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Below deck, Jonny, Hadji, and Bandit were all asleep. Race was standing in the hall, feet shifting back and forth as the ship was gently cradled by the waves.
The icebreaker ship was setting sail back to the docks where the Benton Quest-designed family jet, The Dragonfly, was waiting for them on an airstrip; From there, they could head home to Palm Key.
He heaved a sigh, eyeing Benton’s room. Surely the overzealous scientist couldn’t be asleep already, right? Not after being shot at, and nearly blown to smithereens by that damned satellite missile that detonated not 50 ft from him!
Race stood steady for a moment, looking down and flexing his fingers before making his way to Benton’s room. He gave a knock and waited. Upon hearing a gruff: “You may enter.”
Race did as told.
“Hope I didn’t wake you.”
The room was quiet; the broken window had been patched up and all the broken glass had been cleared away. At Benton’s desk sat stacks of papers and a fountain pen stand, same as that morning. Benton’s pea-coloured winter coat was lying on the back of his desk chair, beneath his black turtleneck sweater.
The man himself was currently lying in bed, dressed in his thick gray slacks and an ill-advised thin T-shirt. Race hadn’t woken Benton; He didn’t appear to be sleeping or even attempting to. No, he was busying himself, it seemed, by writing. He had a journal in his hands, a pen held in the right. He was always busy, Race couldn’t believe it.
“You didn’t, no need to worry,” Benton assured. He closed up his leather-bound journal, setting it beside himself. “The boys—how are they?” Jonny and Hadji hadn’t seemed that shaken up despite what’d happened; Benton understood they were used to such things happening, but it was still worrisome. They shouldn’t have been used to such traumatic things as what they’d just endured.
“They’re fine, sleeping in their room right now with Bandit.”
Benton let out a light chuckle.
“I see.” He stretched out, lying on his side with his right elbow propping him up. “If only we could all be so lucky.”
“Trouble sleeping?” Race asked, hand on his hip as he raised a brow curiously.
He walked across the room with a slow, steady gait before stopping to stand in front of Benton, staring down at him with a hand stretched up to rest on the low, metallic ceiling. Benton rubbed his eyes, scratching at his well-kempt beard.
“Yes, well, it turns out it’s not that easy to sleep after nearly dying,” His voice tried to maintain its steady tone. Instead, it quivered while his voice tapered off.
Race tilted his head, kneeling beside Benton, his forehead wrinkled up as his brows pushed together, tight and worried eyes casting upon Benton as the man in question looked away. It was almost funny, in an ironic sense, Benton being so upset, whereas their sons were sleeping peacefully with their pet dog a few rooms down the hall. Benton had felt fine at the time, but now it was all just beginning to wash over him. But why should he care? He’d been close to death many times before—well, maybe not that close. Besides,
Benton looked up as Race brushed his fingers through his hair.
He had a family to think of. Not just Race, his partner, but their sons: Jonny and Hadji. Yes, he’d been willing to die for them just hours ago—and he’d be willing to sacrifice himself for them all again, but now that it was over, he was a bit rattled. After all, he didn’t really want to die.
“I understand.”
Race’s voice was low and surprisingly gentle as he rose to his feet, opting to taking a seat next to Benton, the latter of which sat up and averted his gaze. Benton felt silly. For goodness sakes, why was he letting himself feel all upset when his boys had been in danger? It felt irresponsible of him. It felt wrong. “Hey,” Benton perked up as Race spoke. He felt the mattress sink in with Race’s weight as he moved closer to him. “You don’t always have to play hero, y’know.”
Benton let out a chuckle at that, lightening up a tad.
“Oh? Tell me then, Race, when do I ever do that?”
“Well, for instance, today, with setting that missile to go off before they could use it. You could’ve–” Then Race stopped, deciding to traipse around the obvious. Clearing his throat, he decided to bring up something else. “Well, anyways, it seems like your hearing’s completely back.”
Benton nodded at that, smiling as he ran his palm over his ear as though to make sure his ears were even still on the side of his head where they ought to be.
“Yes, it’s coming back to me. No ringing anymore, either.” Benton hummed, arching his back as he stretched.
He was fairly achy from their trip, muscles tensed due to the stress and frigid temperature of the arctic.
“Say, Race, why did you come in here,” he asked, diverting the topic of conversation. “Just an hour ago you said you were putting the boys and Bandit to bed and heading off to sleep as well.”
Race smiled at that, giving a cursory shrug, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Ah, let's just say you're not the only one who can’t sleep around here.”
“Something bothering you now?” Benton asked, resting his weary head in his hand, eyeing Race curiously.
Race leaned back, another shrug rolling off his person as he sat quietly for a moment. Uncustomary of him. Then, he spoke.
“Well,” Race cleared his throat. “Not anything new. Worried about the boys, about Bandit, about you,” he listed off.
“About me?" Benton's eyes widened, mouth agape in surprise as he shook his head. "But Race, I’m fine," Race made a face at that, eyes briefly casting aside. "The boys and Bandit appear to be fine. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Benton tried to assure despite his own concerns with the trip and realization of the many ways it could’ve turned out had things not gone just right as they had.
Race’s mouth formed a tight line, nose scrunching up as he looked down at his shoes as they pushed firmly against the carpeted floor.
“I’m just worried you might be hurt.”
Benton opened his mouth to interject, but Race continued. “I’m not as worried about me or the boys. Jonny and Hadji both told me they were fine, Bandit seems fine, but you were really close to that explosion. You were shot at,” he pursed his lips.
“Race, really, I–” Benton began to speak, but Race cut him off.
“’Are you hurt’ is what I’m really trying to get at. Are you hurting in any way?” Race asked, furrowing his brows. “No bullets grazed you, did they? No chance of shrapnel being impeded in your back, or legs, or—god forbid—neck without you noticing?”
Benton just gave him a wide-eyed stare, as he shook his head, surprised. Race was normally so calm and patient. Seeing him agitated over possible injuries, while endearing, was something that wasn’t quite new, but this extent of his worry seemed to be.
“Race, I’m a little sore, but I’m alright. Trust me.”
Race nodded, scanning for any hint of injury. His arms, bare to the cold in his white crew-neck shirt, to his feet and whatever part of his legs visible as his pleated slacks were riding up his legs quite a bit, scrunched up just below his knees.
“It wouldn’t be out of line for me to suggest looking you over for injuries, would it?” Benton had a small chuckle at that.
“Race, we’re practically married. It would be far from out of line. Besides, if it’ll ease your mind,”
Race dimpled at the married line.
“It would indeed.”
“Alright, well,” Benton pulled his wholly weather-inappropriate shirt off over his head, leaving it in a heap on his lap. He faced away from Race, giving him a view of his back. “Examine away.”
“With pleasure.” Race replied. He leaned over, bringing his feet up onto the bed as he got into a half criss-cross position, palm resting on the back of Benton’s neck. Benton didn’t say a word, simply taking in a breath through his nose as Race’s hand began to drift down to his shoulders. “Doesn’t seem to be anything up here,” he commented.
“That’s good.”
“Yes, but I’ll keep looking for any scrape or cut, just hold still.”
Race carefully brushed his calloused thumb across Benton’s left shoulder blade, his hand sliding down along a thin layer of scar tissue that sat higher up on his back. It didn’t appear to be new, there was no reddening to it. A quick glance-over cleared up most of the worry weighing down on Race’s chest, relief taking its place. He smiled softly. Nothing to worry about. Benton’s back was marred by a few old scars, some freckles, and a few moles. That was all. He let out a curious hum as his hand slipped down along Benton’s spine. “Everything looks just fine.” he declared, hearing a soft chortle from Benton.
“I didn’t have a doubt, but it’s sweet of you to worry, Race.”
That comment made Race feel somewhat conflicted; A small smile tugged at his lips despite the pit that sat in his stomach. He brought his hands up to rest on Benton’s shoulders again, Benton glancing over to look at him as Race rested the side of his face against Benton’s back.
“It’s not sweet, it’s my job to worry.” He huffed. “Benton, if anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’d lose my head.”
Suddenly, Race felt Benton moving away as his hands slid off his shoulders. Race opened his eyes and backed away briefly before finding himself being pulled into Benton’s chest, Benton now facing him.
“Race, nothing is going to happen to me—”
“You can’t promise that.” Race interjected, sounding quite pessimistic. Almost like Dr. Benton Quest himself.
“No,” Benton rested his head atop Race’s, his hand slowly rubbing up and down Race’s back in a relaxing, comforting motion. “I can’t promise that. You’re right.” Race let out a sigh at that. “But,” Benton continued. “I can promise that I will keep myself and the boys and you and Bandit safe—all of us—as needed on our journeys, wherever we are, and if something seems too dangerous, we’ll err on the side of caution.” There was a brief pause as Race smiled into Benton’s chest. That really sounded like something he should be telling Benton, not the other way around. “Does that sound okay to you, Race?”
Race picked his head up. His eyes met Benton’s before he looked away, placing a hand against Benton’s chest as he parted from the embrace.
“That’s all fine and good, but,” He crossed his arms. “Just remember that I’m the one who’ll keep us safe.” Benton frowned at that, Race soon making a face at his own statement. He opened his mouth, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. That sounded perhaps a bit too rude. “Or—We’ll both do it—we’ll work at keeping each other, and more importantly the boys, safe.” Race furrowed his brows. “I just don’t want you in a situation like the one you were in today. I don’t want Jonny or Hadji in danger like that, either, it’s scary.”
“We’ll have a talk with the boys when we get back home,” Benton assured, Race nodding in agreement.
“For now,” Race leaned in, placing a soft kiss on Benton’s lips. Benton smiled into the kiss before Race broke it. “Let's just get to sleep, you need it,” He yawned, raising the back of his hand up to cover his mouth. Benton chuckled.
“Looks like you could, too.”
Soon enough, the lights were out, and things were quiet. Waves rocked the boat, the splashing beneath the portholes were muffled, leaving a pleasant noise off in the background.
Race and Benton were cuddled up in the small bed, the waves of the ocean having lulled the lovers to sleep.
They had their legs practically entangled as they laid asleep. Benton had his head laid up against Race’s chest, and his mouth was dropped open a bit as he snoozed, looking very peaceful. Race was holding him close, cradling his head with his left hand. Benton had his arm slung over Race’s stomach, hand clasped in Race’s own.
While his grip may have loosened as he drifted off to sleep, Race held his hand firmly in place, almost as if determined, despite sleep, to not let go.