Author's note: I worked on this chapter yesterday and today to distract myself from a certain election. I hope this update finds you safe and that you enjoy this! Please take care out there!

The Space Between Us
Chapter 8 – Clues

"Richie?"

Between Richie's heaving breaths and the uncomfortable clenching feeling in his stomach, he glanced up to see Eddie standing in the doorway of his room. Eddie's wide eyes were frantically darting back and forth between Richie and the puddle of saliva and stomach acid that Richie had thrown up on the floor. Just behind Eddie was another man that Richie knew he recognized, but he couldn't quite put a name to. It was like that weird sense of déjà vu, that itch he couldn't quite scratch tickling at the back of his mind.

"Jesus, Rich," Eddie said, quickly crossing the room to Richie's bed. He stopped just short, however, his eyes going down to the contents of Richie's stomach on the floor. Biting his bottom lip in trepidation, Eddie quickly skirted around to the other side of Richie's bed to avoid the sick altogether. A moment later, Eddie dropped down onto the edge of the mattress and reached out his arms for Richie's shoulders. But then he seemed to think better of his gesture, letting his hands drop back down to his sides.

Richie couldn't blame him, of course. Certainly not with the way Richie had reacted the last time Eddie had tried to touched him, but now…Richie regretted it deeply. He wanted to feel Eddie's hands on him. In fact, he craved it for reasons he couldn't even begin to comprehend. But it was stupid. Eddie was just his friend and Richie was a grown man; he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Except he couldn't. Richie had just thrown up from remembering something stupid, and he couldn't even keep himself from shaking in fear. He wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to try and quell the tremors that kept coursing through his body, but for all the good it did. What Richie wanted, what he really wanted to do was to slump forward into Eddie's arms, but that was stupid too. As much as Eddie seemed to want to help him, he shouldn't have to hold Richie after dumb nightmares. After dumb flashes of memory forced him to be sick.

"God, Richie," Eddie said then, breaking Richie from his thoughts. "Please…please tell me what's wrong." Eddie's brown eyes were large and round, and his bottom lip was quivering – like he was actually terrified for Richie's well-being. He looked almost as afraid as Richie felt, and that somehow triggered something inside of Richie.

He just couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't continue to act like he was a strong grown man, because right now, he felt anything but. He felt like a terrified little child, and he wanted – needed someone to help him. All at once, Richie slumped forward, pressing his forehead against Eddie's shoulder. He immediately felt Eddie stiffen underneath him, and just as Richie was about to pull away, one of Eddie's hands came to rest between Richie's shoulder blades. Eddie paused again, but then his other came up to the back of Richie's head. Richie didn't move any farther, didn't lean into Eddie all the way like he wanted to. At least, not at first.

Eddie began rubbing his hand across Richie's back in small circles as he said, "You're safe, okay? I told you, I'm going to stab anyone who even tries to lay a hand on you."

"I'm going to get something cold for his face," the other man said, and up until then, Richie had forgotten he was there at all.

The only thing in the world for Richie right now was Eddie, and that was all Richie wanted. Richie was still shaking underneath Eddie's grip, but he still somehow felt grounded in Eddie's arms. A part of Richie felt even more stupid and childish, clinging to his best friend like this, but Eddie didn't seem to mind in the least. In fact, it almost even felt like Eddie wanted him there.

Was that too much to hope for?

When the other man returned with a cool washcloth from the bathroom, Eddie released Richie's head. A moment later, Eddie was rubbing the cloth gently across Richie's clammy forehead. It felt nice, even though Richie felt dumb as hell for having to be coddled like this.

Slowly but surely, Richie stopped shaking and his breathing returned to normal. Eddie didn't press him anymore for answers about what Richie had been upset about, and for that, Richie was grateful. Richie knew he would have to talk about it sooner or later – especially if he wanted to make sure the asshole that did this to him was caught – but Richie wasn't quite ready to talk about it just yet.

When Richie felt steady enough, he slowly pulled away from Eddie. Eddie had finished wiping his face down, and Richie stared long and hard at the other man. That feeling was still there – niggling and itching at the back of his mind – but no immediate name flooded through him like it had with Eddie and Bill. But Richie knew he knew him, knew his face looked familiar, even if his name wasn't just yet.

What in the hell was the matter with him?

"Remember this guy?" Eddie asked.

The man stared at Richie, a small smile curling up around the corner of his lips. "Come on, man," he said. "'Every Brazilian soccer player wrapped up into one person.' Don't tell me you could even forget my gorgeous face."

And then it was there, exploding to life inside Richie's mind, and a part of him wondered why all of his other memories couldn't have come along with it.

"Ben," Richie murmured as he expelled a heavy breath of air. He brought a hand up to his face in order to wipe away more sweat as much as in an effort to hide his eyes. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ben said good-naturedly, not a hint of hurt in his voice.

"I…mostly forgot you'd lost so much weight," Richie offered as an explanation, even though it felt wholly unnecessary now. "Everything after Mike called me is…hazy."

"But you remember the clown, right?" Ben asked, holding up the get well present he'd brought with him – a stupid stuffed clown with a stupid red balloon.

"I remember," Richie said around a soft breath. "What the fuck, man?"

"He looked so lonely down in the hospital gift shop," Ben said, staring down at the clown in his arms. "I doubt many people buy the clowns."

"Yeah, with good reason," Richie said, watching as Ben set the clown down on his bedside table. "Fucking terrifying."

"Oh, if anyone asks," Eddie said, speaking up for the first time in nearly a minute, "the clown is an inside joke. I had to tell the doctor something, because Richie kept going on about the fucking clown like a goddamn lunatic."

"I have amnesia," Richie whined, and despite the weightiness of the situation, everything almost felt normal again. Being able to fall into a pattern of banter with the other Losers felt like going home.

"Even a dude with amnesia should know well enough not to talk about fucking space clowns around the general population," Eddie said.

"So I slipped," Richie said around a pout, but it was okay. As was always the case when they bickered, they knew it was never meant in a mean way. "I'm barely in control of what I say under normal circumstances. You have to cut me some slack…considering."

Silence fell in the room, and Eddie stared at him long and hard. It was as if he was waiting for Richie to broach the subject further, to talk about what had driven Richie into a panic attack in the first place. Eddie, however, still didn't ask, and Richie loved him for it.

Richie swallowed hard and leaned back, finally feeling safe enough with Ben and Eddie there to relax against the mattress again. Richie looked back and forth between them, and it was their kind gazes that made Richie want to ask what was really on his mind.

"So…" Richie began, occupying himself with a corner of his bedsheet. He wrapped the cotton around his index finger, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. "I have to ask you guys something that has nothing to do with…what's going on right now, but I need to know. And if this comes as a complete shock to you, I'm sorry, but…"

"You can ask us anything," Eddie cut him off gently, laying a hand over one of Richie's.

"Yeah, man," Ben agreed, "and we'll answer it the best we can. I mean, we killed a fucking space clown together. There's little else we can't tell each other, right?"

If Richie wasn't mistaken, he thought he saw Eddie's gaze falter for a split second. But Richie nodded in response to Ben's question regardless.

"Yeah," Richie said, directing his eyes back down to his sheet again. "Am I…out?" When silence met his ears, he glanced back up before he asked, "I am, right?"

"You're out," Eddie told him, a smile playing around his lips. "You had a big show where you came out, and…yeah." There was that expression on Eddie's face again where it seemed like he almost wanted to say something else, but he remained quiet.

"Oh, thank fuck," Richie breathed, trying his best to ignore the feeling that had settled into his stomach at Eddie's reaction. He threw an arm over his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the tightness in his chest to loosen. "I know that's kind of…inconsequential in the grand scheme of everything that's going on now, but…the thought of being back in the closet was almost suffocating, you know?"

"It's not inconsequential," Eddie said, tightening his hand around Richie's. "I was there…through your whole coming out. I know how stifling it was for you when you weren't able to be yourself."

"We all do," Ben added. He had taken a seat on the opposite side of the mattress from Eddie, careful to avoid the mess that Richie had made on the floor earlier. "We…we all came to your coming out show, and…you were so fucking happy when it went well. Do you…remember any of that?"

Richie shook his head, that entire experience swallowed up by the big black hole in his memory. "I told you," Richie said around a sigh, "the last thing I really remember clearly was Mike calling me. I…I threw up over the balcony at the venue where my show was. And then everything gets…fuzzy."

"The balcony," Eddie said, recognition flashing across his face. "When you first woke up, you asked if you had hit your head by falling over the balcony. Is that what you were thinking about?"

Richie nodded slowly. "Yeah. I…almost thought that I had accidentally fallen over the balcony when I was throwing up." He snorted before he added, "That would have been quite a headline, huh? 'Trashmouth falls to death while puking guts out.'" A heavy silence fell into the room then, which Richie desperately tried to break by saying, "I vaguely remember fighting the clown again and then…nothing. It's absolutely blank after that. But…I'm not dead, right?"

It was still floating around in the back of Richie's mind that he might just have died down there in the sewer while fighting Pennywise, and this was his own personal hell. Maybe he had died and had woken up in this distorted, scary sense of reality where nothing quite made sense and where there was a madman out to get him. It was kind of funny in a way – they had killed the fucking space clown only for Richie to be plunged back into a nightmare where a person had tried to kill him. Not a supernatural being from outer space or even his own sexuality, but…a human being of all things. That was what he was hiding from now.

"You're not dead," Eddie firmly, his grip firm around Richie's hand. "You just…some asshole tried to hurt you, and I'm sorry." Eddie bit at his bottom lip, diverting his eyes again and staring off at the opposite corner of the room.

"Hey," Richie said softly, turning his hand around inside Eddie's. Richie gripped it, letting their fingers weave together, and it felt nice, comfortable. It didn't feel awkward or weird like Richie almost thought it might – holding his best friend's hand like they were something more.

But then Richie lost his train of thought, because that wasn't all Eddie was, and Richie knew it. He may not have remembered the most recent events of his life, but Richie remembered everything from when they were children. He remembered Eddie fighting him for the hammock, and how warmth had spread out from his stomach to envelope him whenever Eddie's bare skin brushed up against his. Richie remembered carving their initials into the Kissing Bridge, and desperately wishing and hoping that it wouldn't be a secret he'd have to keep for the rest of his life.

On the other hand, at least Richie didn't have to hide his sexuality anymore. Just that much was a huge weight lifted off his shoulders, but it still hurt knowing that he'd never had the courage to admit his feelings to Eddie in all of it. Didn't have the courage to be truly and completely honest about who he was. About who he was really in love with.

Despite the fact that Richie didn't remember anything about their grown-up life together, there was one thing that Richie was completely sure about – that he'd love Eddie until the day he died. He'd been in love with Eddie ever since he was thirteen, and Richie now knew that that part of him would never die. It would never go away. His love for Eddie was a permanent part of him.

When Richie felt Eddie's fingers entwined with his, however, Richie wondered if he was taking advantage. If he was using their friendship as an excuse to touch and be close to Eddie when things between them in Eddie's mind were purely platonic.

Richie shook these thoughts from his head just then, pulled back down to reality by the deeply saddened expression on Eddie's face.

"It's not your fault," Richie said quietly, because he knew exactly what Eddie was thinking. Knew exactly where his best friend's thoughts were wandering. "I know you would have stabbed that motherfucker if you had been there, but…you found me. I…I would have died if you didn't find me."

When Eddie looked at Richie again, his eyes were glistening with unshed tears and his bottom lip was quivering. But then he forced a smile before he said, "I would have stabbed the shit out of whoever did this."

"I know," Richie said, and he did. He knew that Eddie would never let anything happen to him and that he would go out of his way to keep Richie safe. It was that knowledge that finally pushed Richie to voice his fears. To talk about the one thing that Richie wanted to pretend had never happened. The one thing that now scared the shit out of him even more than the vague memories of Pennywise floating around in his mind.

Ben laid a hand over Richie's lower leg, like he knew exactly what Richie wanted to talk about and was trying to offer Richie the best support he knew how. But still, Richie didn't quite know how to know how to put his thoughts into words. Ben and Eddie seemed to understand this, and they didn't say anything. They only kept their hands on Richie, supportive and unmoving. Unmoving like their friendship had always been. Through everything. Through the fucking clown, and even through him becoming more comfortable with his sexuality and feeling safe enough to come out.

Taking a deep breath, Richie closed his eyes against the bolt of fear that thundered through him as he let his fears bubble to the surface once again. "I…I remember something about…the person who did this," Richie admitted, feeling a burning sensation in his throat once again. Forcing the feeling away, Richie opened his eyes once again. "That's…that's why I got sick."

"Rich…" Eddie said, "that's great." Although his voice sounded anything but, Richie knew that Eddie was only concerned for his well-being. Eddie's eyes quickly darted to Ben before he added, "I mean, not that you got sick, but that you're starting to remember. Every little bit helps, because I feel like I did fuck all to help the detective." All at once, Eddie seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping as he let out of a heavy breath. "And I realize that's a really shitty thing to tell you."

"Don't…don't worry about it," Richie said, trying his best to sound as firm as possible. "I wouldn't want you to…lie to me about how far they actually are in the investigation. That would only give me a false sense of security and that's the last thing I want."

"I realize that," Eddie said stiltedly. His bottom lip was shaking again as he added, "I just really wish they would catch that motherfucker, whoever it is."

"Motherfucker is an LA Dodgers fan," Richie said then, and it miraculously didn't make him want to be sick again. Didn't want to make him puke his guts out at the image of that fucking baseball cap. Not with Eddie and Ben there, and not with the way they were offering him their support through their touch.

Eddie's eyes were wide, his hand so tight around Richie's, it was almost painful. Richie, however, didn't mind, and he only squeezed Eddie's hand in return. Eddie swallowed audibly before he asked, "How do you know that?"

Richie let out a soft breath before he said, "He had a hat – a black and white Dodgers hat." He gestured towards the television in the corner of the room. "They were talking about the Dodgers' opening game on TV, and that's when I remembered. I remember seeing it when…this happened." Richie touched his forehead gingerly, wiping away some of the hair that had been glued down to his skin with sweat. "Everything else is still really dark and fuzzy, but I remember that hat clearly. I realize that isn't a huge piece of evidence, because Dodgers fans are a dime a dozen here, but…"

When Richie trailed off, Ben tightened his grip on Richie's leg. "Like Eddie said, every little bit helps," Ben said confidently.

"It does," Eddie agreed. "And if you've remembered this much already, who knows what else you might recall." Richie didn't respond to this, so Eddie said, "I know that's a really scary thought for you right now-"

Richie shook his head, trying his best to keep his movements slight so the pain wouldn't flare up in his head again. "It makes me feel fucking sick," Richie said, "but at the same time, I want to remember. I want to put this motherfucker away." There was a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach, but it was overridden by a faint and strange sense of excitement, because Richie didn't think he ever wanted anything more than to get his attacker.

Except maybe for Eddie. And to be out of the closet, but he already had that.

"We'll put him away," Eddie told him. He leaned in slightly closer to Richie, his eyes wide and unwavering. "And if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to stab the shit out of him when they finally catch him."

"I know you will," Richie said, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Despite the fact that he was still scared out of his mind, and a part of him wanted to run away from what had happened to him, it made him feel slightly better and safer knowing that he had so much support around him. He had Eddie, and Ben, and the rest of the Losers, and they weren't going to let him go through this alone.

First thing the next morning, Eddie called Detective Bannerman to let him know that Richie felt ready to try and talk about what happened to him. Eddie warned the detective that they still didn't have that much information, but Bannerman seemed to think that just discussing things with Richie would help; maybe the conversation would even further stir Richie's memory.

The detective was planning on coming just after lunchtime, so Eddie told Richie he had to eat something beforehand. Richie's appetite wasn't quite what it had been before his attack, but he managed to choke down at least some of his lunch. He ate half of his hot roast beef sandwich and most of his mashed potatoes before trying to pawn his fruit cup off on Eddie.

"It's not even fresh fruit," Eddie complained from his chair next to Richie's bed. He held up the prepackaged fruit swimming in syrup, frowning at it scrutinizingly. "These things are filled with sugar. I can't believe they're trying to feed you this."

"That's what I mean," Richie said. "They could at least pretend to be healthy by giving me fresh fruit."

Eddie could help it. He snickered loudly, because he couldn't believe how much he had rubbed off on Richie during their short time together. Just a year ago, Richie wouldn't have even thought twice about eating processed fruit in corn syrup, but now, he was actually complaining about it. Moreover, even if Richie couldn't quite remember the conversations he'd had with Eddie about developing healthier diets, it seemed that he had retained the effects of Eddie's presence nonetheless. That reassured Eddie the tiniest bit that his Richie wasn't lost to him forever.

"Dude," Eddie said, "you have no idea how much you sound like me right now, do you?"

"Well…" Richie began, but then he trailed off, like he had no clue how to respond to that. In the end, he said, "This is a hospital! Shouldn't they be trying to make me better and not…worse? And this sandwich would be so much better if the bread hadn't been sitting in gravy for ages before it got to me." Richie prodded at the remainder of his sandwich with his fork. "It's just mush. The potatoes were pretty good though."

"Mm, it's pretty hard to ruin mashed potatoes."

"My dad could. Believe me."

"That's because he used potato flakes. You can't make decent mashed potatoes from that shit."

"My dad thought he could," Richie said, his voice taking on a warm nostalgic tone. He had picked up the cup of coffee they'd brought with his lunch and gingerly took a sip of it. "And just for the record, decaf coffee is fucking disgusting." He sighed overdramatically.

"A lot of caffeine isn't good for you right now given your injuries," Eddie pointed out. "At least they're taking that into account."

"I know, but it's still gross." Richie scrunched up his nose before taking another sip of his coffee.

Eddie smiled, because this was perhaps the most normal conversation they'd had since Richie had woken up. Richie didn't seem the least bit stressed or worried, and he was so easily falling back into his normal pattern with Eddie. If Eddie could forget everything that was currently going on, it was almost like he and Richie were just having a regular afternoon at home.

Maybe, just maybe, it was a sign that his Richie was going to come back to him eventually.

"Mr. Tozier?"

When Eddie looked up towards the doorway and saw that Detective Bannerman had joined them, however, that spell was suddenly shattered.

"Richie," Richie corrected around a grimace. "Please call me Richie. Mr. Tozier was my dad, and I'm hardly even old enough to be called Mister."

"You're forty-two," Eddie said. "That's plenty old enough."

"You're not far behind me, old man."

"Richie," the detective said, stepping farther into the room. He had his little notebook and pen at the ready as he made his way over to Richie's bed. "I'm Detective Bannerman. I've been working your case and I've already spoken to Eddie about the general events of the day of your attack."

Richie nodded slowly, gingerly like he always did now once he had learned that any sudden and harsh movements could cause his head to explode with pain. "Yes," Richie said, "and he said he told you that I really don't have that much to offer." He gave the detective a pleading glance before he said, "It's all still really fuzzy. I don't remember much of what happened at all."

"That's okay," the detective said, jotting something down in his notebook. "I have a few further questions for Eddie too, and I can do that too while I'm here." He paused for a moment before he said, "I'm glad to see you doing so well. It seemed very precarious for a while there."

Richie momentarily diverted his eyes to Eddie, and then he shrugged. "I guess."

Eddie knew that Richie's thoughts were still largely preoccupied with the previous night's events – his nightmare and his subsequent panic attack. It probably wasn't what Richie would call doing 'well', and Eddie didn't think so either. Then again, Eddie had to remind himself about where they had been just a few days ago – not even sure if Richie would survive at all, or what kinds of injuries he'd have as a result. And now here Richie was, eating his own lunch and carrying on a fairly normal conversation with Eddie. All things considered, Richie was doing so much better than any of them had thought he would.

There was just a big, gaping hole in the middle of Richie's memory that Eddie hoped to god would eventually fill in. That Richie wouldn't completely forget everything they shared forever.

"Eddie said that you remembered something about that night," the detective said.

"Yeah," Richie whispered. "And I feel like it's a really dumb inconsequential detail, but the man who came into my home had a black and white LA Dodgers hat on."

Detective Bannerman paused, glancing up at Richie over the top of his notebook. "You're sure?"

Eddie could see Richie swallowing before he said, "Positive. I remember looking at that fucking logo on his hat and then…pain. I realize that isn't a lot to go on, but…"

"Every little bit helps," the detective said, scribbling the information down on his notepad. "It could even turn out to be a vital piece of evidence once we start putting more of the pieces together. If he was wearing this hat when he attacked you – it could even contain your DNA, which would be invaluable. We just have to find him."

"But you're far away from doing that, aren't you?" Richie asked miserably.

"Further than I'd like," Detective Bannerman replied, "but I've been doing this for a long time. Oftentimes, we start out with even less to go on than this, but then we eventually end up with an airtight case. Criminals can be careless, and they make mistakes. If you keep remembering things, and we keep our eyes open, we might just get lucky."

"So this wasn't a completely dumb reason to call you?" Richie asked uncertainly.

"Not at all," the detective said, "and I want you to continue to call me regardless of what you remember. No detail is too small."

"Okay."

The detective turned his attention to Eddie next and said, "Were you able to take stock of your home since the last time we spoke? Did you notice anything missing?"

Eddie shook his head miserably. "I don't think anything was missing, but…it was hard to tell. Nothing valuable was taken, at least. Not even Richie's wallet, or our televisions, or anything like that, but…they ransacked the master bedroom."

"Yes," Detective Bannerman said, "it was quite a mess when we searched it that night."

"I tried my best to see if anything was taken," Eddie said, his voice almost pleading, "but it was such a mess. I didn't notice anything in particular missing, but…it was upsetting having to sort through it all."

"They ransacked the bedroom?" Richie asked, his eyes wide and unblinking behind his glasses.

"Yeah," Eddie said around a sigh. "The clothes were ripped out of the closet and the dresser and thrown around. Even…the sheets and the mattress were a mess."

Frowning deeply, Richie hung his head to stare down at his lap. It looked like he was trying to work out some very complicated math problem, and Eddie was coming to recognize this expression as a sign that Richie was remembering something. Eddie learned to never say anything during these times, because he was afraid of disrupting what seemed to be a very complicated process. Eddie wondered exactly what was going on in Richie's mind, because he could almost see the wheels turning in there. What must it feel like to have so many forgotten memories fighting to get to the surface?

Finally, Richie looked back up at Eddie, and Richie's eyes were much clearer than they had been. "I offered them my wallet, and they said they didn't want it," Richie said. "Do you think they were they looking for something else?"

Richie had arrived at the same conclusion that Eddie had – that whoever had done this had been looking for something in particular to have ransacked the bedroom. Eddie, in fact, was so interested in this fact that he had barely even registered the rest of what Richie had said.

Detective Bannerman, however, didn't let the smallest detail slip past him. "They?" he asked.

Richie nodded firmly and repeated, "They. There were two men. They were talking to each other. Laughing about the fact that I offered them my wallet. Said that wasn't what they came there for. I even said they could have the televisions and stuff, but…I guess they didn't want those either."

Eddie shook his head. "Absolutely nothing big was missing – the televisions, your laptop, the PlayStation, and the Blu-ray player were all still there." Eddie leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows heavily on the mattress as he stared up at Bannerman. "So they were looking for something in particular," Eddie said quietly.

"What could they have wanted in the bedroom?" Richie asked.

"It's hard to say," Bannerman said, jotting something down in his notes. "Maybe nothing. Oftentimes, burglars will ransack a room or two just to throw us off."

"But they didn't take anything!" Eddie cried, throwing his hands up. "That's what I don't understand. People don't just don't break into random houses for nothing!"

Silence fell in the room, but then Richie broke it when he said, "Unless their target was me all along." His voice was small, scared. "I mean, I am mildly famous." He huffed out a breath, which he had clearly meant as a laugh, but it didn't quite come out that way. "Maybe they just hate me."

"Rich…" Eddie sighed. He wasn't sure if it would be welcome, but he laid his hand over top of Richie's where it was resting on the mattress. It wasn't thrown off; in fact, Richie turned his hand around, letting his fingers weave themselves through Eddie's just like they had before. Richie offered him a small smile, and all at once, things didn't feel so far apart between them like they had before.

"That could very well be the case," Detective Bannerman interjected, sounding hesitant to have disrupted the clearly tender moment between Richie and Eddie. "It could have been a targeted attack on you in particular, in which case, they could have ransacked the bedroom as a ruse."

Richie heaved a sigh, resting his head back against the stack of pillows behind him and staring up at the ceiling. "I've been in show business for quite a long time now, but I never felt unsafe like this before. Not even when I first came out." Richie's eyes suddenly darted to Detective Bannerman before Richie fastened his teeth over his bottom lip.

Richie probably hadn't planned on making a comment about coming out, but it was becoming second nature to Richie now to talk about his sexuality in casual conversation. There was hardly anyone who was aware of Richie that didn't know he was gay by now, so he didn't even have to think twice about keeping it a secret anymore. Either way, the detective already knew that Eddie and Richie were married, so he hadn't delivered any earth-shattering news like he probably thought he had.

"Richie," Detective Bannerman said, gesturing in the air with his pen, "would you feel safer if we posted a guard outside your door? It does seem like this could have been a targeted attack, so that is absolutely something we could provide for you."

"I…a guard?" Richie asked, like it was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. He shook his head, but then he paused. He seemed to consider this in silence for a long time, his eyes going to Eddie, like he might have all of the answers.

"If it would make you feel safer," Eddie said, squeezing Richie's hand, "and if they're offering, then I don't see why not."

Richie snorted. "I'm hardly a celebrity that needs protection. I'm just…a dumb small-time comedian."

"You don't need to be famous in the least to warrant police protection," Bannerman said. "It's something we offer to anyone where it seems like an attempt may have been made on their lives. You don't need to feel bad or embarrassed about accepting that sort of help from us."

"An attempt on my life, Jesus," Richie muttered. He flung his free arm over his face, burying it in the crook his elbow. "I only ever just wanted to make people laugh. It was never supposed to make people want to kill me."

Eddie suppressed the urge to say, 'I want to kill you all the time,' but he didn't quite think it would be prudent at the moment. Not in front of Richie, and certainly not in front of Detective Bannerman.

Instead, Eddie said, "I think it might be worth it for your peace of mind. It is okay to ask for help when you need it."

"I know," Richie grumbled, rubbing his hand over his face. He accidentally knocked his glasses off his nose with his movements, so he straightened them before he said, "I just…I don't ask for help. Even when I do need it."

"Maybe it's time you did." When Richie didn't reply, Eddie added, "It would be for my peace of mind too, you know. You're…you're my best friend and I don't want to see anything happen to you."

Richie let his arm drop from his eyes and he glanced at Eddie. "I didn't know you cared."

"I do," Eddie replied, "and I'm not the only one. The rest of the Losers care and you have a lot of fans who care."

Richie stared down at their intertwined hands, but then his gaze shifted to his free hand. His left hand. He had it resting in his lap with the palm facing up, his fingers splayed open. It was like he might find all of the answers he needed right there in the palm of his hand.

"Okay," Richie said all at once. "If I'm not being utterly ridiculous by asking for it, then all right. I would absolutely feel better if I had a guard outside my door."

"There's absolutely nothing ridiculous about it," Detective Bannerman said. "We can have someone here first thing in the morning for you."

"And I trust their credentials will be on the up and up," Eddie said, giving Bannerman what he hoped was a withering glare. The last thing they needed was a half-assed deputy that didn't know his right foot from his left.

"It will be a reputable guard," Detective Bannerman reassured him, like he had made that same promise time and time again during his career. When he turned his attention back to Richie, he asked, "Is there anything else at all you're able to recall?"

Richie frowned, and again, it looked like he was almost hurting himself with the effort to try and recall any new information. Eddie hated seeing him like this, hated seeing him struggle, and he wished he could do something to help.

In the end, Richie only shook his head. "I wish I could," he muttered.

"It's okay," the detective reassured him. "What you have been able to remember will be extremely helpful. Just continue to keep in touch if you do have anything new to share with us."

"Okay," Richie whispered, even though he looked and sounded anything but. He appeared completely defeated and disappointed with himself, like he hadn't done anything at all to help the investigation. Eddie was surprised, however, that Richie was as calm as he was, and that he hadn't had any sort of panic attack by discussing the events of that night.

When the detective was gone, Eddie gave him the most reassuring smile he could. Eddie squeezed his hand and said, "You did so good."

"But I didn't remember anything big or…" Richie trailed off, pressing a hand to his temple like his headache was coming back. "What are they going to do? Walk around looking for two guys with Dodgers hats on, asking if they had anything to do with the attack on me?" Richie snorted.

"You heard what the detective said – no detail too small," Eddie told him, trying his very best to remain positive. "And if you remembered that much already, who knows what'll come back to you going forward."

"I guess," Richie mumbled, and he sounded like he was getting extremely tired now, and Eddie didn't blame him; it had been an eventful day for him already, and it was only just after lunchtime. Richie was staring down at his empty hand again, and he asked, "Eddie?"

"Hm?"

When he looked up at Eddie again, he said, "If you want to leave, I won't hold it against you."

Eddie blinked, because he had absolutely no idea why Richie would suggest such a thing. Eddie wouldn't rather be anywhere else, and he thought that his presence was helping Richie at the very least. "What do you mean?" Eddie asked. "Of course I'm not leaving! I told you I'm going to be here until they tell you that you can go home."

"No," Richie replied, "I mean, if you want to leave our house, you can."

"What the fuck – you mean move out?" Eddie exclaimed. He shook his head wildly and said, "Rich, it's our home! I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere." Eddie swallowed hard and asked, "Unless you really want me to." Was Richie trying to do what he had done before when he had shut Eddie out and asked him to leave the room? Was he trying save Eddie from having to deal with all of this shit at all?

Richie's eyes were wide behind his glasses when he replied. "No, I don't want you to! Not at all. I…I like having you around. I just meant…you know, since it seems like there's people out there that want me dead." He forced a laugh that had absolutely no humor in it whatsoever. "I thought maybe you'd feel safer if you weren't around me."

"I won't," Eddie replied, shaking his head. "You're…you're my best friend. Even if you can't remember everything, you have to know that I wouldn't still be living with you for shits and giggles. I like being around you too, and I want to help you. So no, I won't feel safer if I went somewhere else and didn't know what was going on with you. I'd actually be having panic attacks up the ass if I just up and left."

"But you're not afraid that people are going to come after me? That they might do something to you just to get to me?"

"I told you," Eddie replied, "I'll stab the shit out of anyone that even comes near you. I'm not afraid of them." Eddie almost surprised himself with how easily those words came to him, how completely honestly he meant them.

"Come on," Richie said. "I know you, okay? Even with my fucked up memory right now, I remember enough about you to know that…you get scared of shit like that. You're…afraid of your own shadow sometimes," he added sheepishly, like he was prepared for Eddie to get upset at his comment.

"You're not entirely wrong," Eddie agreed, "but you've forgotten what happened during our final fight with Pennywise."

Richie fell into silence at that, his face scrunching up like he was desperately trying to recall what in the hell Eddie was talking about. In the end, however, he only shook his head and said, "Yeah. I…I remember something about a Pomeranian in a closet and a giant fucking spider clown. But they're just…flashes. I don't clearly remember anything that happened down in the sewer, but tell me that I'm not completely losing my mind."

Eddie smiled warmly. "You're not. The Pomeranian was one of the things It showed us and It did take the form of a giant fucking spider clown. You're not crazy."

"Okay. Okay, good." He was staring up at the ceiling in relief, like he had really been concerned for his own sanity.

"But you're right," Eddie told him. "I was having panic attacks up the ass when we first went down there, and…you helped me."

Richie's eyes darted to him again and he asked, "What did I do?"

"You pulled me aside," Eddie told him, "reminded me of all of the brave things I've done, and told me I'm braver than I think. I think about those words every day."

It was Richie's turn to smile. "Every day?"

Eddie nodded and replied, "Yeah. And, um…not to pat myself on the back, but that fucking clown had you in the Deadlights, so I stabbed the shit out of him too."

"You saved me from the Deadlights? You…you weren't scared?"

"Terrified," Eddie said softly, "but I was even more afraid for you. I couldn't let anything happen to you then, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you now, okay? I'm going to stay here with you and make sure you're all right. And when you get to go home, I'm going to be there too to help you. You don't have to do this alone, and you don't need to feel bad about it. I want to help you, so...will you let me?"

Richie's breathing had grown hard, his chest heaving up and down. There was a shimmer of tears in his eyes, which he tried unsuccessfully to blink away. The corners of his mouth were pulled down into a frown, but then he nodded. His hand tightened around Eddie's, and when he spoke again, his voice was shaking.

"I feel like I can do this if I have you," Richie said.

"You've got me," Eddie whispered. He had to push down the urge to bring Richie's hand up to his lips and kiss it. Instead, Eddie reached out with his free hand, using his thumb to swipe at the tears that had gathered underneath Richie's eyes.

Eddie knew they still had a long way to go, and there was still no guarantee that Richie would remember anything about their relationship. But at the same time, the space between them didn't quite seem so far anymore.

To be continued…

Author's note: At the risk of giving too much away, I will just say that what happened to Richie was not a hate crime! Just wanted to give you guys a heads up that it's definitely not going that way and certainly not without warning!