A/N: Thanks for the reviews. As usual, I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

Also, the song "Your Body is a Wonderland," by John Mayer is not mine. Obiously, it's...John Mayer's. And Captain Jack Sparrow belongs to whoever owns the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. Which also is unfortunately not me.

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Riley could feel his mouth hanging open. He snapped it shut with an audible click and had to take a deep breath before asking, "What are you doing here?"

Ben shrugged, pulling the safety pamphlet from the back of the seat in front of him and flipping through it. "Did you know your cushion can actually be used as a floatation device in case the plane goes down over the ocean?"

Riley shook his head, mouth floundering for a moment. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Ben, everyone knows that. What are you doing?"

Once again, the older man ignored the question, eyes still scanning the laminated paper. "It's actually quite fascinating if you think about it. Especially considering..."

"Ben, listen to me. You can't be here."

Brown eyes rolled up to meet blue. "Why's that?"

"Because...you...I..." Riley pressed his lips together and gave a grunt of frustration loud enough to turn heads. Face reddening, he slumped lower in the seat and spoke in measured tones, "Ben, I don't know what you're doing, but since that's pretty much been a recurring theme, I'm just not going to worry about it. But I mean, you can't just get on a plane. You don't even have a toothbrush or clothes or anything!"

Ben tapped his nose with his index finger. "See I knew that fifty million would come in handy eventually."

Riley rolled his eyes. Doi. They were rich. There was nothing Ben needed that he couldn't buy when they got there. Heck there was nothing Ben needed that he couldn't buy period. Riley should've known there'd be a downside to unimaginable riches. There had to be some other loophole, though. "But what about Abi?" he said suddenly. "She's going to freak out, and I think we need to think about her feelings now, and you need to get off this plane."

"Well, I talked with Abigail, who by the way wants to strangle you...or hug you. It was hard to tell which. She was speaking very fast. But she didn't have a problem with me coming with you." Actually, upon hearing about Riley's situation, the woman's anger had melted away, and she was all sympathy for the young man she'd never admit to viewing as a younger brother. Her accent had thickened with her voice as she'd said before he could even ask, "Go, Ben. Take care of him."

"She didn't?" Riley sounded like he was having a hard time believing it.

"She didn't," Ben confirmed. "And furthermore," he went on, "I can't get off this plane."

"Why not?"

"Because, Riley, we're moving."

Riley looked out the window. Sure enough. He couldn't believe it. The guy was seriously on the plane. Who does stuff like that? It was all a trap, he realized. All that stuff with the ticket. Ben just wanted to see his ticket so he could get one just like it, and it was all part of some diabolical plot to...what? Go to his uncle's funeral? Riley was really having a hard time connecting the dots. All he knew was that he really didn't want his friend there. He crossed his arms. "We haven't left the ground. You've got time."

"If I knew better, I'd say you didn't want me here," the man said, sounding deceptively uninterested.

Unmoved, Riley retorted, "So know better."

"Riley..."

"What are you doing here, Ben?" Riley asked again. This time it was more of a demand.

A shrug. A short pause. "Being here."

Riley blinked. He looked at Ben and sighed. "Why?"

"Because," Ben said simply, "you don't want to go alone."

Riley bit his lip, swallowing with the weird feeling of gravity pressing down on his chest as the plane took off. No going back now. How did Ben do that? How did he make everything sound so logical even when it was so utterly insane? I'm going to find the lost treasure of the Knights Templar. Sure, Ben. Right. Sounds good. I'm going to steal the Declaration of Independence. Mmhm. Okay. Good times. I'm going to fly across the country to go to the funeral of a guy I didn't even know so my friend won't be there alone. Riley didn't even know how to respond to that one.

"I'm...mad at you," he finally concluded lamely.

The older man didn't look too concerned. He shot Riley a disbelieving look before waving the thought away. "You'll get over it."

Riley could only watch as his best friend settled himself more comfortably in his seat, stopping a flight attendant to purchase a pair of headphones for the in-flight movie. Riley turned to look out the window, pretending to sulk, watching the tiny landmarks go by so far below. He put his earphones back in. He wasn't mad. Not really. Under any other circumstances, he would've been secretly thrilled to death that Ben had laid aside his own priorities and to-do lists to spend time with him. But this wasn't a ball game or a trip to the mall or a movie. This was his personal life. This was his family. So no, Riley wasn't mad. He was scared out of his mind.

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A few hours later, Riley was awakened from a doze as the plane touched down. His ears popped and he shook his head. He regretted the movement immediately and winced at the pressure in his skull. Plane rides almost always gave him headaches. He blinked bleary eyes and looked over to see Ben sitting next to him, head back, mouth open, by all accounts dead to the world. As the plane came to a full and complete stop and the other passengers began standing and retrieving their belongings, Ben still didn't stir. Great.

Riley stood and stepped over his friend, out into the aisle. He reached up and grabbed the shoulder strap to his bag, giving it a tug. It didn't budge. He figured the other strap had to be caught on something, but he couldn't really check because they made the holds too stinking high. So he did the only thing he could do. He pulled harder. Nothing happened. He glanced around smiling at the few other passengers left as if to say, "I totally know what I'm doing." Some of them smiled back patiently. Some of them did not.

Turning back to his task, desperately wanting to get his bag and himself off the plane and out of the sights of all these people he'd probably never see again, he gave one final, powerful pull. There was a conspicuously loud tearing sound and the bag suddenly came free. Ah, victory. Of course, victory seldom comes without a price. The bag had torn down the seam, and as the bag came tumbling out of the hold, his stuff came tumbling out of the bag. To make matters worse, the sudden lack of resistence threw him off balance enough to send him crashing into the man beside him, landing the man in the seat across the aisle, with Riley on top of him. And even that wouldn't have been so bad...if the man wasn't 6'8" with a crew cut and a very short fuse. And even that wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't knocked his already-aching head back into Crew Cut's face, busting the man's sizeable nose.

So there he was, sitting on the lap of a not-so-jolly, red-nosed, giant man. Strangely enough, what he'd be getting for Christmas was not high on his list of priorities. With a rather frightening roar, the man shoved him off, sending him sprawling and trying to get his feet under himself without much luck. Just before his face could hit the floor, he was caught and hefted up to his feet by a six-foot-nothing, wide-awake treasure protector with blessedly quick reflexes. Said treasure protector stood between Riley and Crew Cut, facing the latter with his hands up, trying to talk the man down. "Sir, you need to calm down. It was obviously an accident. Let's just cool off." There was a moment of stillness as the large man seemed to calm. He looked at Ben. He looked at Riley. Ben nodded, offering a placating smile. "There you go." Before he could get another word out, the giant's face scrunched back up, and before Ben could blink, a meaty fist slammed right into his cheekbone.

Ben's head snapped back. A lady screamed. There was the rush of flight attendants as several men hustled to restrain the man. As Ben's vision cleared, he realized he was in a seat--though he couldn't remember sitting down--staring into the face of Riley Poole. Except there seemed to be two of him. Probably not a good sign. "Well, Ben," both Rileys said blithely, "You showed him."

Ben shook his head and winced, blinking until the two images he saw of his friend fused into one. He could barely handle the one Riley Poole. He was relatively certain two would be the death of him. He reached up, flinching as he touched the tender flesh beneathe his eye, already feeling it begin to swell. He sighed in exasperation. "I really can't take you anywhere, can I?"

NTNTNTNTNT

"Ben, would you please hold still?" Riley complained as he tried to press the borrowed ice pack to his friend's spectacular black eye.

Ben waved him off. "You know, one would tend to think a guy who gets himself injured as often as you would have a better bedside manner." They were sitting on a bench outside an airport restaurant, maybe an hour after the incident. It had taken that long to get everything straight with security, and neither man was feeling particularly chipper about the situation.

"Well, how many times have I told you to let me fight my own battles?"

Ben looked at him. "None."

"Of course 'none.' Otherwise, I'd end up like you. You look like a pirate." Ben gave him a funny look, momentarily lowering his defenses. Riley seized the opportunity to finally land the ice pack to Ben's face.

The older man flinched back from the offending object. "Argh! Riley!"

"See, that was good. Now say, 'It's Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please.'"

With a glare, Ben snatched the ice pack from his friend's grasp, pressing it gently to his eye. "I could've just let the guy hit you."

"No, Ben, you never ever can." The words were covered with a sort of fond exasperation. He was right about that, though, Ben knew. He never could stand by and let the kid get hurt. It was really annoying sometimes. Ben glanced at his friend. The younger man did that goofy wincing/grinning thing he did when he wasn't sure if he felt more guilty than entertained or more entertained than guilty. "I am sorry you got hit." Ah. More guilty.

"It wasn't your fault."

Riley scrunched his forehead. "Yeah it was."

Ben was about to point out the fact that he could've stayed home if he wanted, but he thought better of it. Riley seemed to finally be getting over the bad mood Ben's unexpected presence seemed to put him, and Ben didn't want to bring it back. "Forget about it. Let's just get out of here, huh?"

"Fine with me."

After a quick detour to pick up a roll of duct tape to mend Riley's injured bag, the two took a shuttle to the nearest car rental place. The best they had that day was a 2005 Kia Optima. A perfectly good car, but not exactly up to par with Riley's standards. Ben called him a car snob. He sulked for a few minutes, but in a moment of brilliance dubbed the thing "Optima Prime," and was both happy and content. Then Riley wanted to drive, but Ben decided he wanted to drive, sparking a heated debate.

"Ben, you don't even know where we're going. I'm driving."

"Relax, Riley. I want to arrive in one piece, and no offense, but you drive like you just stole something."

"You of all people should appreciate that, Mister 'What they knew was right.'"

Ben ignored that. "Not to mention, you'll plug in your iPod, and I don't especially feel like hearing 'Your Body is Like Gelderland,' or whatever the song is."

"'Your Body is a Wonderland,' Ben," Riley corrected, frustrated. Then he looked up and saw the car rental guy stop and stare at them strangely, head tilted to one side. Face burning with embarassment, Riley ducked his head and got in the car. "Drive. Just...drive."

NTNTNTNTNT

"So where are we staying tonight? Do you need to call ahead or anything?" Ben asked his navigator a few hours later, assuming Riley would probably have been planning to stay with his mom.

His navigator, who'd given up on pouting hours back, shrugged. "There's a motel not far from the funeral home."

Ben furrowed his brow, but didn't say anything. They'd been talking and joking and laughing like it was any other road trip, but it seemed the closer they got to their destination, the more reserved and quiet Riley became. Another twenty minutes saw the motel coming into view. Ben pulled in. It was late. There was one room available, and the friends could've cared less.

The room was smallish, containing two double beds and a TV set. A far cry from the lavish five-star rooms they'd gotten used to during the past year. Riley immediately claimed the bed farthest from the door with his duffel, collapsing next to it. "So...tired," he announced.

"What time is the funeral tomorrow?" Ben asked softly.

"Ten a.m."

"Riley." The serious note in Ben's voice made the younger man freeze.

"Yeah?"

"You going to be all right tomorrow?"

After a short pause, Riley slowly rolled over so his best friend could see his face. "I'm not mad at you anymore for coming," he said carefully. He didn't wait for an answer before levering himself up off the bed and grabbing his bag, retreating into the bathroom to get ready for bed. "'Night, Ben."

"Goodnight," Ben responded automatically as the bathroom door closed. He sat down on his bed, rolling Riley's words around in his head. It wasn't really an answer. But then again, he realized, it kind of was.