The next morning Ben almost shoots off a text message. Almost. He's about to type out something short and snappy, fingers hovering over the keys when he hesitates, remembering the last text message he sent. And the one he received in return.

It just niggles. The idea that Rook has managed to see through him and that all that acting, all that smiling, was for nothing. After all, if Rook can do that, then what's to stop Grandpa or Gwen or anybody else from noticing?

The thought is horrifying enough for Ben to shove his phone onto the dresser in a show of temper and watch, angrily, as the green cover lets out a satisfying smack of sound against his lamp. Stupidly enough, this makes him feel better. A lot better, he reflects, than he probably would have felt had he actually succeeded in sending off a waspy little retort to Rook. The dude deserves a better wake-up call than that.

He groans and buries his face into his hand; as much of it as he can anyway. He's not looking forward to actually talking to the guy. But it has to be done for his own sanity, if nothing else.

First though...Ben glares down at his stump. The next time he goes swimming, he vows, he won't have to have someone else there to pull him through the water. No, he'll do it with his own strength, even if part of that strength has to be derived from whatever new limb is attached to his shoulder.

'So,' he says, two hours later, 'an operation, huh?'

Doctor Bluebell beams and wow, is that a weird look on her. She's practically vibrating with excitement, enough for the room to feel as though it's thrumming with energy.

'Yes!' she bursts out enthusiastically. 'Myoelectric prostheses has been around for a few years, even before we had aliens from more advanced civilisations willing to trade with us. Either way, we manage well enough with what we have now. The idea is to create rudimentary sensation through your new limb so you can start to think of it as less of a tool and more of an actual arm. The transition is slightly easier that way. You see-'

And here Ben is thoroughly reminded of Blukic and Driba as she starts to bubble off about the tiny sensors that will be lodged within the robotic fingers and wrist, and all the other important parts that require tiny slides of metal and wire in place of muscle.

'They will be constantly measuring the force you exert on foreign objects, recalculating weight and warmth and other variables and sending it, in bursts of neural data, up to the cluster of electrodes embedded in your shoulder-'

'Embedded?'

'Well, yes, you will require surgery to place them next to the healthy cluster of nerves that weren't affected by the amputation, in order for the signals to travel up to your brain-'

'Oh goody.'

'But,' she continues determinedly, 'the brain interprets these bursts as feeling. It won't be exactly the same but-'

'But it'll be near enough for me to hold an actual smoothie without squishing it? Yeah, you're right. That is pretty amazing.'

Ben looks at her then, properly looks at her, and takes in her joy, seeing the way she is almost quivering in her seat. It's enough for him to offer her up a real smile, a tired one, and yet for some reason he does not feel the strain of yesterday. The movement of his mouth feels lighter to wear, less a mask and more actual Ben.

'Wow, Doc,' he says, feeling the smile quirk slightly, pulling out into something more amused. 'For all this talk about nerves, you seem to be a veritable cluster of them yourself. Shake any harder, and I might mistake you for a smoothie.'

Her face instantly rearranges itself into a scowl and Ben can't quite hide his smile, not entirely, at the way she clamps her hands down on her knees as though they can trap the quiver that still runs inside her. Because even if she can still herself entirely, it won't do a thing to disguise the light in her eyes. And it makes him take it back, what he thought before. This thing, that excitement that sets her nerves alight, it's not what lives inside Blukic and Driba when they talk (though perhaps, he allows, it might take on the shape of a close cousin). No, it's what lives inside him, what drives him, or at least drove him on all the days he could go hero, back when he could love it and beat down those who truly deserved it.

'You know,' he finds himself saying thoughtfully, 'I would like to actually be able to hold things properly and to carry more than one thing at a time. Let's go for it.'

A spasm runs her at that, taking hold of her brow. 'Yeeah,' she says hesitantly. 'About that...are you sure you don't want to talk to those Plumber scientists in charge of actually making the arm? They're using my designs, my specifications, but they understand some of the intricacies of the technology better than I do.' She shrugs with a smile. 'I tend to be better with crafting legs. Besides most of my patients don't have a bunch of squabbling grey alien friends running into their surgery to insult their intelligence.'

Ben stares at her, a little horrified.

'Wait, they actually did that?'

'There may have been a few comments about the limited size of the human brain, yes.'

Ben groans. It's not like he expected the whole thing to be Plumber-free or anything but-

'Sign me up for the surgery,' he says firmly, 'but do me a favour? Keep my 'squabbling alien friends' away from me during the actual operation.'

The last thing he needs is Blukic and Driba hovering over him with a bunch of surgical knives.

When he leaves the office, his phone, now with a thin crack dividing the perfect spill of green down its back, buzzes incessantly and with a sigh he fishes it out of his pocket, scrolling down to see a host of text messages from Gwen.

Ben, tell Rook he's being childish, reads one. Srsly Ben, tell Rook to switch on his phone! squawks another.

Ben sighs, and instead of sending back something that's sure to earn her wrath like, lol, u brght this on urslf, he dials her number.

'Hey,' he says as soon as she picks up, 'I'm not gonna be your go-between.'

'Oh, come on, Ben!' she half-shouts, sounding thoroughly exasperated. 'Don't tell me that receiving radio silence from Rook wouldn't bother you too!'

Ben fidgets. 'Well, no,' he mutters after a moment. 'I guess I can't tell you that. But what I can tell you is that he's kinda miffed at you. I've even heard him call you Gwen.'

'Whoa.'

'I know, right? You are definitely getting the cold-shoulder treatment. Well, you would be if you were actually talking, so I guess it's closer to you actually getting the silent treatment.'

'Jeez,' says Gwen with a tired huff to her voice. 'Do you have to make it sound as though we're dating? I've already had Kevin give me the stink eye for complaining too much about a 'dude', and I'm quoting here, 'that I don't even want to bone.' Insert a couple of other furry jokes and you get the general picture.'

Ben flushes. Or at least it feels like he does. The hand holding his phone feels red-hot, for example, and the skin on his face feels itchy, nibbled raw as though he's ducked out under the sun's rays for too long.

'Ben?'

'Tell Kevin he doesn't have to worry on that front.' Jeez, is that really his voice? It sounds like he's croaking. 'In fact, tell him that he's worrying about the wrong Tennyson, completely.'

There's silence. Then Gwen, with an awed timbre to her voice, says, 'wait, really?'

At this, Ben sees red. 'Yes, really! Why are you surprised? You're the one who told me the guy had a thing for me in the first place!'

'Yeah, but...' she's struggling, he can tell. 'I didn't think you'd actually go for it. I just wanted you to be patient with him, to understand a little why he couldn't always be that way with you. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm happy for you, really. I'm just surprised.'

'Oh.' The hollow drops out of Ben's stomach. 'Oh. Well, tell Kevin not to make too many furry jokes at my expense. Otherwise we're gonna have a problem.'

'No promises.'

'No, really,' says Ben, making his tone as sweet as possible. 'I mean I won't have a problem, not at all. Kevin, though? Well, he might have to find someone else to help fix up his car, since you know, he's always complaining that being around me leads to it getting broken. And Rook will be far too busy to help him with it or to go visit auto shows, since, you know, he's getting some furry action on the side.'

There's a long silence. Then:

'Oh no,' Gwen whispers in mock-horror. 'What have I helped create?'

Ben grins. 'And just think! You managed it all without a magic spell.'

They both start cackling at the same time, their laugher blending into static over the receiver and Ben, his shoulders shaking, is reminded of when they were both ten, or maybe eleven, in the rare moments when their senses of humour aligned and everything in the universe was all the funnier for it.

'Hey,' he calls, sputtering out a final bout of laugher. 'It's okay. I'll talk to Rook for you.'

He owes her, after all.