01 The One I Want - 6. Jimmy, Will, & Bob

... James ....

Ben hadn't thought about James in years.

Used to be, everything would remind him of the other boy. His smile, his laugh, his spitballs, his 'Just a little more, Ben!" or "Just a little longer!' when Ben wanted to turn back.

Ben was almost eleven when he and Genny went to live with his grandmother. She'd tried to get him for years, but the system was on his mother's side. It wasn't until his mother's parents refused to have anything to do with their grandchildren that the courts finally awarded permanent custody to the only person who had ever seemed to care. Sure, Gran gave him cookies, but she also swatted his little behind when he mouthed off. He had never seen so much soap in his life that first week.

They'd lived in a quadplex, four apartments stacked two on top of the other, with a shared stairwell. Gran had thrown him outside, "No TV!" and Ben had sobbed on the bottom of the stairs until the boy who lived directly above them sat down beside him. Silently, he offered his lollipop. Hiccupping, Ben accepted.

James was two years older and, as far as Ben was concerned, the sun rose and set around Jimmy. They spent the rest of the summer at the pool where Jimmy taught Ben how to swim, and how to dive, and how to snap his towel. They didn't go to the same school in the fall, but when the bullies would chase Ben home, Jimmy would chase them off again.

When he started high school, Jimmy suddenly became James, a proud, sophisticated young man who insisted that when he had company, that company had to include his best friend, the cherub-faced urchin from downstairs. For four years they were inseparable. James was an athlete, so Ben joined cheerleading in Jr High School in order to do cheer in high school and be there at all the games. He met Shelly at cheerleading camp between eighth and ninth grades and he couldn't wait to introduce his second friend to his first. Then James convinced Ben to join the swimming and diving team that he was Team Captain of, and ninth grade felt like heaven.

Ben and James walked to school together for their early-morning swim practice, stayed after for cheerleading, and, depending on the season, football, soccer, or baseball practice, and then walked home together to spend the few hours they had after dinner studying together, or just fooling around. James got his license the day he turned sixteen, and soon they were driving over to Shelly's on the weekends to hang out or go to the arcade or mall.

But then, that summer, everything changed. It started out simply enough, just another summer afternoon at the pool. They came home arguing. Ben wanted to show James his boat, the boat he was saving up every dime he could earn mowing grass and running errands and delivering newspapers. James wanted to go to the beach. One of the lifeguards looked like Pamela Anderson, and James suddenly wanted to learn how to surf.

They tussled. Although younger, Ben was taller, and starting to pull away from the shorter, stouter James, but he'd never beaten James while wrestling before. Glowing with victory, his friend pinned down beneath him, panting at each other, noses only inches apart, Ben kissed him. They both froze.

Then they sprang apart. Ben immediately ran home, cheeks wet with tears, and the most uncomfortable, burning sensation in his crotch. He didn't know what to do.

What James thought about it, Ben never found out. They never spoke again. Ben even spent some of his hard-earned boat-money to learn to surf from that Pamela Anderson look-alike, but he didn't see James again until school started. Even then, James, now a senior, kept his distance. He drove to school, and to work. He wouldn't answer the phone or come to the door, and he wouldn't talk to Shelly, either.

In a fit of desperation and anger, Ben cornered James at his locker and, as they'd argued, had loudly proclaimed all his feelings, his embarrassment and hurt and, yes, his love. The punch he'd received hadn't hurt near as much as the laughter and jeers from those who'd surrounded them, watching the fight. The news was all over school before lunch. The year before, Ben hadn't had any trouble from bullies, for the first time in his life; that changed instantly. It was Shelly who found him and helped him home.

He never spoke of the incident again and, although Gran insisted he take a self-defense class, he never lifted a hand against his attackers. Genny did. Small herself and the half-sister of a fag, she fought back until the other kids learned to leave her alone. She couldn't understand why the older brother she adored preferred to cry himself to sleep at night.

Things continued in deadlock until Ben, Genny, and their grandmother went away for Thanksgiving. They always did, driving the long, day's trip to Sacramento to stay with Gran's brother for the holiday. Uncle Charlie answered the phone that November night. He had the unenviable task of informing his grand-nephew that Ben's best friend, so far as he still knew, had just killed himself.

James ....

Ben pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, thumping his head on the garage wall he leaned against.

"Fuck," he muttered. "It was twenty years ago! Shit." He'd told Shelly to get rid of that crap. Why had she hung onto it all this time?

He pushed himself off the stucco, shaking his head, and approached his boat. He caressed the frame through the heavy plastic and ducked under the de-masted aluminum pole sticking out from under the tarp in the front to step around to the other side. He hadn't been out on the boat since before Toby, more than three years now. Toby was afraid of water, and Will hadn't ever wanted to go. Ben and Shelly had always said they'd sail to Catalina one day, but they never had. He wondered if his license was still good.

Ben nudged the bricks aside with his bare feet and then started to fold back the tarp. He ran his hand along the revealed, smooth, wood finish. They'd done a good job this time. Didn't look like he'd even have to re-paint. He reached for the snaps by his chin ....

And something grabbed him by the collar, thrusting him face-first into the fiberglass and aluminum railing. Dazed, he collapsed to his knees. He turned to look behind him, squinting as the world split into three.

In an unknowing mirror of Ben's past musings, Will grabbed Ben by the front of his shirt and dragged him upright. Ben never fought back, ever, and Will feared neither retaliation, nor protest.

"How can you do this to me? Tell me!" he demanded, punctuating each word with another blow. "Oh, Ben, Ben, why do you make me do this?"

"I'm sorry," whispered Ben, as he always did, but he wasn't looking at Will this time. He didn't know what Ben saw, but he wasn't paying attention and that only made Will angrier. When William Hall stepped into a room, the world took notice. He was a fucking star, damn it!

"Damn it, Ben!" he snapped, throwing him roughly against the boat. "You make me so fucking mad! Why do you do that? Why?"

Ben sagged against the arms holding him up. He couldn't hardly see anymore, there was blood on his face. "I love him!" he murmured.

Snarling in rage, Will knocked Ben to the ground and fell on top of him, hands around his neck. "You love him?" he echoed. "You love me! You love ME!" Fists flew and fell. "I love you, Ben! I've always loved you! And you love me, too!"

The body struggled, lungs straining against the loss of oxygen, bringing Ben back to the present with a start. He pawed at Will's wrists, kicking at the weight on his chest. "Will ...!" he gasped harshly. "Wi ...!" The hands tightened, smacking Ben's head against the brick, only partially cushioned by the tarp. You're really hurting me!

Panicked, he threw himself in a sideways roll towards the boat's trailer. The side hit Will's shoulder and he loosened his grip, startled enough for Ben to draw in one awful, rasping breath. There were spots in his vision and things that didn't make sense. The world was both upside-down and sideways at the same time, but, for just one instant, he saw clearly. He cocked his arm back for the only punch he'd ever thrown.

Ben rolled to his other side, wheezing for breath, as Will tumbled away. He was up again immediately, face darkened with rage, the knife he always carried in his pocket now in his hand. Ben caught the glitter of steel in the sunlight and instinctively brought up his arm to shield himself. He still couldn't hardly breathe. The fear and pain-filled scream as that blade sliced open his forearm came out as little more than a gasp. Close at hand was the underside of the boat and Ben didn't think, he made for that dubious safety with everything he had left.

"You can't love him!" Will was crying now, hands shaking. He grabbed Ben's legs, wrestled with him to keep him from getting away. "You love me! You have to love me! You belong to me!"

Ben kicked, trapped, his head and shoulders under the trailer, both arms around the wheel, pulling, not feeling the cut of the blade. "No!" he screamed. He had to get away, but he couldn't draw breath, his head spun, weakness filling his limbs.

The harsh whisper froze the tears on Will's cheeks. He yanked with a sudden, anger-filled strength. "No?" he echoed, looming over his lover. How could he even begin to describe the humiliation Ben had heaped on his head? They had made such a picture-perfect couple and Will had boasted about his lover to anyone who would listen, and many who didn't. When he'd shown up in Vegas without him, he'd been a laughingstock. He was going to bring Ben back with him, or ....

"W-Will?"

"If I can't have you, no one will!"

Ben would never afterwards be able to say how he was able to do what he did. He saw that knife come at him again, felt it in him, and he twisted. He went into the blow, and the knife sliced sideways and up, towards his back before jerking forwards again and lodging in a rib. Will yanked, but the blade wouldn't come loose. Fear and rage and hurt ran one into the other and he panicked over what he'd done. This wasn't something in the privacy of his own home that he could cover up or explain away. A couple days of TLC wasn't going to make everything okay again.

Will let go of the knife as if it were red-hot, stumbling backwards and away, horror-struck. "Ben," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Benny. I love you!" Then he ran. He didn't look back.

Ben retched, bile burning his throat, making him cough, and then he couldn't breathe. He blacked out, for how long he couldn't tell, but he was cold and shaking and felt both light-headed and very, very numb and heavy. His chest hurt, in sharp, paralyzing aches that made Ben not want to breathe. He gasped shallowly, brain struggling with the shock to understand what just had happened.

"Oh, God," he mouthed the words, hurting and scared, and alone. He hadn't been afraid, before, there'd been no time for that, and he tried to push it back now. Rick was just on the other side of that wall. How much noise had they made? Was it enough? Couldn't be, or his G.I. Joe would've already come storming to the rescue.

"Rick ...!" he gasped. "Rick." He wanted him, badly. Rick would make everything better. He was good at that. He'd kiss him and nothing else would matter. This would all just be some horrible dream. Please! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease ....

He heard the door open, and voices, as if summoned from his thoughts, and Ben summoned every force of willpower he had to say something, to make a noise, but he couldn't move. He tossed his head and almost passed out again. Rick ... Help! he pleaded silently.

The first thing Rick saw was a foot, bare and tanned and sprawled at an awkward angle on top of the crumpled tarp. He stepped forward automatically, and then he saw the blood. It was everywhere, like some horror movie's idea of a murder scene. He was at Ben's side in an instant, not even realizing that he'd called out.

"Ben! Oh, my God! Ben!"

Ben's head and shoulders were under the trailer and Rick reached for him instinctively, throwing himself flat to reach. Don't be dead, don't be dead, DON'T BE DEAD! Icewater filled his insides, sloshing around. The cold intensified as fingers found and cupped those blood and tear-streaked cheeks, toes pushing Rick forward so that he could brush Ben's bloody, split lips with his own.

"Shelly, call 911!"

His lips moved, but there was no sound. His face was red from blood, white underneath. A fresh tear or two or three dripped from his eyes. Ben sighed softly, the air barely brushing against Rick's chin. Rick was here. If Rick was here, then everything would be okay. The pain was already fading. He closed his eyes.

"No, Ben!" cried Rick, trembling hands jostling his lover. "Stay with me, Ben, you've got to stay conscious! Hear me? Hear me, Ben? Oh, God, please, Ben!"

At first Shelly could only stare in horror. Not again! She jumped at Rick's words, flipping on her cell and pushing the buttons for emergency services. "Come on, come on!" she muttered as the phone rang, went to the standard, please hold pattern, and then finally to a human being. The calm voice on the other end helped her keep her cool, even though her heart felt frozen in icy fear.

"Please state the nature of your emergency."

"M-m-my -- I," she stammered. "Shit! I'm sorry!"

"Please stay calm, ma'am. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know! I don't know!" Shelly blew out her breath in a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry," she said again. "My friend's been st-stabbed, I don't know how bad, but th-there-there's blood-oh-fuck!" She gasped, never so badly wanting to just break down and sob in her whole life.

"We'll send over an ambulance right away. What's the address?"

Address ... Address ... She had to concentrate! Ben needed her help. She spoke to the operator on the other end, answering his questions as best she could. Rick had his shirt off, pressed against the wound on Ben's stomach, carefully draped around the knife. Rick held the slashed edges of Ben's arm pressed together in his hands, his own hands red with blood, kneeling in more, it was everywhere and Shelly didn't know where to look, gripping her cell with white-knuckled fingers and holding onto the operator's voice for dear life.

Rick stayed next to Ben, whispering steadily and Shelly was at least able to tell the operator that Ben was conscious. She poked at Rick until he looked at her.

"Your phone," she said, holding out her hand. "Give me your phone!" With 911 on one line, Shelly called Doug.

"This is Dougl--"

"Doug!" she shrieked. "Shut up! Ben's hurt. Get home now! Now, dammit! Shut up! Just do it! I can't drive with Ollie! And I need my mother -- oh, shit, and you'll have to call Gran and Genny. Stop arguing with me, Doug! Just do it!" She hung up, slumping against the boat as the operator advised her to sit down and take deep breaths. "I'm sorry," she cried, wiping at tears. "My husband, I just, oh, god, this is so bad."

Rick spared a worried glance for Shelly, but Ben needed him more. The wound on his arm still bled sluggishly, but Rick couldn't tell if that was because he'd already lost so much or the injury just wasn't as severe as it looked. There were other cuts and they looked bad, but he'd seen bone through the slice in Ben's arm; that one worried him.

"Stay with me, Sunshine," he said again as Ben's eyes drooped. The pupils were unbelievably wide, his skin cool and clammy. He was in shock and Rick knew that shock could kill all on its own. Fear ate at him. Sure, he'd done a fair bit of first-aid before, he'd seen people killed, too, and he knew that the bloody foam that bubbled up with every gasping breath was not good. At all. But Ben's eyes stayed fixed on Rick, almost without blinking. He couldn't say why, but the light kisses seemed to help, which was really starting to creep him out. He never thought he'd ever be so glad to hear sirens.

Shelly went around to the front to bring the paramedics back, and then she ran into the house. She pressed a sealed, manila envelope into Rick's hands. "Power of Attorney, and stuff," she explained. "I can't go in the ambulance, you have to go with him. You've got to go, hear me?"

Rick nodded, but his eyes were all for Ben as the paramedics carefully lifted him onto the stretcher. Their quiet efficiency was comforting, even if Ben looked as pale as a corpse.

One of the paramedics looked up. "We'll be going to Anaheim Memorial."

Shelly shoved at Rick a little. "He's going. I'm the POA, but he'll have the info. Ben's AB!" she blurted, then snapped her mouth shut, fighting tears again. "Oh, God."

The paramedic nodded, smiling a little in a kindly way. In minutes, they were packed away inside the ambulance, the driver radioing ahead. Nurses and doctors immediately pushed Rick aside and he stood there, lost and alone with the envelope and his blood-stained shorts, until one of the nurses took pity on him. Taking him in the back, she got Rick to clean up and change into an extra pair of scrubs, then sat him down in the waiting room with a plastic bag for his shorts and effects and a clipboard with the requisite paperwork.

Rick's hands shook as he ripped open the envelope. He flipped through the papers first, trying to get his bearings. Focusing on the paperwork kept his mind from going around in circles. On top was the Power of Attorney, naming Shelly as executor, then a will, copies of social security card, birth certificate, driver's license, and insurance forms, and then it just got weird. There were bank records, dental and medical histories, a credit report dated less than six months previously, and, in Ben's cramped script, lists. There was one for bills, how much to pay, from what account, and when they were due, one for the computer, with passwords and programs, personal and business, and a list of contacts, with addresses and phone numbers. At the very bottom of the envelope was the key to what Rick presumed was a safe-deposit box. Every emergency that Rick could think of was covered by the forms in that packet and there were copies. In triplicate.

The amount of trust Shelly had shoved in his hands was staggering. In today's cyber world, Rick held a man's life, all organized and ready to go. If he hadn't already been shaking, he would have started. The last thing he wanted to do was go through valuable and private information he still shied away from telling even close friends and family, let alone a guy he'd known less than a week. Unfortunately, there was no one else and, knowing Ben, this would be what he'd want. Shelly already had more than enough things to worry about.

Reluctantly, he set himself about the task of matching information to fields on each of the forms, writing slowly in order to be legible. He chewed on the pen in nervous tension, feeling his heart plummet to his feet when the door he'd been watching opened and a doctor came straight for him. At his elbow walked a cop. He didn't know if he should sit or stand, but by the time he gathered up all the documents again the doctor sat down on one side, the cop on the other.

"You came in with the boy with the stabbing, right?"

Rick nodded. His tongue didn't want to work to inform them that the so-called 'boy' was in fact a thirty-six -- no, thirty-five -- year old man. Ben's birthday wasn't until August.

"I'm Dr. Leslie Frank. Yes, Leslie, my parents had an awful sense of humor. Look ...?"

"Rick," he mumbled. "R-Rick Wengstrom. His name's Ben Blythe."

"Okay, Rick -- Oh, sweetie, just breathe." Leslie pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed a little. Why was it that the big knuckleheads all turned into mush-balls, and the little twinks were the bulldogs? He patted Rick's hand. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask what your relationship is to, uh, to Ben."

Rick's mouth dropped open a tiny bit. What should he say? Lovers? Technically, he supposed. Boyfriend? Sort of. Just a friend?

The sudden tension and panic told Leslie all he wanted to know. He patted Rick again, gaining his attention. "Do you have a Power of Attorney?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Y-yes, but --" Rick's voice cracked. "I'm not the executor, she's not here yet, the family's not here yet, I don't know when they'll get here!"

"Take deep breaths, can't panic just yet, got to keep it together for Ben, right?"

Rick nodded.

Leslie rubbed his forehead. This did make things more complicated, but nothing he wasn't used to. L.A. traffic had changed a lot in the thirty years he'd lived there. "Okay, I'm going to have to ask some questions, and then Detective Barry has some for you. First thing I need to know is if Ben has a do not resuscitate order on file?"

Rick's eyes went wide. "You don't mean he's ...?"

"I'm not a surgeon, I can't speak for them, but your friend is hurt in a bad way. He's on his way to surgery right now."

"Oh," groaned Rick. He shoved his hands back in the envelope and pulled out the copy of a hand-written note he'd seen amongst the medical records. "B-Ben has sensitivity to anesthesia. He, uh, he -- here."

Leslie took the note and his heart jumped. He recognized the doctor's name on the note. He quickly stood and waved over a nurse, instructing her to take it to the OR immediately, to their John Doe. Then he sat down again, to ask, "Who is Ben's doctor?"

Rick immediately gave him a copy of the thin, medical file. "I don't know. He's just, I have these ... Is he -- Tell me he's going to be okay!"

"I can't do that, Rick," Leslie replied, holding the documents but not reading through them the way his fingers itched to do. "I don't know that information. But, I can take you upstairs to where you can wait, would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then let me tell you what I do know, and that is your friend Ben has a couple broken bones in his cheek, a concussion, and a lot of internal injuries, which is what the surgery is for. His right lung is punctured and partially collapsed, so we had to put in a tube to help him breathe. The arm, however, doesn't look bad at all, but he has lost an awful lot of blood. When the surgeons finish up, they'll be able to tell you more, but it could be a long while. With me so far?"

"Y-yes." His head spun. Head? Throat?

"Well, then, you just speak to the officer here for a minute and I'll be back, okay?"

"Rick, was it?" the cop asked. "I'm Steve." He held up his notepad. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know," Rick replied faintly. "I only left him for a minute!"

"Tell me, please, in your own words, what you witnessed, Rick."

"That's with an 'o,'" said Rick, staring at the notepad. He corrected the spelling of his name. Closing his eyes for a second, he relayed what he could remember, stepping around the boat with Shelly, and how things looked. He didn't think he'd ever get that image out of his mind.

Steve nodded. "Can you tell me if Ben has any enemies?"

"No. Who would want to harm Ben? He's -- Mother fucker!"

The city policeman sighed to himself as he grabbed the larger man's arm. It usually was someone the victim knew. "Mr. Wengstrom. Rick, please, we're in a hospital."

Rick collapsed back to his chair. "I'm sorry, it's just -- an ex -- uh, I mean ...." He flushed, picking at the papers.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Your boyfriend's ex?" he asked, jotting down a note.

Rick flinched. "Yes, I think."

"Did something happen recently?"

"His name is William Hall, but that's all I know. Came back to the city recently and showed up at Ben's office on Monday. I was there with him yesterday and threw him out. He ... well, I don't know many of the details, but it was not a good relationship."

"Can you be more specific?"

"No." Rick shook his head sadly. "I only have hearsay to go on."

"Any reason to believe he'd want to attack Ben?"

"He was attacked?"

"I don't think he tried to strangle himself, if that's what you're asking," Steve replied. He had polaroids and a digital camera in his pocket. "I believe that the vict -- er, Ben, knew his attacker. The majority of his injuries occurred while face-to-face with his assailant. He'd skinned his knuckles, so he tried to fight back, and the gash on his arm is in keeping with a defensive posture. It also sounds like he meant to climb underneath the ..." he checked his notes. "Boat trailer, possibly to try and escape the attack."

"God."

"The doctors have the weapon, so we'll be able to run some tests on it later, but the likelihood of getting fingerprints is not good. So," he fished a card out of his pocket, "let me know if you think of anything else, all right? And I'll need the address."

"Address?"

"Where the attack happened. We should have a team on their way over, but I'll want to join up with them there and take a look."

"Oh, right." Flipping up the appropriate sheet, Rick gave the cop Shelly and Doug's address. Then the doctor escorted Rick to a lounge where he could wait. He paced and worked on the documents and paced some more.

John Riley was an average-sized, distinguished gentleman of sixty-two, with gray hair (what was left) and a certain fondness for his tidy, salt and pepper beard. He'd gone to college in the early sixties, partied into the seventies, and somehow in there developed a love for computers. A life-time affair with Apple followed, and, by playing his cards right, he'd been able to retire at fifty-five, leaving Silicon Valley to moving back to L.A. His parents were getting on in years and Riley wanted to spend more time with them. It really was too bad that the first wife and kids had moved to New Mexico. They were almost too far away to visit regularly. Still, he and his father had not had the easiest of relationships, but they were bonding now, brought together again by a mutual love for golf.

When an old business associate asked him to look over a moderately-successful, online social networking company, Riley had shrugged and accepted. He found the idea intriguing, in the days before MySpace and Facebook and all the others. There was a heavy lean toward the dating aspect, but a great deal of the owners' energies went into arranging events for folks to just have a good time as a group. He told his friend that the place was worth further investment and the next thing Riley knew, he was working again. Not full-time, but more than part-time, and he was having a good time.

Doug and Shelly accepted him with open arms; Ben was more stand-offish, but Riley soon came to view the younguns, as he called them, like adopted children. He knew that extra cents at the end of the quarter drove Shelly to distraction (and lots and lots of swearing); he knew that Doug's attention to detail was borderline obsessive and that he needed to shepherd any repairs or cleaning crews because Doug would follow them around like a T-rex looking for its next meal; and he knew that under Ben's prickly exterior was a man who cared far too deeply about too many things.

He couldn't leave Ben to work himself into a nervous break-down, and so, with regret, had said goodbye to his family and returned early. He happened to be leaning against Doug's desk, benignly agreeing that, yes, little Oliver was the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen, yes, Shelly was simply radiant, and, yes, they'd be great parents, ad nauseum. Doug and Shelly had tried for years for a baby and the excitement of that first positive pregnancy test had yet to wear off. Riley knew the glow would fade eventually, babies were not easy, but he remembered those first days and was more than willing to cut them a little slack.

He'd been more happy to hear about the new man in Ben's life, the boy needed some tough love, that was for sure. Time to stop moping over Will and move on, especially when the new man throws the old out of the office. He wished he'd been there to see that! Ben's 'hobby' had not pleased Riley at all, it was far too dangerous in this day and age, but so long as Ben kept his counseling inside the walls of the office, he hadn't been able to object. If best friends and partners Doug and Shelly couldn't convince Ben to stop trying to fix everybody, then Riley knew his chances were slim, and far more likely to alienate a young man he'd come to hold quite a bit of respect and affection for.

He waved and shrugged a little, unconcerned with the interruption, when Doug's phone rang. Of the three, Doug used his cell most often, and answered automatically. Everyone in the immediate area winced when Shelly's voice came over the line. Doug barely got a chance to breathe a word, she barreled right over him and, suddenly, the office went dead silent, everyone watching Doug. Shelly didn't panic. Shelly never panicked. Shelly kicked ass while Doug ran around in circles like a chicken with its head cut off.

Riley grabbed the phone and turned it off. He gave Doug a minute to pull himself together and addressed the rest of the staff: "There's been an emergency. Put up a note, we're closing early today." He grabbed the keys out of Doug's hand as he tried to race by. "Let me drive, Doug. You do the phone calls." Riley gave his office keys to Betty, smiling in reassurance. "I'll call as soon as I know anything."

Leaving Betty to see the rest of the staff out and lock up, Riley got Doug in his car, and drove to Anaheim. Doug called Genny first, but there was no answer. She rarely answered her cell during work hours. Her job kept her in 'clean rooms' most of the time, where anything not sterilize-able was forbidden. Gran didn't pick up, either, but at this time of day she'd be on her way to her restaurant. Doug called that number and left a message, then called Shelly's mother. The family had all mostly left Sunday night, with Mama Caroline promising to come back for a proper stay as soon as she could arrange the time off work. For Shelly to want her mother now, Doug feared the worst. He called his mom, too, and then he dialed the number for Hunter.

Doug liked Hunter, sort of, but he made Doug nervous. He'd first met Hunter as Hannah, one of Ben and Shelly's friends in college, and Doug still had trouble thinking of Hunter as a he and not a she. What was the point of becoming a man if you still dated men? He found it odd, and a little disconcerting. Hunter and Ben and, in fact, most of Ben's friends, had parted ways over the whole Will fiasco some time ago, but if anyone could rally the troops, it'd be Hunter. They still spoke, occasionally, but Hunter, as well as the rest, was still waiting for an apology that would probably never come. Shelly had refused to step in the middle, and Doug had followed suit.

"Dougie! Sweetheart, how good of you to call, we were just thinking about you, weren't we, Carl?"

Doug rolled his eyes, and waited. Yup, and there it was ....

"We were thinking about inviting you out for a little fun time with the gang," continued Hunter. "Imagine this --"

Doug could imagine, all right, far too well. Hunter had an astounding collection of porn he just loved to 'surprise' Doug with. He purposely liked to piss Doug off.

"Ten men, naked and sweaty, trapped in a fiery sauna during a snowstorm. In Alaska!"

Doug massaged his scalp. He didn't know who Carl was, but, from the heavy breathing in the background, he wasn't on the video. Doug decided to head this off before it got any worse, or more embarrassing.

"Hunter, not to be rude --"

"A 'course not, sweetie, but --"

"But Shelly just called and Ben's hurt. Real bad, from the sound of it." The silence on the other end made Doug frown at his phone, worried he'd just dropped the call. "Hunter?"

The voice on the other end was completely serious now. "How bad?"

"I don't know, Shelly was in hysterics, so ...."

"It's bad."

"Yeah."

"Damn, babe, I'm sorry. What can I do?"

"I talked to Mama Caroline, but can't get a hold of Genny or Gran. Can you?"

"Of course, I'll track 'em down."

Doug sighed. "That'd be great, thank you, and I'm not sure who Ben would want, so, can I leave that with you, too? Keep everyone informed, but --"

"Sure, sure, Doug, and where do I send 'em?"

"Oh, hell!" sighed Doug. "I don't know. Shelly was at home, I think, she didn't tell me she was going anywhere."

"That'd make the closest hospital Anaheim Memorial, sweetie," said Hunter. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. Let me know as soon as you have news. Should I come?"

"I think Ben would want you to, I know you're not on the best of terms, but, yeah, I think he'd want you there."

"Then I'm on my way. Try not to worry so much, Dougie, you'll get wrinkles."

"Whatever, Hunter. And thanks."

There was not the surplus of cops at the house that Doug had expected after all those hours spent watching CSI. Instead, there was a single detective, in a suit, sitting with Shelly in the kitchen taking her statement, and one uniformed cop and two lab techs in the carport taking pictures and bagging evidence. Shelly was crying, the baby was crying, it was a mess.

Doug took Ollie, gave his wife a quick kiss, and went into the nursery. Ollie needed changed, so he did that first, and saw that Shelly had already packed the diaper bag. He slipped the strap over his shoulder, grabbed Ollie's carrier, and returned to the kitchen. Riley had made coffee and Shelly seemed a little calmer.

"Mr. Harper, I presume?"

"Yes," he answered, shaking the detective's hand. "Call me Doug, please."

"Very well, Doug, I'm Detective Naomi Whitemire. I was just speaking to your wife about what happened. My partner should be on his way, there's no need for you to stay longer, I'm sure you're anxious to get going."

Doug nodded. "Yes, thank you, Detective."

"We'll do everything we can. Thank you for the time."

Escorted to the waiting room, Shelly threw herself at Rick. "Any word?"

Rick tucked the small woman into a hug, belatedly realizing that he was shaking as bad as she. He shook his head silently. He hadn't seen anyone since Dr. Frank had left. A steady hand on his arm made him look up, to a gentleman he didn't recognize, but who brought with him an air of confident calm.

"Son, I think you better sit down." Riley smiled at the man.

Nodding, Rick released Shelly and sank back down onto the repulsive and not particularly comfortable couch. He picked up the packet and hospital forms to give to Shelly. "They're done, you just need to sign."

Doug jiggled Ollie in his arms as the newborn started to cry. "Shelly ..."

And then, she, too, was sobbing again. Riley pressed her down into a chair, took the baby from Doug, and wrapped Shelly's arms around the infant. "Feed your son, Shelly, it'll be good for you, both of you."

She didn't have the energy to protest or be self-conscious. In truth, she hadn't really gotten the hang of the whole breast-feeding thing. No one had ever told her it would hurt or be nearly so awkward. She and Doug had even talked about switching to bottles, but Shelly had figured they could at least stick it out until her mom could get there and help, but it was so discouraging! Now, wrapped in sick worry and grief, she had Ollie at a breast and nursing before she realized it. Doug wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. Rick and Riley turned their backs to give them privacy.

"John Riley. Only my mother calls me John."

"Rick. Fredrick Wengstrom."

"Yes, I've heard of you. You're Ben's new boyfriend. So what's your angle? Why'd Ben pick you?"

"He was desperate," mumbled Rick, eyes going back to the door. "He needed a date."

"Oh, yes, the dinner. You wouldn't believe how long it took to convince him he needed to invite his grandmother over for dinner."

Curiosity piqued despite the stomach-gnawing anxiety, Rick lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "How do you know Ben?"

Riley smiled a little. "I'm no threat to you, son. I work for Ben, and Shelly and Doug."

"Oh. You're the missing partner. I thought you were out of state?"

"When I heard about little Ollie, I came back early."

"Ollie?"

It was Riley's turn to be surprised. "You haven't been introduced to the new baby?"

Rick blushed. "No." He lifted his hands helplessly. "It just wasn't ... I mean ...."

"Never mind. Shelly has a little boy, and they've named him Oliver Michael." He smiled fondly now, remembering. "They'd been teasing Ben for months that, if it were a boy, they'd name him Robert, just so they could call him Bob."

"Bob?"

"Ben's initials."

"Bob," Rick repeated, unknowingly smiling with certain fond reminisces of his own. "Of course." Benjamin Oliver Blythe. "Ollie is much better."

"And Michael is both the masculine version of Michelle, and Doug's middle name."

"Very nice."

"So, what do you do, Rick?"

He sighed. Here they go again. He didn't realize that Riley was smiling for an entirely different reason now. Shelly and Doug were in their own little world, and Rick was also calming down.

As the hours passed, the waiting room filled with the other members of Ben's eclectic, extended family. His grandmother and sister arrived together. Genny sat beside Rick and held his hands. Gran, white chef's coat hanging, paced or perched on various chair arms. Shelly's mother wouldn't be there until late, or early, depending on your perspective. She would drive at night after the evening's traffic died down.

Then there was Hunter, Paresh, Tan, and Lisa, Ben's closest estranged friends. They homed in on Rick, and again he spilled what was quickly becoming a well-rehearsed, shortened version of his life-story. He heard a bit of them as well as each related a few, charming anecdotes where Ben supplied the unwitting punch line. Genny, Doug, and Shelly all joined in and there were a few smiles and light laughter to help pass the time.

"I remember once," said Hunter, "we went to see Interview with the Vampire, and Ben forgot his wallet. Of course, he got carded and they wouldn't let him in. He was so mad! Wasn't Brad Pitt, like, gorgeous in that movie?"

Lisa remembered, "When I first met Ben, he was jogging down on the strand and that had to of been one of the worst days, right after my divorce. Made me look a little longer, cute guy, you know? Then he runs smack-dab into this cart, Pth-Twang! You know, like one of those cartoons where the person steps on a rake? I swear he bounced! He looked so surprised, all like, 'How did that get there?' Everybody was going, 'You okay?' and I swear he looked over at me, and here I am with my hands over my mouth trying not to laugh, and he winks. Winks! Then laughs. That was the worst day, and there he goes, this stranger, and turns everything upside down, without saying a word."

"Or, once, we went up to Tahoe," added Genny, "and stopped at this store on the way. Ben opens the car door and steps out and disappears! I heard this Whoomp! and I look over and there's Ben, flat on his ass. Knocked the wind right out of him. Seems I'd inadvertently parked over a patch of black ice. It looked clear."

"You remember when my sister got married?" asked Tan. "I was still trying to figure out the whole gay thing, and how to tell my family. Ben came with me to the engagement party. Towards the end there was karaoke, and you know how Ben can't keep a beat? Oh, god, he'll kill me he knows I've told you all this, but, at one point, someone drags him to the front to do a song, and," he broke off, chuckling too hard to continue for a minute. "He picks ... God! He picked 'I'm Too Sexy.'"

"Ben can't sing," said Shelly. Everyone else looked at each other, mixed looks of horrified amusement.

"It was like watching a train wreck!" Tan agreed. "Good thing it was late enough in the evening that most of the crowd was drunk, but, oh, my god, you should've seen it -- it was AWful! To hear, anyway, but then he started to do this striptease, you know, taking off his shirt and stuff. Oh, my god, and he was looking at me the whole time, stone-cold sober, you know Ben, and he's up there, like a devil, glistening with sweat, and taking off his clothes! Shit, I'd never been so hard in my life."

"Hey!" laughed Genny. "Sisterly ears, remember?"

"Sorry. Sorry, Miss Mimi."

Too anxious to laugh, Gran still smiled and shook her head. "I've heard it all, don't worry."

"I dressed Ben up as Cupid one year for Valentine's Day," said Shelly. She laughed at some of their expressions. "It's true! This was back in high school, mind, and I was part of the committee that had organized a secret valentine delivery. Write a note, who you want it to go to, what class, that sort of thing. Got Ben in the whole get-up, toga, feather wings, bow and arrow, and each time he handed out a valentine, he had to say some stupid, sappy remark that we wrote down for him."

"How'd you get him in that?"

Shelly winked at Hunter. "That's why he doesn't make bets with me!"

Rick found the easy camaraderie as welcome as it was surprising. With the first suspicions put to rest, Ben's family embraced Rick like a long-lost brother, especially after Doug told the story of Rick and Will's meeting. Hunter had howled with laughter, slapping his knee.

"Wish I could've seen the look on that fucking prick's face!"

"Any idea who did this?" Paresh asked solemnly. Large, expressive eyes gave every indication he had his own suspicions.

"Somebody Ben knew," said Rick. "The cop I spoke to said the injuries were face-to-face, so Ben must have let him get close."

"But who would want to kill Ben?"

Riley broke off the discussion after a glance at Mimi's stricken face. "Let's save those questions for later, when we know more. Ben will be able to tell us when he wakes up."

If, they all thought, but no one spoke. They drifted apart to talk quietly in ones and twos or to sit silently alone.

Genny squeezed Rick's hands. "It'll be okay," she whispered. "Ben's tough. No one's been able to keep Ben down yet."

Rick nodded, but his and Shelly's eyes met. They knew how serious this was. As the wait stretched into hours and those into more hours, the waiting room quieted. Shelly dozed, head in Doug's lap, Ollie beside her. The rest mingled a little, moving around and talking in low, worried voices. Rick was the first to see the doctor appear through the door Rick had kept one eye on the whole evening. He was old enough to look immediately competent, still dressed from the surgery, sleeves rolled up, and a nurse at his elbow. They both looked tired.

Silence fell when the surgeon cleared his throat. "Is this Benjamin's family?"

Shelly struggled to sit up. "Yes."

Genny clung to Rick's arm, and Gran to the other. Everyone else clustered around them.

The doctor held up his hand to halt any preliminary demands. "I'm Dr. Chad Stevens, Ben's surgeon. He's pulled through, they're taking him to the ICU now." He shook his head as questions erupted. This had not been easy, they'd almost lost their patient several times. Between the shock and blood loss and anesthesia, what should have taken less than six hours took almost ten.

"Folks," he interrupted them. "Please. He's out of surgery, but it's going to be touch and go for awhile. We had to sew bits of Ben's intestines back together, there were other internal injuries, and we had to insert a tube into his chest, so he'll be on a respirator for awhile until his lung knits. But, he's a healthy boy, and in good shape. If we can keep infection at bay, he's got a good chance of pulling through okay. We won't know for sure for awhile, and it'll be a couple weeks, if not more, before he even wakes up." He sighed. "Now, please, you can follow Nurse Jordan here to his room in a few minutes, but I must insist that visitors follow our hospital's rules. His body needs quiet and rest, and not to be stressed. Family only for now, I'm sorry."

He looked at all of the strained, white faces, and couldn't decide which ones might be related to the patient. "Now, who is the legal guardian?"

"I am," said Shelly. "I've the Power of Attorney."

"Please come with me, then, we need to discuss some things in private."

"Doug." She grabbed for his hand. "My husband, I ...."

Chad nodded. "That's fine, I'll be just out in the hall."

Riley took the baby, sleeping again, to free the parents. They stepped out.

Rick drew Gran into a one-armed embrace, Genny still clinging to his other hand. "It'll be okay," he said. "It'll be okay."

Shelly returned even paler, but Doug just shook his head, forestalling any questions. He held Shelly close beside him as the group gathered their things and followed the nurse through the maze of corridors to the ICU ward. Ben was in a room with glass walls on two sides, one of many on the floor. In the center of the hushed, organized chaos was the nurse's station. Through a part in the blinds, they could see a handful of nurses and staff hovering over Ben's bedside.

"If you plan on touching him wash your hands first." The nurse pointed to the bathroom signs. "And, please, only two at a time, relatives only inside. The rest may wait out here. Do you need supervision?"

Riley answered for them all. "No, we'll behave. Thank you, miss."

"Very well. If you need anything, any of the nurses will be happy to help you."

Shelly plastered her face and palms against the glass as their nurse walked away. For a minute, she just stared, then turned around to lean against the wall. "Gran?" she asked, eyes seeking out the older lady's. "Do you want to go first?"

Gran shook her head vehemently. "No," she gasped. "I can't ... can't do this again."

"Again?" asked Rick, startled.

Shelly shook her head sharply. "Not now. Do you want to be with him, Rick? I've told them you're his partner, so they'll let you in."

Rick bit his lip at the sharp bolt of pain that arched through his chest. Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded.

"Then you and I first, then, I guess. Genny?"

"I'll wait," came the faint response.

Inside, there were no chairs, only two, rolling stools on either side of the bed. Rick sank down onto one, grabbing the limp, pale hand with his two trembling ones. Shelly stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other at her mouth as she struggled against more tears. Her eyes were itchy and hurt enough already. Ben lay completely still, his tan completely leached from his skin by blood loss and the harsh, overhead lights. Tubes and lines ran everywhere.

From experience, Rick knew hospital blankets were thin, and he was glad to see several bundled around a body that looked far too young and small for the person who lay there. The right side of his torso looked twice the size as the rest from hidden bandages. Clear tape covered stitches on Ben's forehead, and his cheek, both black and blue and swollen, revealing every hit to Ben's face. More bruising showed on his neck.

Staring at them a moment, Rick hesitantly rose to let one hand hover over the marks. His hand dwarfed the darker impressions inside the lighter bruising.

"Rick?"

He drew back, hand curled up into a fist. He shook again, but in anger this time. "That son of a bitch!"

"What? Who? What are you talking about?"

"Will," he answered, drawing back. "I'll bet my ass it was Will."

To his surprise, she nodded. "I thought that, too, but there's no proof. We don't even know where he is. Gave the detective a picture, of course, and they'll look for him, but unless he's got a mark or something ...."

"Blood?"

"Even that wouldn't be conclusive." She shook her head slowly and delicately brushed her fingers against Ben's cheek. "Ben has to wake up and tell us who it was." She sighed. "And he'll never press charges."

"Why not?"

She shrugged.

"Shelly? What did Gran mean about 'Again?'" He waited, but she didn't meet his eyes. "Shelly? Has Will hurt Ben before?"

"No!" She closed her mouth, looking away. "No," she said again, quieter. "Not that we know of, anyway. No, Ben, we ..." She sighed. "There was a boy in high school, killed himself. Some of the guys took exception to that, blamed Ben, because everyone knew Ben was gay and they assumed James was, too, after he ... He didn't leave a note, see? No one knows why and they, the other boys, well, they put Ben in a coma. Best Christmas present I ever got was seeing Ben wake up and smile at me on Christmas Eve." She didn't mention the scary weeks that followed, when Ben had tried to OD and gotten put back in the hospital.

Rick held Ben's hand, fingers tracing Ben's, his body shivering to remember those capable hands on his skin. God! Was that only last night? He shook his head.

"Ben fell apart on the stand," Shelly continued. "The boys were let off with what amounted to a slap on the wrist. Gran was furious, but we had nobody on our side. Ben was just 'that gay boy' that everyone wanted to make an example of."

"And he came out of all that wanting to be a psychologist? That's messed up."

She shrugged. "I'd always thought my life was just awful, you know? My parents worked hard, both of them, to support our family. We weren't rich, but we didn't lack for things, and they were protective of us, saw to it we had a real childhood. I'd always thought I had it so hard, until I met Ben. Damn it!" She broke away, racing out the door and back into Doug's arms.

Rick sat down again, interlacing Ben's fingers with his own and pressing soft kisses to the tips. "I'm here, Sunshine, I'm here. Everything's going to be okay. Nobody's going to hurt you again." His throat tightened. "I swear."