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His first warning should have been when he smelled the alcohol on Caleb a yard away. That was when he should have taken him aside, not just taken Caleb's word that he was fine. But Ben had assumed it was the usual insubordination that Caleb showed just because he knew he could get away with it.
When Caleb screams at him, Ben's not sure if it's directed towards him or anyone else who can hear. He wonders if somewhere, Simcoe can, and if he would smile to himself knowing he did in fact win, and he still had power to ruin a man.
The mission doesn't matter when Caleb begins to cry. All Ben can worry about is fixing what's left of Caleb's broken parts.
Caleb, listen to me – that never happened. Caleb, look at me, that never…
His heart thumps as he returns to camp, faster than his pace. He'll need to reroute this whole mission, all while making sure that he can prevent rumors going around about Caleb that would end in a court martial. Ben is furious that Washington expects him to have it sorted perfectly without any assistance. All this would be much easier if they could just put a bullet between Arnold's eyes instead of using him as an example.
He orders anyone who tries for his attention out of his sight. He marches towards his tent, like he has something serious and urgent to attend to. He rips the flap of his tent open and shoves it closed behind him, rushing like on a mission. The only real reason he hurries is so that the tears that have begun to fall cannot be overseen. What right had this war to tear everyone from the inside out? What right did Ben ever have in creating a spy ring with his closest friends, thinking that it would be without consequences? Who was to blame for Caleb's brokenness at the end of the day? Could it be Simcoe, or was it Ben's fault for thinking Caleb invincible?
While he tries to catch his breath from his crying, he continues to strategize. The only solution is to go in Caleb's place. It's the only way to save his reputation, and what remains of this foolish idea to kidnap Arnold.
He flinched when he touched him, he had pushed him away.
He'd been rougher than usual recently. Yelling at Mary that she had no right tot her husband's whereabouts, trying to keep Anna in her place. It'd only been of the strictest business when he talked with Caleb, no time slotted in this chaos for them to pretend they weren't soldiers and spies. He had been so observant for everything else, he'd considered these relationships distractions.
This time, his mistake couldn't be fixed so easily by admission.
Ben sees Anna before he leaves camp that evening. He asks her to find out where Caleb is, to take care of him, get enough water in him so that when he gets sober he won't ache, and above all to keep him safe from himself. Anna opens her mouth to ask more, to get more information out of him, but Ben takes his leave before he has to deny something Anna already knows.
Like most of their plans have gone lately, this one fails. Ben doesn't arrive back at camp until far too late, so late that even the most clueless of soldiers are puzzled when he walks by. It's too suspicious for the head of intelligence to be roaming at night without a uniform. And Ben is just too tired to care.
The British are on the move, and with them they’re taking the most valuable member of his ring.
He doesn't bother to quiet his steps to his tent, and doesn't write a report once he's alone. Everything else can wait. For once, this goddamn war can wait for him to be ready.
He’s so careless that he doesn’t know there’s someone in his bed until he crashes on top of them while trying to settle in. Caleb yells out in panic, and Ben has to shush him, tell him it’s all right. But they wrestle for far too many moments, enough to the point where Ben thinks Caleb knows exactly who he is.
Ben has the upper hand. He’s already far too frustrated with today’s events, has too much to lose, and it’s easy to take advantage of the one win he can get.
But then Caleb goes lax, not in defeat or surrender, but like he’s trying to shrink, disappear, detach himself from where he is.
Ben lets go immediately.
“Caleb, it’s me.”
Ben gets up, hurriedly turning to light the lamp. He wants Caleb to see him, see himself, that they’re in their tent, their bed, and not under a blade or in a dungeon.
He waits, standing by the side of the cot, watching as Caleb’s breaths slow, his eyes focusing.
When Caleb falls back against the bed, this time fully aware of where he is, he avoids his stare, like Ben’s presence embarrasses him. But Ben also knows he wouldn’t be in their tent if he was completely lost. And Ben will be damned if he’s too stubborn to show Caleb how much he cares when he needs it most.
He climbs over him, knees on either side of Caleb, a position usually far more compromising. He grabs Caleb’s face with both hands, like he tried to do earlier, but this time Caleb doesn’t tear them away. Instead, he grabs him by the wrists, like he's deciding whether to reject the touch or let it anchor him.
“I’m sorry.” He says. Caleb stares up at him, quiet. He still smells like alcohol, but Ben knows there's no lingering buzz.
“You hear me? I’m sorry.”
“I hear you.”
“You didn’t give Simcoe any names.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Abe isn’t dead yet, so I reckon I’m right.”
“Don’t gloat.”
“Simcoe did not win.”
Caleb stares.
“Caleb - you’re still here, do you understand me?”
Caleb swallows. Ben brings one of his hands to his chest, where the bastard had burned him the worst, where he has spent hours putting salve and gauze over it to keep it from bleeding or becoming infected. Maybe Abe's revenge plot wasn't so crazy after all
“You got better things to be worryin’ about."
“Maybe. But I’m worrying about you right now.”
Caleb stares up at him with a mix of to many things to name. Ben can't read it all. He's not even sure Caleb understands what's happening to him either.
“You’re going to be all right," Ben whispers, "but I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Don’t turn into Abe.”
“I’m not sure I can be here anymore.”
Ben freezes.
“What?”
“I think I need to go.”
Leave?
“Caleb-“
“I’m no good like this. I can’t do what I’m supposed to do. Matter of time before everyone knows it. Matter of time they grow more suspicious than they already are about why you keep me around.”
“I don’t care what they say.”
“Ben, I can’t shoot straight. I can’t help you like I need to.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“And I can’t have you taking care of me, too.”
Ben grabs his face again, not gentle enough.
“I am not better off with out you. I need you. Here. With me.”
“I need to get Simcoe out of my head, Benny.”
Ben doesn't want to think about more restless nights wondering where Caleb is sleeping. He thinks that maybe that's why he's been so harsh lately; Caleb hadn't been stable enough to tame him.
Caleb brushes his thumbs over the bones of Ben's wrists.
“I love ya, Tallboy. Ain’t nothin’ going to change that.”
Ben brings his forehead down to hit his, only a brief contact. He then lies down, careful to position his body so he doesn’t smother Caleb, but enough for him to be the only thing he breathes. This warm presence that he'd always taken for granted, the fortitude that had made itself unshakeable. But what a fool he had been to think Caleb wasn't human too. And there was nothing he could do to stop him.
He keeps the lantern lit, keeps his eyes open and fixes them at the way the canvas of the tent moves. Without Caleb, he’d be truly alone without any confidant. He didn’t trust Anna the same way he did Caleb. He didn’t trust anyone the same way he trusted Caleb. But he wasn’t about to cry again. He was too tired to cry.
“You know.”
Caleb grunts, like he had been ready to fall back to sleep but Ben had disturbed that.
“Know what?”
“That I love you too.”
Caleb’s hand comes to pat the top of Ben’s head, right where his braid had loosened.
“I know, Benny. And I know that’s why you’ll understand.”
Ben knows Caleb’s already decided, knows he can’t stop him at any offer. And if all they have left is to be together for tonight, Ben will take it. He’ll listen to Caleb breathe while he still can.