Archive of Our Own

When Ben woke up, he wasn’t sure where he was. Harsh white light made him close his eyes immediately. Then, when he slowly opened them again, his vision was so hazy, his eyelids so heavy, it didn’t seem worth the trouble. As he closed his eyes, Ben felt as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into a thick fog. His body seemed sluggish, and thoughts were too loud for his aching head. He wanted to sleep. He wanted all of it-- the light, the fog, the throbbing pain-- to go away. 

Yet, somehow, Ben had the sense that the next time he woke up would be even worse. Something lurked beneath the fog, searing and sharp-edged. Ben could feel it sending jittering waves of-- what? Fear? Pain? It was still too distant, too hard to tell-- up his spine. His spine. . . 

Fire. An explosion. Falling rubble. Fractured images burned behind Ben’s eyelids, but he couldn’t concentrate long enough to make sense of them. Maybe it was all a bad dream. 

“Ben? Are you awake?” a familiar voice asked, every word tense with hope. 

With effort, Ben opened his eyes again. A figure stood over him, dark against the haze of brightness. All Ben could make out was its shape-- tall and strong-- but he knew exactly who it belonged to. 

“Rook,” Ben managed to get out. He wanted to ask where he was, or what had happened to him, but the fog was pressing down on his chest, making it hard to speak, to breathe.

“Yes, dear one.” Rook’s voice was breathless with relief. “Do not worry. I will take care of you.”

Ben couldn’t move his heavy mouth into a smile, but a light, peaceful feeling eased some of the tightness in his chest. Rook would take care of him. No matter what had happened, everything was going to be fine. It was too hard to speak, but Ben wanted Rook to know he was listening. He tried to take his partner’s hand--

Ben’s arm didn’t move. His heart pounded. He tried to move his left arm. Almost imperceptibly, he could feel a couple fingers twitch. Breathing hard, on the verge of panic, Ben forced himself to sit up. 

Pain exploded across his back. Ben’s throat burned, and he realized he was screaming, sobbing with pain, confusion. Then he felt Rook’s gentle hands cradle his face. Rook was speaking, but Ben could only make out the impression of his words. Ben couldn’t calm down. All he wanted was to set his hands over Rook’s, but his arms wouldn’t move. 

Voices that weren’t Rook’s, belonging to indistinct figures in the fog, murmured to each other. Ben thought he heard one of them mention sedation--

--as Ben’s consciousness bled away, his final thought was that he was dying, and he had missed his last chance to hold Rook’s hand. 

***

“Ben, it is nothing to be ashamed of,” said Rook the following day, not for the first time. His tone was reassuring, but Ben couldn’t stop staring at the trash can near his bed, already half-filled with shed fur. When Rook last started stress-shedding, it was when intergalactic war broke out shortly after he became magistratus. By the time the war was over, Rook’s fur was scant enough that patches of pale pink skin were starting to show through. It had taken almost a year for his fur to grow back completely.

“You were waking up after major surgery,” Rook continued. He scratched his cheek, and a few stray furs drifted to the floor. “Your body has been through so much in the past few days, it is only natural that your mind would take a while to catch up, and you were coming out of anesthesia as well.” 

“Still,” Ben mumbled, avoiding Rook’s gaze. “It’s embarrassing.” 

Ben could just imagine the headlines across the universe: Intergalactic Hero Ben 10,000 Cries Like Baby After Surgery Following Catastrophic Failure And Life-Ruining Injury. Over the past few hours, he had also been spoon-fed applesauce-- like a baby-- and informed that, along with the morphine drip in his left arm, a catheter had been inserted to keep him from wetting the bed. Like a baby. A useless, helpless, whiny baby. 

Rook sighed. He was sitting close enough to touch, hands folded in his lap. Ben longed to reach out, to take Rook’s hands, to stroke his cheeks, but his arms still weren’t cooperating. His spine had been badly damaged; Ben could barely move his fingers, and he couldn’t feel his legs at all. The doctors were optimistic about him regaining mobility, but it would take months, if not years, of intense physical therapy. Even then, nothing was guaranteed except pain, the lone constant. 

Ben felt trapped in his own body. What if he never got any better? He imagined Rook being forced to care for him for the rest of his life-- changing him, feeding him, taking him to the bathroom, chained to him by obligation.

Rook couldn’t love him like this; Ben was certain. Already, Rook was miserable, hunched over in a chair that was far too small for him, shedding from stress, sighing as he had to reassure Ben, yet again, that his outburst the previous day was fine. Sooner or later, it would be too much for him. Then he would leave. Why would he stay with someone who couldn’t even hold his hand? What kind of partnership was that? 

And, if Ben couldn’t do something as simple as hold Rook’s hand, how was he supposed to protect the universe? His breathing quickened. His lungs ached. If he couldn’t be a hero. . . who was he? 

Rook laid a hand over Ben’s. “What is wrong?” The tenderness in his voice and the warmth of his touch was almost enough to make Ben cry. “Is it your back? Should I get a doctor?” 

Ben shook his head, wincing at the jitters of pain that shot down his spine. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Y-yeah,” Ben choked out. “Just--” He was about to ask Rook to keep holding his hand before realizing how pathetic that sounded. Slowly, he curled his hand into a trembling fist. “Don’t worry.” 

Rook kissed Ben’s forehead, then smiled. “Too late.” 

***

“It is good to be home!” Rook exclaimed as he wheeled Ben over the threshold of the elevator. It opened directly into the living room-- one of the many luxuries that came with living in the penthouse suite of Ben 10,000 Tower. 

Ben couldn’t help but smile at Rook’s enthusiasm. “ I’m the one who hasn’t seen the place in weeks. You’ve been coming back every night.”

Rook, who would have gladly slept in a chair at his partner’s bedside if Ben hadn’t insisted otherwise, laughed. “Yes, but it is not the same without you,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of Ben’s head.  

As Rook straightened, Ben’s smile faded, overcome by a sense of sinking desperation. He was used to having to look up at Rook, but, from the wheelchair, his face seemed impossibly far away. Ben stared at Rook’s wrist. A light touch-- that was all it would take. Rook would turn to him with the warm, attentive look in his eyes that Ben loved so much, not just ready but eager to offer affection, or reassurance, or whatever his partner needed. Ben’s fingers twitched, but he couldn’t lift his hand. 

Although Ben had been released from the hospital, he was expected to return multiple days a week for extensive physical therapy sessions. He could kick his legs slightly, which he was told was a promising sign, but he couldn’t lift his arms. 

“Are you hungry?” Rook asked. “I made sure to pick up groceries earlier today, so I can make whatever you would like.” 

Ben shook his head. “I just want to lay down.”

“Oh. Certainly.” Rook sounded embarrassed and somewhat anxious as he wheeled Ben toward the bedroom. Maybe he was ashamed to be married to someone who was constantly tired despite doing nothing. “If you change your mind, let me know. I could always make you a smoothie, or some fruit salad--” 

“Maybe tomorrow,” Ben interjected, closing his eyes. He hated to see Rook so on edge; he hated himself for making his partner worry. 

Rook parked Ben’s wheelchair next to the bed, but he hesitated before helping his partner up. “You do not want to take a bath first?” 

Ben’s stomach coiled in humiliation as he thought of Rook having to bathe him. He knew he would have to face the reality at some point, but he didn’t want to deal with it on his first night out of the hospital. “I’m really tired.” 

“Of course.” Rook offered Ben a small smile. “I am sure you are tired of all my questions, as well. I am sorry. It is just--” Rook’s brilliant eyes filled with tears, and he lightly pressed his cheek against Ben’s. “I am so happy to have you home.” 

Ben’s eyes felt a little damp, too. He blinked hard and smiled back. Difficult as it was to understand why, Rook still loved him. “Thanks.”

***

Weeks passed, and, while the recovery process seemed unbearably slow to Ben, he was able to move a little more each day. He was still wheelchair-bound, but at least he could move his arms again, even if his hands were too shaky to be of any use. It was hard for Ben to feel proud of his little victories while he remained so dependent on Rook, especially when that dependence was starting to take its toll. 

Rook never said a word of complaint, but the strain was obvious. In between dressing Ben, feeding Ben, washing Ben, helping Ben use the bathroom, taking Ben to physical therapy, and countless other tasks, he took hologram calls at all hours of the day-- and night-- dealing with urgent Plumber business. Technically, he had taken a leave of absence and his second-in-command was serving as the interim magistratus, but Rook had still worked for at least a few hours every day since Ben’s surgery. 

The sheets had to be washed every day to prevent a thick, itchy layer of fur from building up due to Rook’s constant shedding. His right cheek, which he scratched compulsively, was mottled with scabbed pink skin, and the fur on the back of his hands was falling out in clumps. Either due to stress or sheer lack of time, Rook wasn’t eating enough to keep up with his voracious revonnahgander metabolism and had started to lose weight. He hadn’t lost much, but he had been so lean to begin with, even that slight change was unhealthy. 

Ben despised himself more and more as he watched his partner suffer. More than regaining the ability to walk, even more than being able to be a hero again, all Ben wanted was to be strong enough to take care of Rook. He wanted to gently take Rook’s hand before he could scratch himself. He wanted to make Rook all his favorite foods from Revonnah-- big, nourishing meals that would fill out those worrying hollows in his cheeks. Ben wanted to hold Rook close and promise him that everything would be okay. 

But Ben was helpless to do any of it. Even the simplest thing-- a reassuring touch-- was beyond his grasp. He was too embarrassed to touch Rook with his weak, clumsy hands. At best, he could manage a vague slap. At worst, his arm might not move at all. Either way, there was nothing reassuring about it. All Ben could do was remind Rook of his weakness, stressing him out even more. 

In spite of his exhaustion, Rook was as devoted and affectionate as ever. He kissed the back of Ben’s head while combing his hair. He dressed Ben so gently, every movement felt like a caress. Whenever he helped Ben into his wheelchair, Rook always held on for an extra moment, as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go. 

One night, while Rook was washing Ben’s hair-- a task Ben knew he hated, since he didn’t like getting water on his fur-- Rook fell asleep. His face was propped against the glass shower door, and his fingers were still tangled in Ben’s soapy hair. Ben sat in the tub for more than an hour, long after the water got cold and his back started to ache, unwilling to disturb his partner’s rest. 

Rook woke with a start, a look of dreamy relaxation swiftly replaced with guilt. “Ben, I am sorry. How long--”

“Don’t worry,” Ben interrupted. “You needed it.” 

Rook lifted a hand toward his cheek but let it drop before scratching. “Yes,” he said, his eyes half-closed. “I suppose I did.” 

Before Rook could nod off again, Ben managed to say, “I think we should hire a nurse.” The idea had weighed on Ben’s mind for quite some time; just saying it out loud loosened some of the ever-present tension in his chest. “I mean, it’s not like we can’t afford it,” he added, forcing himself to push on before he lost his nerve. He wasn’t thrilled by the thought of paying a total stranger to take care of him, but he would do a lot more than swallow his pride to help Rook. “And you could go back to work instead of being stuck here with me--” 

Hurt flashed across Rook’s face, stopping Ben cold, but all he said was, “I do not think we should have this conversation while you are in the bathtub.” 

So, Ben waited for Rook to towel him dry and carry him to bed before restating his arguments. The longer he spoke, the more upset Rook seemed to get.

Finally, Rook exclaimed, “Does it seem like I am that desperate to leave you?” His voice rose with every word. “Have I ever complained? I am not ‘stuck here’. I made a choice --” Rook sucked in a deep breath. When he spoke again, he sounded almost calm. “While you were having surgery, and I was left to wonder if I would ever see you again, I promised that I would do anything if you survived.” Rook laid gentle fingertips on Ben’s cheek. “And I am lucky, because I was given the chance to keep that promise every day.” 

Ben swallowed. He was so touched by Rook’s declaration that it took a moment to find his voice. “You’ve taken great care of me, Rook. I don’t think I could’ve made it without you, but--” Ben met Rook’s eyes. “I don’t think you can make it unless you start taking better care of yourself. You’re trying to do too much at once, and it’s tearing you apart.” 

For a moment, it seemed like Rook was going to argue. Then he lowered his head. “You are right. I am trying to do too much.” He straightened, eyes bright with resolve. “I will resign from the Plumbers tomorrow.” 

Ben groaned in frustration. Even if he could get past the idea of Rook giving up the career he had worked for all his life, there was another problem. 

“You can’t do it,” Ben said. “Even if you resign, they’ll rope you in somehow. They’ll tell you the universe is in danger, and they need your help, and you really think you can just tell them, ‘Nope, sorry, can’t. I have to drive Ben to physical therapy again’?” Ben laughed bitterly. “Your conscience would eat you alive.” 

Rook shook his head, but he seemed unconvinced. “My conscience is telling me to keep you safe.”

“Then, say it,” Ben challenged. “Say, ‘Ben Tennyson, I’ll sacrifice every other life in the universe for yours.’ Say it right now, and I’ll believe you.” Rook took several deep breaths but did not say a word. “You can’t do it,” said Ben. “And I love that about you. You’re a good person, Rook.”

“But not too good for you,” said Rook gently, holding Ben’s hand. “I love you, Ben.”

Ben stared at his weak, trembling hand and Rook’s strong, solid one. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Rook reached out and took it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

***

The next morning, after a good night’s sleep and some breakfast-- Ben refused to take a sip of his smoothie until Rook made himself something, too, so he had a bowl of fruit salad-- Ben broached the subject again.

“I know you want to take care of me, and, believe me, you’ll still have plenty of chances,” said Ben. As much as it pained him to admit it: “I need a lot of care. Even if we have a nurse come during the day, you’re still going to have to help me with everything at night until I’m able to start walking and doing things myself.” Of course, it was possible there were certain things Ben would never be able to do for himself, but he refused to consider that.

“If you are comfortable with this, it is not my place to object,” Rook admitted with a sigh. “It is your body, after all. You should be able to make your own decisions regarding the way it is cared for. I should not have taken it personally.” 

“And I shouldn’t have assumed I knew how you felt about this,” Ben replied, smiling at his partner. “We’ve both made mistakes.” 

“But this fruit salad is not one of them,” said Rook, eating a strawberry. “It is delicious.” 

Ben and Rook spent the next few days interviewing nurses. Rook wanted to hire a human. He argued that Ben would be better off with someone who “had a personal understanding of the species’ biology”, but the nurse Ben liked best was an upbeat kineceleran who had grown up in Undertown, so they got the job. 

As time passed, Ben and Rook both got better. Ben was able to take a few stiff, hobbling steps at a time and reliably grip things like combs and silverware, even if he couldn’t use them with much precision. Rook’s fur was still uneven in places, but he was back to a healthy weight, and he wasn’t scratching anymore. Everything was slowly returning to normal, yet Ben couldn’t help but get the sense that he and Rook were drifting apart. 

Ben supposed it was due to how busy his partner had been lately; after spending all day with Rook for weeks, only seeing him for a few hours each evening was a difficult adjustment. Even when Rook was home, he seemed distracted, no doubt ruminating on questions that could determine the safety of the universe. 

Ben had often been the same way before his injury, so he didn’t blame Rook. He blamed himself. Why should Rook be interested in the boring details of his convalescence when he had much bigger issues to deal with? Ben and Rook used to inhabit the same fast-paced, high-stakes, dangerous world of heroism; now, Rook went alone. Maybe growing apart was inevitable. 

But there was another side to the issue, one Ben was reluctant to even consider. 

One night, after the nurse’s shift ended but before Rook came home, Ben lay in bed, staring at the darkened ceiling as dread and anxiety slithered around in his stomach. Ben had managed to change into pajamas-- a t-shirt and some old sweatpants-- by himself, but the effort left him exhausted and sore, barely strong enough to make it to bed. Pain radiated from his back, and his limbs felt like sandbags. He thought about his pain, his weakness. He thought about the way Rook used to snuggle him before falling asleep, and a lump came into his throat. Rook didn’t hold him like that anymore: it would hurt too much. 

Ben thought of all the other ways he and Rook used to touch, all the other forms of physical intimacy that were now too painful. Ben’s face burned in the darkness. He hadn’t so much as reached out and held Rook’s hand since his injury, even after he regained enough motor control to make it possible. Needless to say, they hadn’t had sex in months. 

Sex. Just thinking about it was enough to make Ben feel sick with guilt. Trying to parse out what he could or couldn’t do after his injury was stress-inducing, shameful; he avoided it as much as possible. He wasn’t afraid of getting hurt-- he knew Rook would be gentle-- but he didn’t want to embarrass himself with his unsteady hands and aching back and weak, unresponsive body. Either the trauma of the injury or one of the medications he was on had deadened his libido, so Ben didn’t miss the lack of intimacy as keenly as he might have otherwise, but Rook. . . 

Just then, the door creaked open, and Rook entered with a yawn. Without knowing why, Ben stayed silent, pretending to be asleep as Rook crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed to take off his armor. Ben listened to the mattress creak as Rook stood up, then he felt a light kiss on the back of his head. Rook walked past him, heading for the bathroom. 

Moments later, Ben could hear Rook’s quiet breathing overhead. A soft, warm bulk settled gently over his back and shoulders; Ben had been lying on top of the comforter, but Rook folded the other side over him. Rook gave Ben another kiss, then laid on the cool sheets beside him. 

Rook’s kindness made Ben feel even more ashamed of himself. Sure, maybe sex would be difficult for him now, but it couldn’t possibly be more difficult than what Rook had to put up with every day. He owed it to his partner to at least make an attempt, right?

“Ben?” Rook’s voice was somewhere between concerned and apologetic. 

Ben realized his breathing was tight and tense. There was no point in pretending to be asleep any longer. Slowly, he sat up. “Hey, Rook.” 

Rook sat up, too. “I am sorry,” he said, leaning over slightly so that his head rested against Ben’s. “I did not mean to wake you.”

Ben grimaced. He had frequent nightmares that left him screaming in his sleep, which often woke Rook in the middle of the night. “I’m the one who should apologize-- I keep you up all the time.”

“It is not your fault I am a light sleeper,” said Rook. “Besides, if you are having nightmares, I would rather wake up to comfort you than--” he yawned, “--think of you being frightened on your own.”

“I make a lot of things hard for you.” 

Rook sighed, but the sound was soft, almost affectionate. “You are worth every difficulty.” He gave Ben a kiss on the forehead. “Now, go back to sleep.”

Ben wanted to say “I love you”, but he was gripped with a sudden, intense fear that Rook wouldn’t say it back. Ben waited for Rook to lie down, then listened to his  breathing to slow before finally whispering the words into the silent dark. The only response was the steady rise and fall of Rook’s chest.

Tomorrow night. Then Rook would love him again. 

***

The next morning, before Rook had even put on his armor, Ben told him, “Make sure you get home early tonight.” 

“Why?” Rook asked, concerned. “Are you in pain? Do you want me to stay with you today? I can call your nurse and tell them to--” 

Ben let out a sigh of frustration. He had meant to sound seductive and mysterious, but his tone clearly hadn’t come across. “It’s not that. I just meant--” Ben shook his head; no point in playing coy. “I. . . wanted to try having sex tonight.”

“Oh.” Rook seemed more apprehensive than aroused. “Are you sure?” 

Wounded, Ben turned away. “If you don’t want to, forget it.” 

“Of course I want to,” Rook reassured his partner in a gentle voice, lightly touching his arm. Ben half-turned, and Rook nuzzled his cheek, making him smile in spite of himself. “But I do not want you to get hurt.” 

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” Ben caught Rook’s skeptical look and amended: “And if I’m not fine tonight, I’ll let you know.” 

Rook offered Ben a cautious but genuine smile. “Then I am looking forward to it.” 

It might not have been the sexiest conversation Ben had ever had, but it fulfilled its purpose. 

***

That night, Rook came home and found Ben hunched on the bed, sitting in the dark. “Do you want me to turn the light on?” he asked from the doorway. 

“No!” The last thing Ben wanted was for Rook to see his weak, scarred body and trembling hands. He was so anxious, they were shaking more than they had in weeks. Ben tried to reign in his quick, desperate breathing, but even from across the room, Rook could tell he was stressed. 

Rook approached the bed. “I know we had plans for tonight, but I am very tired,” he said with the most unconvincing fake yawn Ben had ever heard. “Perhaps we should try some other night.”

Even though Ben knew Rook was only doing it to spare his pride, he couldn’t help but feel rejected. Did Rook even want him anymore? Ben stared down at his trembling hands. Why would he want those hands to touch him? Why would anyone? Ben felt stupid for even thinking his damaged body could be anything but a burden to Rook. 

“Y-yeah,” Ben replied, blinking back tears and hoping Rook wouldn’t hear the catch in his voice. He sank under the blanket, turning away from his partner. “I’m kind of tired, too.”

“Then you should rest,” said Rook tenderly, easing Ben down. “We have more than enough nights ahead of us.” Rook kissed Ben’s forehead. “One moment, dear one,” he whispered, straightening. Ben could hear the muffled sounds of Rook taking off his armor before getting into bed. He nestled closer, and Ben was desperate to turn around and cling to him, to bury his face in his partner’s chest, but he couldn’t move without hurting his back. Rook kissed the back of Ben’s head. “Sleep well.” 

“Rook?” Ben whispered, unable to bear the silence for another second. “Rook--” His voice trembled. “I--” 

The mattress shifted slightly as Rook sat up, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry,” Ben managed to get out. “I-- I know this has to be frustrating for you.” 

“Not as frustrating as when you blame yourself for things you cannot control,” said Rook calmly, stroking Ben’s hair. “You are still healing. Give yourself time.”

“But what about you? ” Ben exclaimed, frustrated. It was all too typical of Rook to focus on others and leave himself out of the equation. “We haven’t had sex in months-- you don’t have to act like that doesn’t bother you, or you’re not upset with me, or--” Ben couldn’t bring himself to voice his worst fear: that Rook didn’t want him at all. 

Rook sighed. “I cannot have this conversation in the dark.”

“You’ve been on Earth long enough to know how a light switch works,” Ben snapped, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his back as he sat up.

Rook turned on the light, and the flicker of annoyance on his face gave way to sympathy as he watched Ben rub his back. He crossed the room in silence, then he took Ben’s face in his hands and kissed him. He caressed his partner’s cheek, his expression growing serious. “I need you to look at me when I tell you this. It is very important that you understand.” 

Ben stared into his partner’s eyes, warm and kind, luminous with love, too familiar to ever seem alien. 

“It has only been a few months since you were injured,” said Rook, every syllable laced with pain. “A few months since I thought I might lose you. Ben--” Rook shook his head, unable to go on. 

Ben’s heart twisted sharply. He reached out, then recoiled. His hand was still shaking. He couldn’t touch Rook, couldn’t comfort him, couldn’t-- Rook sniffled, and Ben realized he was on the verge of tears. Ben couldn’t bear to see his partner so distraught. He took a deep breath and hesitantly laid his hand over Rook’s. It was a clumsy gesture, more of a slap than a caress, despite Ben’s painful slowness, but the answering gratitude on Rook’s face was worth it.

Rook entwined his fingers with Ben’s, taking long, slow breaths until the terrible memory faded and he was able to continue. “It has been months since you came home from the hospital, and every single day since then has been the best of my life because you are still a part of it,” Rook whispered. He held Ben, but his touch was gentle; Ben could feel the slightest pressure on his back, but no pain.

Ben hesitated, but, for the first time since his injury, he hugged his partner back. Rook purred, a sound of perfect contentment. Tears filled Ben’s eyes. He had been too caught up in self-loathing to realize how badly Rook had been craving his affection, how rejected and isolated he must have been feeling. Ben held Rook tighter, determined to never hurt him like that again.

“Rook--” Ben found himself suddenly, unaccountably shy when Rook met his eyes, but his partner smiled, giving him the encouragement he needed to continue. “I love you.” 

Rook nuzzled Ben’s cheek. “I love you, too.”

“And I’m sorry.” Ben dropped his gaze. “I’m sure all of this has been hard enough without me keeping you at arm’s length.” Ben sighed. “I figured you’d be upset that we haven’t had sex in a while, but I guess I didn’t realize how much you’d missed. . . this,” he said, holding up his and Rook’s still-intertwined hands. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, Ben,” said Rook softly, stroking Ben’s hand. “It has been difficult, but I do not blame you.”

“Still. . . I’m sorry.”

Rook kissed Ben’s hand. “Then I accept your apology. On one condition,” he added sternly. 

“What?” Ben asked, determined to do whatever Rook asked. 

Rook gave Ben a kiss on the cheek. “You will go to sleep and have pleasant dreams.” He kissed Ben’s other cheek. “And, if you do not, you will wake me up so I can take care of you.” 

Ben laughed. He hugged Rook again, resting his head on his partner’s chest the way he had wanted to earlier. The steadiness of Rook’s heartbeat and his calm, even breathing helped Ben relax. “I’ll do my best.” Reluctantly, Ben broke away, but, as he was lying down, he worked up the courage to ask, “Do you think you can hold me tonight, like you used to?”

“It will not hurt you?” 

Ben thought back to the past few months of bitter isolation. “I think it’ll hurt more if you don’t.”

Without another word, Rook nestled close, and Ben fell asleep in the comfort of his arms.