...."

"No! He knows, all right. He knows everything!"

"He doesn't know 'everything.'"

"He knows more than he's letting on."

"That's Ben, sweetie, more secrets than the pope. If the only reason you've been hanging around here is because you're feeling guilty, well ... Ben'll pick up on that in a New York minute and you'll be collecting your ass at the door faster'n you can blink. Got it?"

"Um ...."

"Now what do you want for breakfast? Because I know you haven't eaten anything."

"Do you dance?"

Rick looked up from the book in his lap. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough. So?"

"Put your mask back on."

"Answer the question."

"Yes, I can dance. Why else do you think the ladies loved me?"

On his back, Ben continued to stare at the ceiling.

"Do you?"

"Used to."

"What kind?"

"All kinds. I've done pretty much everything. Ballroom, club, even country. Oh. And Scottish."

"Scottish?"

"It's a lot like country, but in lines rather than squares and without the person with a bad, Western drawl calling out patterns, and you can't beat men in skirts."

"Kilts."

"Whatever."

Rick cocked his head. This was a rather bizarre conversation. "Uh ...."

"What are you doing here?"

"You asked me to stay."

Ben turned his head to the side, meeting Rick's puzzled, uncertain gaze with an indecipherable look of his own. "Beyond that. Before that. You're here, why? I don't even know you, and you sure as hell don't know me."

"I know all about you."

"No, you only know what others have told you. You know nothing."

"You don't need to be so cynical ...."

"No, just honest."

"Honest?" Rick snorted back an irritated, dumbfounded chuckle. "You mean scared."

Ben's eyes narrowed. "I am not afraid. Not of you, or--"

"Why is it so hard for you to accept that others care about you?" Rick leaned forward onto his knees, peering up at Ben, searching his face.

Ben pushed himself up on his elbow, scowling back at Rick. "Others," he spat. "But not you."

"Why not?"

"You're so idealistic you make me sick." Ben's voice dripped disdain, face ugly. "For so long you've watched all your 'normal' friends settle down and get married, have kids, and it's what you want, only you think being gay means you can't have that, that being gay means you're the anti-heterosexual, the sex-depraved creature all women make men out to be. Go," he added, waving his hand in dismissal, "fuck around. When you've grown up, then come back and talk to me about what you think you feel." This was all for the best. Get out of my life! This guy, Rick, he made everything so complicated.

Rick stayed silent a second longer, mouth fallen open in shock, not so much from the toneless, matter-of-fact manner of speaking as much as how deeply and truly those words cut. Then he jumped up, face flushed, hands curling into fists. He didn't notice his book slide to a messy tumble on the floor or the way Ben flinched back. He scrunched his eyes closed, fighting for control of his temper.

He couldn't do it. Snarling and half-swearing under his breath, Rick stomped from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ben jumped, shivering alone under the sheets. He looked at the door, then resolutely turned away. His fist tightened around Sherbert, all the harder to keep from trembling. The machines behind him were silent, leaving only the sound of his own harsh breathing, the almost imperceptible buzzing of the fluorescents, and the faint, bustling noises of a busy hospital beyond his four walls. He glanced at the door again, swallowing, then reached up with a shaky hand to wipe away the sweat suddenly beaded on his brow.

Shit.

Solitude was Ben's drug of choice. Always had been. When life became too much, a few hours of peace and quiet helped settle things back in logical order. Now, though, anxiety refused to back down before the voice of reason. He bit his lip, breathing harder, faster, and then trying not to breathe at all as the air stung still-sensitive tissues.

"I can do this ... I can do this!"

Another tremor wracked his body, head to toes. He squeezed his eyes closed against nausea, but they popped open again immediately, flitting back around the room. He knew he was alone, but his hypersensitive senses continued to insist there was someone there, waiting, just out of sight.

"This is -- is ri-r-r ...!" he gasped, throat choking off the word: Ridiculous! Dropping the forgotten comfort of the plush toy, Ben grasped at his neck, fingers sliding across healed bruises that nevertheless felt real and fresh. Oblivious to his own actions, he curled on his side, huddling in on himself. There were no shadows in the sterile room, but they were there, Ben knew they were there.

"Leave me al-lone! God!"

"Ben?" Rick jerked his hand back as Ben startled, curling even tighter around himself. Ben's mouth opened in a silent scream. A second felt like eternity as Rick just stared at the huddled wreck that had been a proud, strong man. Rick backed away and circled the bed, pulling the chair back over to kneel on.

He trailed fingertips lightly over the backs of Ben's hands and down his arm, calling his name. Again. And again.

Ben's fingers left a red print on his skin when he released his neck to grab Rick's hand. "Rick," he whispered, peering at him through moisture-coated lashes. His lips moved again, but he didn't make a sound.

Rick eased the other hand free, mindful of the IV, and wiped away the remaining tears. "You're safe," he whispered, brushing hair out of Ben's face. "I'm here, and everything's going to be okay." He leaned forward to kiss Ben's forehead. Tears came to his own eyes as he noted the way Ben trembled, eyes closing as he tried to push back into the mattress.

Then he opened his eyes. Clear, blue, they held Rick powerless, stared at him, into his boring, brown eyes as if they could see his very soul. He didn't feel Ben release his hand or reach for him. He bent down closer, pulled by those blue eyes. Then they were lip and lip and the world seemed to end.

He tingled, from the very bottoms of his feet to the tips of his ears. Rick was fairly certain his hair was all standing upright. He thought he even might float away, were it not for the plastic under his knees. His hands came up of their own accord to cup Ben's cheeks, tilting his face upwards so he could press forward, deepening the kiss.

The cold, numbing pain that filled all his waking hours and terrorized his dreams fled with the arrival of the hot brand kindled in Ben's core. He shivered with ecstasy, greedily demanding more, until his pulse hammered at his ears and his chest ached for the exercise. He'd closed his eyes at some point, now too tired to open them again. Rick kissed the corner of his mouth tenderly, then his nose and forehead, eyes, cheeks, and Ben let him ... let him chase away all thoughts of the past or future, leaving only the present, the exquisite joy of the moment.

"Kiss me," he murmured. "Kiss me, Rick. Kiss me."

The second hand joined the first, fingers twisting around Rick's shaggy locks to pull him back down. He caught himself on his elbows to keep from pinning Ben down, now laying on the bed more than leaning on the chair. Ben's lips were rough and dry after so long, even with the petroleum jelly smeared on them daily, but his mouth was warm, wet, and more than inviting. He stole Rick's breath away.

In the doorway, Hunter slapped a hand over Shelly's mouth, forcing her backwards while he quietly eased the door closed. He leaned on the door, staring at the ceiling and breathing hard for a minute or two. So hot!

"Oh my god," he groaned, wanting nothing more than to get another peek.

Juggling cup holder and sack, Shelly slapped him. "What'd you do that for?" she demanded.

"Give them a minute, Shelly, Christ!" He didn't relinquish his position at the door.

"Hunter."

"Mmm ... yeah?"

Shelly sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Go jerk off. Honestly."

He blinked down at her. "Mmm?"

Giving him a push, Shelly indicated the bathroom with the cup holder of coffees. Then she motioned to the bench across the hall. "I'll be right there."

"No peeking?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're the voyeur, remember? G'wan, get out of here before you embarrass yourself."

Not needing any more encouragement, Hunter quickly disappeared into the men's room. Shelly sat down on the bench with a sigh, freeing one of the styrofoam cups from the holder. Despite the lingering soreness of delivering an almost eight-pound baby, warmth and desire made her wish Doug were nearby, or that women had an as-convenient means of jacking off. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"Hey, Shelly!"

"Hey, Ta -- no, wait!" She sat up, hand out-stretched, but Tan had already opened the door.

He backed out, dropping his balloons, face as red as his shirt. "Oh ...!" He almost closed the door on his fingers in his haste, fumbling with the push-button lock on the inside. "Holy crap," he breathed.

Shelly laughed and stuck a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. "Hunter probably wouldn't turn down company right now."

Tan raised an eyebrow. Shelly shrugged, grinning unapologetically. Tan gave her another long look before handing off the balloons and sauntering off. Settling back down on the bench, Shelly closed her eyes again, smiling dreamily. She hoped they were in for a long wait.

A hot tongue chased away the chill. Ben's neck arched and he bit his lip as Rick traced his collarbone, pausing at the bump where the bone had been broken almost six years ago. What a day that had been! A day at the beach turned into an overnight hospital stay. He'd crashed and almost drowned. Of course, the hot lifeguard who'd brought him to with CPR had almost made it worthwhile. Almost.

Rick looked up and caught the grin, so similar to that dreamy, bright, beautiful smile that had made Ben practically glow and that Rick had feared never to see again.

"It was Hephaestion," he said. "Alexander's lover, Hephaestion." He leaned his chin in one hand, tracing the contours of Ben's chest with the other. "Their love was compared to Achilles and Patroclus, pretty strong words for the times."

"Hmm?"

"It's from the Greeks," Rick explained, frowning a little in concern. "Intercrural, as in 'to do it between the thighs.' The Greeks thought there was something degrading about ... about, er ...."

"I know what intercrural sex is." Why was Rick turning on the professor voice? He just wanted kissed, damn it!

"Um, Ben, what's the last thing you remember?"

"My brains may be a bit scrambled, but I sure as fuck," he grinned, "remember that fuck. You seriously never done that before?"

"Brat." Rick sighed. "Nope, never even heard of it before, but --"

"You looked it up."

"Yeah. I remember the first time I ever heard about Achilles, turned my interest in Greek mythology completely around. It's what made me want to study English, to see what other 'secrets' of ancient times I could discover. Interesting, isn't it? What was considered normal, then hidden for so long, only to be 're-discovered' centuries later?"

"Blame it on religion."

"Huh?"

"The oldest religions, the ones that came from that area, namely Jewish, Catholics, and Muslims, all condemn homosexuality. When they took over, well, it went underground. To keep their heroes, sacrifices had to be made. The history behind religion is really quite fascinating."

"If you say so."

"And Baptists, especially Southern Baptists," Ben added softly, "can be quite cruel."

Rick glanced away, hand stilling. "Yeah."

"It was a long time ago. Cut yourself some slack."

"What do you know?"

Catching Rick's hand across the once-flat planes of his stomach, Ben squeezed, drawing the other's attention once more. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know anything, but I can guess. So you were an asshole as a kid, what else is new? Most teenagers are shits. And 'Mr. Straight-Boy' wouldn't have been trying so hard to hide, if he didn't think he needed to, right?"

"That doesn't exactly help, Doc."

Ben smiled, brushing off the sting. "It's a start. Now, come here."

Rick let Ben pull him back down into another kiss, the weakened arms trembling against his scalp. He captured the thin wrists and placed them, one at a time, above Ben's head. He reached down, to caress a cheek, to lean forward for a kiss, and Ben jerked, hands making an aborted attempt to push Rick away. He froze, letting Ben get his bearings again.

"Sorry."

Ben pressed a cool palm against his forehead, closing his eyes. "N-nothing to be sorry about. It'll pass."

Much as he wanted to touch and hold, Rick kept his hands to himself and his tone light. "You know, they say that doctors make the worst patients."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ben pasted on a smile. "Well, not this 'Doc.' Now, aren't you supposed to be kissing me?"

"You shouldn't do that."

"Do what?" snapped Ben, huffing in irritation.

"Ignoring what happened isn't going to just make it go away. It happened --"

"I know! I was fucking there!"

"Then tell me! Tell me what happened so I know how to help you."

"I don't need your help! I don't need you!"

Rick sat up, reaching for his discarded shirt. He slipped the fabric over his head, not looking at Ben. He sternly told his dick to shut up. Bracing his arms on the edge of the hospital bed, he looked sideways and over his shoulder at Ben, afraid, but needing to ask.

"Then what do you need?"

Ben drew the covers back up to his chin, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't need anything," he began slowly, closing his eyes.

Rick suppressed a sigh, rolling his eyes. "I've never met anyone who needed something --" or someone -- "as much as you do."

A blue eye, narrowed in anger, turned his way. "Fuck you. And the horse you rode in on!" Ben struggled up on an elbow, right hand going to his side as he grimaced, but his eyes were intent, serious.

Rick felt a tingle in the base of his spine. His mouth went dry and his cock twitched.

". . . to me."

"What?"

That sexy mouth pulled to one side into a deeper scowl. Blue eyes lashed out. "You can go to hell," Ben replied. "You think you can come in here like a goddamned hero and run my life? Well, fuck you! I won't give you the satisfaction of begging for your every attention like some kind of pet! You can go get your jollies somewhere else!"

Rick blinked. 'What?' was on the tip of his tongue, but he choked it down, brow furrowing as he thought. "I don't know what you're talking about," he tried.

A snort. Then a grunt as Ben flopped back down onto his back. Rick tensed, his feet taking a step closer before he could stop himself. While it was true he had no claim to the man, Rick had thought they had a connection, and a strong one at that. He frowned.

Ben, awake and conscious, was a crotchety, sniping grouch, like a two-year-old having a temper tantrum. Where was the bright-eyed, spunky goof Rick had first met?

"Okay," he said, coming closer and perching on the edge of the bed. "What's eating you?"

There was no answer for awhile, aside from a quck glance and darker scowl, but Rick knew how to bide his time.

That stern look melted a fraction. Ben's eyes darted to him and then away again, real fast. "I just," he said softly, expression fading from angry to anxious. "I need to know he's alright."

"Who?"

"Will, of course."

Rick frowned and he clenched his jaw. "Why would you ...? Look at me, Ben." Anger churned in his chest. "Answer me truthfully. Was Will the one who strangled you?"

"He wouldn't hurt me."

"It's a yes or a no question."

"No! N-no -- yes -- no -- I don't know! Fuck! Fuck."

Fists thumped down on the mattress, Ben chewing his lips as he turned his head away. Hesitantly, Rick laid his larger hand over the closest fist.

Guessing: "He almost killed you, Ben."

"No!" He pulled his hand away to gnaw at a knuckle. "It was an accident, he didn't mean to."

Something tightened with a jerk in Rick's chest. "He never does, does he?" he sighed, closing his eyes a moment to force some kind of control over himself.

"It wasn't his fault."

"Whose was it, then?"

"Well, I -- it ... my -- mine. Mine, okay? It was mine!"

Rick's mouth dropped open. "Yours?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"Yes, mine!" spat Ben savagely. He twisted a section of quilt, looking away.

"Oh, Ben." Rick reached for him, but Ben avoided his touch.

"He loves me."

"That's not love."

"And what would you know about it?" Ben demanded, eyes flashing. "You've never loved anyone your entire life, have you? Have you!"

Rick winced, but he wasn't going to let Ben sidetrack him again. "Do you love him?" he asked. Ben stared back at him, so he repeated, "Do you, Ben, love Will?" He wet his lips. "Or do you love James?"

The scathing retort died on his lips. "What? What did you say?"

"Do you love him?"

"Not that! You said James." He struggled up on his elbows, eyes narrowed as he stared back at Rick. "Where the hell did you hear that?"

Somehow, the quiet tone was far more unnerving than Ben yelling. "I saw his picture," Rick answered. "With all the swimming medals, remember?"

There was a lengthy pause before Ben said, "I never told you his name." Never spoke about him, actually. No one knew about that; no one except maybe Genny and Shelly.

"His obituary was in the box."

"How dare you go through my things." As pale as he'd become, the angry flush colored all of Ben's skin that Rick could see.

"That was the point, wasn't it?" asked Rick, careful to keep his voice steady, even if he was inwardly shaking. He knew if he took a misstep, he could ruin any future he might have hoped for.

"To go snooping?" cried Ben, voice catching. "Get out. Get out!"

"No."

Momentarily stunned, Ben could only stare.

"This time," Rick pressed, "the 'Love Doc' doesn't know best. You know what I think?" He continued on without waiting for an answer, "I think Will looks an awful lot like James. I think you'd do anything to have James back in your life, because you loved him. And he died."

"What the fuck do you know?" whispered Ben, eyes rounded.

"I know he's dead."

"Shut up."

"He's dead, Ben."

"Fucking shut up! I know that!"

"Do you? Do you really?"

"Yes! He's d-dead, I fucking killed him, there!" Flopping down, Ben threw his hands over his face, panting.

"He killed himself, Ben, you had nothing to do with it."

Fingers to his eyes, Ben fought back tears. "I know that," he said simply. "It just ... doesn't feel that way."

"So you wanted to help Will?" Rick prompted.

"Yes."

"Because you felt guilty?"

"Yes," Ben whispered. "I saw him, and I thought -- fuck! I thought, 'Here's my chance. A second chance, to make things right.' But ... it didn't turn out that way, and even though I knew I was getting in too deep, I couldn't stop, couldn't help but think that it could work. You don't understand! I need him to be okay! I need him ... I need him to forgive me."

As he'd spoken, Ben's hands fell away. A single tear blinked its way free. Rick grasped the closer hand in his own, caressing the back with his other hand.

"Will is not James," he said. "He can't do what you want."

Ben's eyes dropped from the ceiling to Rick. "I need him." He hated him, but Will ... Will made Ben feel wanted, needed, even loved. When he didn't feel like shit for giving in to the other man's demands, or two inches tall from the constant barrage of degrading comments. Shit! He knew he'd done the right thing, letting Shelly and Doug convince him to stay and let Will move away, but it still hurt. He hadn't finished his work; no one had ever needed him the way Will did ....

Rick kissed the knuckles captured in his hand. "I know what you need."

"And what would that be?" Rick was such a know-it-all asshole. Ben told himself it was just re-bound confusion. He hadn't dated since Will left. This was just him being a needy, clingy, faggoty bitch, that was all. He was a loner, he liked his life just fine, and Rick could just go back to whatever hell had spawned him. He didn't want to deal with the man's shit. Really. He didn't want to have to think about anyone other than himself for awhile. Why didn't he just go away? Why was he still here?

"You need someone that you can love."

"I --" Startled that Rick could even know that, the acidic remark Ben wanted to make died unspoken.

"Have you ever loved anyone? Besides James."

"Pat ..." Ben trailed off, thoughts flipping the pages of his past relationships. So many faces, so many names. They'd all needed something from him. Even ... "Pat," he said again. "I guess, but, it was more friendly, not, well, not romantic."

"Huh. I didn't take you for the romantic sort."

"I'm not. It's all just bullshit, a myth perpetuated by the media and romance novelists." He closed his eyes and turned his face away to hide the hurt, the yearning. Whatever drugs the doctors still had him on were messing with his head.

"And Will?"

Ben remained silent for a long time. He remembered Will coming to his office, leaning over him, the old fear. "He scares me," he blurted out, finally, fresh terror clawing at his chest. He wiped sweat from his face. "Shit." His gaze flitted from staring at nothing, to Rick, and then back up to the ceiling. "I-I've never told anyone that."

"I know." Rick nodded. Everyone he'd met was intimidated by Will. He hadn't the faintest idea why. "So what happened?"

"I don't know." He was quiet again, and then said, "Will's got lots of cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents that completely dote on him. They call it a 'lifestyle choice,' but they're okay with him being gay. They liked me, and I love his mother. Very nice lady. His dad's a prick, but he lives in Washington, so I only had to deal with him once. Came in for Christmas."

"Seems normal."

"Yes, it was very nice." He let out his breath in a soft sigh. "Will's the only one who's ever called me beautiful. Most of the time I get a cute, cuddly cute, not in a good way. Sure it was useful for a time, but I'm over thirty. It's not funny anymore."

"You'll probably look like your Uncle as you get older."

"Hope so. Anyway, we had a great time together. Only, well, alone, he -- and sometimes not -- his family calls each other names, only they mean it in an endearing way, you know?" It had seemed so normal. Will had been so attentive, everything he'd ever wanted in a man, and wanted for himself, not to train up for someone else. It was almost enough to believe he was back in high school, imagining the kind of life he and James might have had.

"I know the kind."

"It didn't seem weird when he started doing the same to me, except that he wouldn't stop, even after I told him I didn't like it." There was a quality to Will's name-calling that had felt wrong. "We had our first argument about that, about stupid pet names, in the middle of a Walgreens. I hate nicknames, and he knew it, and ... He was talking to someone, and introduced me as his 'illegal addiction.' He was always making cracks about the way I look, and that one wasn't even the worst, but I got mad. We argued, right there -- I still can't walk into a Walgreens. Back at his house, he was driving, he always insisted on driving, he laid into me again, and I told him that if he couldn't respect my wishes, then we were through."

Ben glanced down at his hand, still encased in both of Rick's, fighting the urge to yank himself free. "He, uh, h-he hauled off and slapped me. We didn't speak for a week. I thought -- God! I don't know what I thought! I was only trying to help him! I wanted to help him! This whole damn mess is my fault."

"How do you figure that?"

"I said yes."

"Ben --"

"He really doesn't mean to be this way, I know he doesn't. He's just trying to cope. I finally figured it out, and we got him diagnosed. He's an aspie. He has Asperger's. He's believed he was stupid his whole life, simply because he can't read well, can you believe that?" He gave Rick a pleading look, wanting him to understand, wanting him to not think ill of him.

"He doesn't know how to manage his temper, his mom would just shove him in his room when he got too much for her to handle. He doesn't understand simple things, that most people assimilate just by being around other people. Like what's socially acceptable and what's not. It's funny, though. Sometimes, he can walk in a room and completely charm the pants off everyone there, and other times he comes off as a total asshole. It's random, less so now, because we worked on it, but it used to be pretty bad."

Rick frowned, thinking. "Ben, just because he's got this --"

"Asperger's."

"Right." Why did he feel like he was being distracted?

"Think of it like high-functioning autism."

"Um, okay, I know what autism is. I think. But, Ben, I don't see what that has to do with ... You've just described abuse, Ben. That doesn't have anything to do with this autism stuff."

"No."

"Ben ...."

"No!" He tried to draw his hand back, but Rick wouldn't release him. "It's not like that!" He was trained in psychology, he knew the signs, it wasn't like that, was it?

"You're grasping at straws here. It is like that." Rick shook his head. What other nonsense was Ben going to use to deny what had really happened?

"I'm a man!" Ben protested. Hunter had tried to say something. They'd fought over the things Ben had confessed, and Hunter had stormed off, screaming that when Ben came to his senses and apologized, then they could be friends again. Will had been happy, but he and Hunter had never liked each other; Will hadn't liked any of Ben's friends.

"So?"

He whispered, "Men don't get abused." Will didn't mean to hurt him, he just ... just lost his temper occasionally. It wasn't his fault.

"Oh, Ben, you don't really believe that, do you?"

"It's undocumented, under-reported," he mumbled, looking away. "Same gender partnerships even more so." He wasn't going to think about the statistics, wasn't going to see how his and Will's relationship was a textbook case ....

"There, you see?"

"Fuck!"

"Ben --"

"No! Fuck you! Fuck. You. You think you can just walk in here and proclaim from on-high? well, fuck that! You're wrong! You're so fucking wrong!" He had to be! Ben knew he'd done everything Will wanted; when Will was happy, Ben was happy, it was just easier that way to get Will to do what Ben wanted, if he gave a little first.

"Ben."

"Let go of me! Let go!" he howled. Will was small, but Ben always felt weak around him, not like Rick's ever present strength. Rick was warm and comforting, welcoming. So many times Ben had felt like he juggled a time bomb with Will. He hadn't realized how exhausted he was from stress until they'd no longer been together. Even then, he'd chalked it up to being depressed about the break-up. He could admit to being manipulated, but abuse? That couldn't be it, could it?

Rick did let go, but only long enough to sit down again on the bed, back to the wall, to draw Ben into his arms. He didn't say anything, just let the smaller man pound on his shoulder and sob. They didn't last long. Such deep grief was too exhausting in Ben's current state. Finished, he leaned limply against Rick's chest, head tucked under his chin, too weak even to hold himself up.

Feeling Ben start to shiver, Rick drew the blankets up around them.

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me?"

"Are you sure?" Hot to cold again. Which one was the real Ben?

"I can't think when you kiss me. Please." Rick's kisses made the world disappear.

"Answer me one thing first."

"Okay."

"Why a cemetery?"

He sighed. "James is buried there. It's a beautiful place, there in the hills. Off the 101."

"Ben, I just sent two policemen to a cemetery."

"They wouldn't let me go. To the funeral, said I'd done enough," said Ben, as if he hadn't heard. "Told Will I wanted to be buried there, too. He'd have gone there, if he went anywhere."

Jesus. Ben might not have said so out loud, but he knew, at least subconsciously, that Will had meant to kill him. "Guess we'll find out. Thank you, Ben."

"Whatever."

Rick kissed the top of Ben's head and just held him. He didn't know when or if Ben would ever let him do so again, and Rick was determined to enjoy every minute he could. Ben was still asleep when the nurses came in and remained asleep as they settled him back in the blankets, running their checks. Rick chatted with Shelly, Tan, and Hunter before excusing himself. He didn't correct their assumptions as to why they'd stayed locked away so long, but neither did he respond in kind to their lascivious jokes.

Outside, he flipped on his cell phone, first calling the detectives and letting them know everything he'd found out. Then he paced, staring at his phone. It didn't feel right, convincing Ben to own up to the truth, when Rick was still hiding, and had been hiding for a long, long time.

He glanced up and back behind him to the hospital. Somewhere, behind those walls, was a seriously messed-up blonde. He should be keeping his distance, but he couldn't. Ben needed him, and Rick needed to be there for him. Closing his eyes and muttering a quick prayer, Rick hit the speed-dial.

"Hello? This is the Wengstrom residence."

"Hi, Mom, it's Rick."

"Rick!"

His mother. Was that luck? Or God's way of getting straight to the point? He gulped. Could he really do this?

"Sweetheart, is something wrong?"

"No, why would anything be wrong?"

Beatrice laughed on the other end. "Honey, you only call on holidays. I even had to leave a message for your birthday this year."

"I know, I was out celebrating." Stalling again. Why couldn't he just say it?

"So how does it feel to be thirty? I remember that was a hard one for me."

"I'm fine." Deep breath. "Mom? I need to tell you something." He could do this. Really.

"What is it? Where are you? It's noisy."

"I'm at a hospital -- No, Mom, I'm fine. Just, uh, just visiting."

"Who could you be visiting at a hospital on a workday?"

"Um ... m-my boyfriend."

"Your girlfriend? Is she okay? What happened?"

"No, Mom, not my girlfriend." He switched hands, wiping sweat off on his pants. "Mom, what I have to tell you, I ... I'm, uh ... Mom, you should probably sit down."