Author's note: I know it's been ages, and I hate leaving this poor story neglected for so long. No apologies, because I was told not to apologize, but I hope this chapter makes up for my absence.

The Space Between Us
Chapter 22 –

Eddie held Richie for nearly an hour until he stopped crying and shaking. Even then, neither one of them moved or said anything, but just laid on the couch in companionable silence. It was like some sort of magic spell had settled over them, encompassing them in a calmness that they hadn't had since they had been lying in bed that morning. And it was something they both needed.

Eddie had stretched out his legs on the couch, and Richie was settled in between them, his head resting comfortably on Eddie's chest. Eddie couldn't see his face, but he could tell Richie was still awake, because he kept randomly rubbing his fingers along Eddie's arm. Dipping his head, Eddie nestled his cheek against the top of Richie's head, and he was softly running his fingers through Richie's hair. Grayson was still resting his head on Richie's leg, the dog's golden eyes never leaving Richie like he was on guard, waiting for something else to happen.

There were so many questions Eddie wanted to ask. His mind was still racing with what exactly had happened during the lineup and how that had culminated into Richie's nightmare that afternoon as well as his current state of mind. On the other hand, Eddie knew that Richie would talk to him about everything if and when he felt ready. It had been a ridiculously rough day for Richie, and Eddie wasn't about to push him into talking about it before he felt up to it.

A part of Eddie wondered how long this would last – lying quietly with Richie in the living room while the sun slowly descended towards the horizon outside. But then it wasn't too much longer before Richie decided to open his mouth.

"We're going to have to be careful."

Eddie's breath hitched in his throat. "Why?"

"The dog might be starting to think we like each other."

Despite the fact that he couldn't stop the snort that escaped his throat, Eddie jerked his shoulders forward slightly, displacing Richie for just a moment. When Richie settled back against his chest again, Eddie said, "You're such an ass."

Even though Eddie knew that joking was Richie's customary way to cover up his feelings, it was still nice to hear. No matter how open Richie was about his feelings, he would never stop making jokes about shit. Eddie had accepted that long ago, and he loved Richie for it, despite the fact that he'd deny it to the ends of the earth and back. This was simply who Richie was and it was sort of nice knowing that that part of Richie hadn't changed. That such a prominent part of his Richie was still in there and had remained intact.

More silence fell, but it was only a moment before Richie quietly added, "But you still love me." There was almost a question in Richie's words, but not quite pronounced enough for it to be obvious.

Still, Eddie replied, "Always."

Richie pressed himself into Eddie's chest even more, running his hand up Eddie's arm and gently dragging his fingers along Eddie's bicep. "I told you this already, but…you really are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Eddie squeezed Richie tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of Richie's head. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me too. Always have been."

"Still?"

"Mhm," Eddie murmured in response. "Nothing's going to change that, Rich. Okay? Nothing."

For the first time, Richie lifted his head from Eddie's chest. Biting at his bottom lip, Richie turned to stare back towards the hallway, towards that spot on the floor that Eddie suddenly wished he had removed from the house altogether. Perhaps he should have taken a fucking hacksaw to it and cut the offending floorboards out of their lives forever.

Richie's gaze fell upon Eddie's chest, and he fingered the fabric of Eddie's t-shirt. "I just…fuck." Richie leaned heavily back into the couch, staring out the window on the far wall. "You didn't ask for this."

Eddie brushed some of the hair away from Richie's forehead. "Neither did you."

"Well, you don't really get a choice when this shit actually happens to you," Richie said around a sigh. "But you do."

"No, I really don't."

Turning his head sharply, Richie stared at Eddie for a long time. "And I hate that you feel forced into this because we happen to be married." Dropping his gaze to his lap, Richie wrung his hands together, frowning deeply. "Or because we happen to be best friends."

Pressing his finger to the underside of Richie's chin, Eddie directed his husband's gaze up towards him again. "That's not what I meant. I don't feel forced into anything." He smiled momentarily before he added, "And you should know by now that I'm past doing shit I don't want to do. I did with my mother and Myra, but…you helped me to grow beyond that. I feel much more confident to make my own choices now, and…I will always choose to be here for you. And I know you would do the same for me."

Richie's bottom lip quivered for just a moment before he blinked rapidly several times. "Yeah, I would."

"Okay," Eddie said. "So can we agree that we're not putting ourselves out or making any huge sacrifices by simply…being here for each other?"

Richie's only response was to lean forward, pressing his face into the crook of Eddie's neck. His fingers fisted in the front of Eddie's shirt, and Eddie could feel his husband's warm breath against his skin.

"I love you." Richie's voice cracked on the final word.

Eddie tightened his arms around his husband, sinking his nose into Richie's hair once again. "I love you."

"Did…?" Richie suddenly began, but then he cut himself off as if he was afraid of voicing his question.

"Did what?"

Richie swallowed, his fingers tightening even farther in Eddie's bright red t-shirt. Richie's eyes were focused on the window on the other side of the room once more, and he didn't move from that position. Didn't move, like a monster might pop out at him from behind the couch if he did. Almost as if the fucking clown had somehow come back to life and clawed It's way out of the sewers to terrorize their lives again. Like they hadn't already paid their dues and deserved to move on from that shit in Derry once and for all.

When Richie spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes were wide, like his words might make him remember something horrific. "Did you find me there on the floor?" When Eddie didn't reply right away, Richie added, "You did, didn't you? You found me there on in the hallway."

Eddie nodded softly against Richie's head, looping his fingers back through Richie's locks. "Yeah."

"Was…?" Richie broke off, releasing his grip on Eddie's arm long enough to swipe at his eyes. He sniffled before he asked, "Was I lying in a pool of blood? I…guess it's kind of obvious I was considering…everything, but…I was, wasn't I?"

Another nod from Eddie. "Yeah."

Richie didn't say anything else for a while, and Eddie began to think that this conversation was over. Not that Eddie blamed him, but his mind was still burning with so many questions he wanted to ask. That he was left wishing that Richie would answer for him voluntarily.

Then, Richie lifted his head from Eddie's chest for the second time. His eyes were red-rimmed and wide, and if Eddie wasn't imagining things, it was almost like Richie was looking right through him. He seemed to be so focused on something else entirely, Eddie might not have even been there at all. Something inside Richie's mind was growing to consume him, and that expression made Eddie shiver.

Eddie almost wanted to turn away, to look the other direction and forget that that expression had ever even overtaken his husband's face. But then, if even looking into Richie's eyes right now was that hard for Eddie, he tried to imagine exactly what might be going on in Richie's mind. Eddie forced himself to hold Richie's gaze.

"That must have been…horrific," Richie eventually said. "To come home and find me like that."

Eddie took a deep breath, his eyes inadvertently darting out into the hallway. He didn't mean to look in that direction, but he couldn't help it. It felt like his eyes were being drawn there against his will, against his every effort to stop them. When he met Richie's eyes again, it was everything he could do to keep his face, his voice from betraying his emotions.

"It was the worst thing that's ever happened to me," Eddie admitted. He sought out Richie's arms now, gripping his husband's forearms before letting his hands drift to Richie's own. Eddie held them tightly, their fingers intertwining. "I thought I lost you." He shook his head, trying his best to keep the memories of that horrendous night at bay. His bottom lip shaking, Eddie almost whimpered those words again. "I thought I lost you. The love of my life and by far, the very best thing that's ever happened to me. Never question that, because I thought a part of me had died when I came home and found you like that." Hiccupping, Eddie paused momentarily before he continued on. "I thought I was never going to be able to kiss you again, or talk to you again, or…just sit here with you and hold you-"

Without warning, Richie leaned forward and kissed Eddie hard, their lips trapped in between their teeth. When he pulled away, Richie was breathing hard, his earlier discomfort apparently forgotten. "Just so you know," Richie said in between breaths, his eyes searching Eddie's, "it's such a relief to be able to do that now without being afraid."

"It is," Eddie agreed, "and such a relief that I am able to do it again, period." Releasing one of Richie's hands, Eddie cupped his cheek now, running his thumb over Richie's stubbled jaw. "Because I was terrified that our life together was over before it had ever really even started. I got down on the floor with you that night, holding your hand and whispering in your ear. I kept begging you to not leave me, because the little time we'd had together wasn't enough. We'd already lost so much time and-"

All at once, Richie spoke over Eddie, his voice much more confident that it had sounded that day. "We were going to grow old together to make up for it."

"Yeah," Eddie gasped, because Richie had taken the words right out of his mouth.

"I promised we would."

"All the time."

"I remember."

Richie turned again, grabbing the back of the couch with his hand and staring at that spot on the floor so intently. It was the most attention Richie had ever paid to that horrid place in the hallway, and Eddie was left wondering if he should stop him or not. If he should try and get Richie's attention back to him. Eddie didn't though. He let Richie look, let his husband take those first few steps into the unknown, into the deep end of the pool.

"They were there," Richie said firmly before glancing back at Eddie. "Those guys…I had come out of the spare bedroom, because…I was working on something." Richie's eyes closed on those last words, like the memory might escape him if he didn't, if he made the slightest wrong move.

Eddie wanted to encourage him, to tell Richie that he was correct, but he didn't. Again, he let Richie go, because he didn't want to do anything to upset the fine balance that Richie was probably walking in his own mind. That fine balance between remembering and being completely consumed by what lay dormant in his memory.

Richie shook his head, his eyes still closed. Eddie felt the need to reach out for him, to lay his hands on Richie's arms, on Richie's face, but again, he restrained himself. He let Richie do this by himself, let Richie remember what was coming.

Letting out a soft breath, Richie said, "I kept thinking about you. About how horrific it would be for you if…something happened to me. I kept looking at our wedding picture there in the hallway and…running my thumb over my wedding ring." Richie did the same thing now – his thumb running back and forth over the platinum and silver band on his finger. "You're all I thought about in that moment. You. About what it would do to you if you came home and…found me."

Richie opened his eyes, fixing Eddie with a stare that was perhaps more present than it been since this entire conversation had begun. There was a faint trace of tears in them, but not quite enough to begin pooling around his lower eyelids.

"You," Richie repeated. "Because you had just gotten through all that shit with Myra, and your mother before her, and fucking Pennywise." Richie reached out, cupping Eddie's cheek in his hand before he continued on. "I was so afraid of…leaving you alone. Of how you would handle that."

Eddie felt his own eyes burning with unshed tears now, his bottom lip quivering against the bottom of Richie's palm. He placed his hand against Richie's, pressing his cheek hard against Richie's palm, but even that wasn't enough. Eddie let go entirely, pushing himself away from the armrest and thrusting himself fully against Richie. His arms snaked around Richie's neck, the fingers of one hand once again threading through the locks at the back of Richie's head.

His cheek now brushing up against Richie's stubble, Eddie took a shuddered breath before he whispered, "Richie. God, I can't imagine how scared you were and…you were thinking about me." Eddie pulled away slightly, his eyes going to Richie's, then down to Richie's lips. His thumb grazing across Richie's mouth, Eddie then kissed him, partly on the lips and partly against his stubbly cheek; Eddie would never get tired of that feeling against his skin.

"You were thinking about me," Eddie said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You could have died, and you were thinking about me."

"Always." Richie's voice was firmer, surer than it had been. The very corner of his lips turned up into a small smile. "I always think about you."

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath, and he didn't even care if he started crying. "Do you see? Do you see why and how I need you so much? Because I've never had anyone in my whole goddamn life who's cared about me the way you do." Eddie's voice had cracked now, and it was only by a thin line that he was holding back his tears. "That's why it was so easy for me to fall in love with you."

That smile was still present on Richie's face as he sniffled and nodded. "Yeah," he whispered, his teeth grazing across his bottom lip. "I'm beginning to."

"I mean, do you think my mother or Myra would have been worrying about me had they been in that position?" Eddie asked, shaking his head. "Of course not. They would have been concerned about themselves." Eddie broke off, hanging his head. He almost didn't speak again, but then he quietly added, "Never about me."

Richie dipped his head to the side so that he could meet Eddie's eyes again. When Eddie finally held his gaze, Richie said, "Don't forget about the other Losers. They care about you too."

"I know," Eddie agreed after a moment of silence. "I know they do. The way they dropped everything to come out here as soon as this happened to you proves that, but…not like you do. Never like you."

Richie almost looked like he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he didn't. And he didn't need to. He simply leaned forward, returning Eddie's hug from earlier. Eddie placed his chin on Richie's shoulder, once again letting the stubble on Richie's cheek rub against his own. His fingers found their customary spot in Richie's hair, and he let out a contented sigh as he let the locks slide between his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see Grayson still resting his head upon Richie's leg. It seemed as if the dog had finally settled down too, licking his nose for a moment before allowing his eyes to close.

It was a bit strange. Eddie wasn't entirely sure how they had even ended up here given the day's events, but it was nice nonetheless. Eddie had never imagined that given how much Richie had spent focused on his attackers, they would be sitting here and hugging each other in a moment that was so thoroughly about them. Not the attack itself, or the investigation, or the lineup, but them. And Grayson.

Them and nothing else.

"Why in god's name did you submit to a lineup?! Are…are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"Because!" Erik shouted into his cell phone, pacing around his living room and attempting to wear a hole through his rug again. "Because I thought it would look suspicious if I didn't! Besides, how was I supposed to know that he'd pick me?"

"Oh, I don't know," Connor replied, like he might have been speaking to a five-year-old. "Maybe because that sketch of you has been all over the news, so he obviously remembers you!"

"All the guys sort of looked like me though!" Erik snapped. "I thought…don't people get confused and pick the wrong suspects out of lineups all the time?" He sighed and stopped to lean against the back of his sofa. He stared down at that ugly rug beneath his feet – orange and green fibers threaded through each other – and wondered why he still kept it. "I thought…I thought he'd be confused and that he'd pick someone else by mistake, then the heat would be off me," Erik added. "Especially because – you know – he obviously doesn't remember everything about what happened."

A moment of silence met his ears before Connor said, "By 'everything', you mean me."

Erik immediately protested. "That's not what I said." However, Erik knew that that was exactly what he meant and so did Connor.

"It's not my fault I don't have a big ugly nose like you."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Listen," Connor said around a sigh. For perhaps the first time since this entire ordeal started, Erik thought he detected the least bit of sympathy in his voice. "You said so yourself that a positive identification isn't enough for them to hold you. Just…don't do anything else. Don't talk to them anymore, and for the love of god, don't consent to anymore lineups, or searches, or-"

"Searches?!"

"They need a warrant," Connor said tiredly. "They can't just show up and search your house for no reason unless you let them, and I doubt a positive ID in a lineup is enough to get said warrant."

"You doubt?"

Connor made a scoffing sound through the phone. "Calm down."

"Don't you fucking tell me to calm down!" Erik snapped. He slammed his fist into the back of his sofa. "You know, it's really fucking easy for you to be all calm about this, because the cops aren't breathing down your neck!"

"Don't blame me if you made things worse for yourself!" Connor replied. "No one told you to submit yourself for a lineup. You weren't required to do that, you know. Dumbass decision on your part."

Erik's hand curled up into a fist against the couch cushions and his teeth clenched. It was everything he could do to not start screaming obscenities into the phone. He really fucking hated Connor for talking him into this in the first place and for getting him mixed up with all of this trouble. He was very well aware that he could be facing jailtime for his part in the attack, and all for what? To steal some stupid jokebook that was still sitting on his coffee table, because god forbid if he was even going to touch it.

Turning around in his spot, Erik looked back over his shoulder at that stupid red notebook, at the stupid string of symbols written in black marker on the corner of the cover. Yes, it was in his house, but that was Connor's doing. Erik himself had never touched it, so at least his fingerprints weren't on it. That was something, wasn't it?

Although he really needed Connor to come and get it, because he was the one who'd wanted it. He was the one who felt the need to try and one-up the great Richie Tozier in his comedy career. It was so dumb, and Erik had known it going in. It was a bad idea and he should have minded his own business. Erik had only gotten involved, because this was important to Connor and he was simply trying to help out his friend.

Yeah, some friend. He had always known that Connor wasn't a good influence on him, but he had never expected the bastard to get him mixed up in an attempted murder investigation. Connor had gotten him involved in stupid shit when they had been younger – drinking, and drugs, and sneaking out, and staying out late – and Erik's father had always said he wasn't a good friend. If only Erik had listened back then, because this was something else entirely.

"I'm having a very hard time keeping my cool with you," Erik said through clenched teeth. "Don't you like I'm the stupid one here, because this was all your idea in the first place! Steal a notebook, that's all you wanted to do-"

"Yeah, yeah," Connor cut him off. Erik could almost hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the connection. "So I went a little overboard."

"'A little overboard'?!" Erik shouted, waving his arm around for emphasis. "You almost killed him! That's a lot fucking overboard!"

"And I told you," Connor said, his voice still infuriatingly calm and almost bored. "We could always finish the job. No more Tozier, no more witnesses. There won't be anyone to pick you out of a lineup ever again."

Pressing his free hand over his eyes, Erik said, "This isn't just going to go away! What, you think if you kill him, that'll be the end of it? You think the police will just give up and close the investigation? I'm a suspect! Don't you think it'll be just a little bit suspicious if Richie is murdered right now, just after he picked me out of a lineup? They're going to turn up the heat even more! They're going to come around and-"

"Just as long as we're careful. We have to wear gloves like we did before and-"

"NO! God, no!" Erik thrust himself away from the couch and started pacing his living room again. "I'm not going back there! Christ, I'm not going to try and kill him. I didn't even want to steal from him much less commit murder!" A moment of silence passed before he added, "Look, it's my fault that I'm stuck in this mess. I should have had enough sense to tell you no in the first place, and none of that is Richie's fault. Don't…just leave him alone, okay?"

"Why, Erik," Connor said, his tone almost patronizing. "Do I detect a note of sympathy in your voice?"

"Hasn't he been through enough?" Erik almost winced at his pleading words, afraid that Connor would start mocking him for them. "A head injury, partial amnesia-"

"Cry me a river."

"Shut up."

"Look, do you want out of this or not?"

"Not if it means killing him, no!" Erik replied. "And I told you – I rather doubt that Richie turning up dead is going to help things any."

"Maybe not for you."

"You're out of your mind, you know that? Why didn't I ever realize that before?"

Connor said something else then, but Erik barely heard him. As he passed by the front window in his living room, he realized that a car had pulled into his driveway. His view was partially blocked by his curtains and the hedges in his front yard, so he couldn't quite tell who was there. Still, his heart leapt up into his throat and his stomach started to roll over uncomfortably. He placed his hand over his abdomen, suddenly wishing he hadn't eaten so much for dinner.

But he was overreacting and he knew it. It wasn't necessarily the police showing up at his house again. Maybe it was a friend or family member stopping by, although they never did that; everyone always let him know in advance if they were coming, because he hated surprise drop-ins. Or maybe it was just some door-to-door salesmen, trying to get him a better deal on his cable package or some other such nonsense.

"I gotta go," Erik said nonchalantly, hoping against hope that his tone might have some sort of effect on the situation. "Someone's here."

"Don't-" Connor began to say, but Erik never heard the rest of that sentence. He ended the call and threw his phone onto the couch before turning for the door.

Before he got there, someone pounded on the door. Not knocked, but pounded. Erik could just make out what looked like two men standing outside in grey suits through the frosted glass of the window in the door. But no. Oh god, no. It wasn't the police again. It just wasn't, because hadn't he been through enough shit with them today?

Erik only hesitated for a moment before he set his hand on the doorknob and turned it. Pretending he wasn't home wasn't going to help things either, because his car was in the driveway. Besides, it wasn't like the police would just give up if he quit answering his door.

Just as he had known deep down, Detective Bannerman and Detective Schulman were standing on his front porch.

"Oh, Jesus," Erik said in exasperation. He didn't know why he suddenly felt so bold, but maybe he could get some sympathy from them if he sounded harried enough. "Look, I told you, I don't want to talk to you guys anymore."

"You don't have to talk," Bannerman said. If Erik wasn't mistaken, he thought the detective sounded the least bit smug. Bannerman withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, holding it up for Erik to see. "We have a warrant to search the premises."

Eddie still couldn't quite fathom how he and Richie had gotten into their current predicament; in fact, that was turning out to be the theme of the day, but here they were. Once Grayson seemed certain that Richie was in fact okay and had sufficiently calmed down, the dog had disappeared into the kitchen to eat. The animal was now laying in the hallway, chewing on a squeaky toy that Richie had bought him.

It had only been a few minutes later when Richie started kissing him and… he didn't stop. As the seconds passed, their kissing had grown deeper and more frantic until Richie had moved to straddle Eddie's waist. Richie was now sitting on top of him, grinding his hips down into Eddie's as their kisses progressed into full-on making out.

"Oh, fuck," Eddie muttered breathlessly around Richie's lips. He sought out Richie's hips with his hands, using them to help push Richie down onto his crotch even harder. Every now and then, Eddie would thrust his own hips up, increasing the friction even more and drawing moans from Richie every time.

Perhaps Eddie was getting ahead of himself. Perhaps Richie wasn't ready for this yet, but Eddie couldn't quite help himself. It had been so very long since he had felt his husband in this way and he had desperately missed it. Desperately missed feeling so close and connected with Richie. Besides, Richie was the one who had initiated it and he seemed more than enthusiastic, so Eddie kept encouraging his movements.

Richie's hands were cupped around the back of Eddie's neck, pressing slightly every time Eddie would pull away the tiniest bit. Richie kissed him even more frantically after a particularly hard thrust from Eddie, searching out Eddie's mouth with his tongue. One of Richie's hands trailed down to Eddie's chest, his fingers playing about with the buttons on his Polo shirt. Eddie thought he was trying to pull them open, but Richie quickly gave up on that after only a few short seconds; he was apparently too hot and bothered to try opening tiny little buttons.

Letting his hand fall even farther down Eddie's front, Richie's fingers suddenly seized Eddie's belt. This was much easier for Richie to pull open, snagging his finger next to the buckle and tugging to free the front flap of it. Richie immediately reached for the button on his pants next, but that was when Eddie stopped him.

"Whoa," Eddie said as he broke the kiss. He grabbed the hand Richie had at his fly as he said, "Rich, wait." He pulled Richie's hand away, fixing his husband with a firm stare.

Richie stared at him, his lips open as he panted to catch his breath. His hair was mussed up even more than it usually was, and there were little spots of fog on the lenses of his glasses. "What?" he asked, his eyes searching Eddie's. "You don't want to?"

"No," Eddie said, but then he corrected himself. "I mean, yeah, I do. God, you have no idea how much. But…" He paused, shaking his head and trying to make sense out of Richie's sudden actions. He expelled a heavy breath before he said, "This is still so new to you. You've only known that we're married for a couple days and…I don't want you jumping into this unless you're ready for it."

Richie held his gaze, searching Eddie's eyes for what felt like forever. For the very briefest of moments, Eddie thought Richie was going to start kissing him again, but then Richie's eyes fell. He pulled away even more, letting his hands drop to his thighs. He ran a hand through his hair next, sitting back farther yet and pulling his glasses from his face. He then spent an inordinately long time rubbing at his lenses with the bottom hem of his shirt.

Still scrubbing furiously at his glasses, he muttered, "Maybe I'm not ready. I don't know."

Eddie wrapped his fingers around one of Richie's hands, tugging at it so he would stop focusing on his glasses. He was still worried about Richie thinking his actions might have been unwanted, so Eddie reiterated, "I promise I'm ready for it whenever you are, okay? I just want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons."

Sighing heavily, Richie climbed off of Eddie's lap, resigned to the fact that their make out session was well and truly aborted. He took a moment so that he and Eddie could rearrange their legs, finding more comfortable positions on the couch. When Richie had propped himself up against the back of the couch, he said, "Define 'right'. It's…making out. It's not that deep."

Eddie hated the hint of derision he heard in Richie's voice. He was really trying hard to do what he thought was the best for Richie's state of mind at the moment, and he rather doubted that jumping right into a sexual relationship was the best choice, all things considered.

"It was a very emotional day for you today," Eddie explained, "not just at the police station, but when we got home as well. Having…sex again is a very emotional step too and…I'm afraid it might be too much for you all at once."

"'Too much'," Richie scoffed, nodding his head. "Right. Because I'm such a fucking emotional wreck right now." He was staring off across the room, focusing on the windows there and refusing to meet Eddie's eyes.

"That's not what I mean," Eddie told him firmly. He scooted across the couch, leaning forward so that he was in Richie's field of vision. When Richie finally met his eyes again, Eddie pleaded, "Please don't be angry. You said so yourself you don't if you're ready, and I would never do anything to hurt you." Suddenly realizing what he had said, Eddie quickly added, "You know, aside from flat out lying to you about our relationship in the first place."

That managed to soften Richie's expression the tiniest bit, because he was more than well aware of how badly Eddie felt about that now. "I don't even know why I am angry," Richie confessed. His glasses were now sitting in his lap and he started fiddling with them again. "I don't even think I'm mad at you." After a few calming breaths, Richie asked, "How can I be mad at you for not wanting to hurt me?"

"And I promise I don't."

"I know," Richie agreed. "I know you don't. I just…maybe I'm angry, because I want to fucking be normal. And having sex was a normal part of our married life."

"That's no reason to have sex."

"No. No, I guess not. I suppose that would be the 'wrong' reason, wouldn't it?"

"Richie, listen to me." Eddie moved even closer to Richie on the couch, almost completely closing the distance that Richie had put between them just moments earlier. He found one of Richie's hands again, gripping it tightly in his own. Resting his other hand on Richie's shoulder, he rubbed at it a bit before he continued on. "Yes, sex was a big part of relationship, but it's not essential. I can wait. A lot of our relationship is just talking, connecting, and the very last thing I want is for you to push yourself into it before you're ready. I kind of think it'll be a lot more meaningful if we wait until it's absolutely right anyway."

Frowning, Richie seemed to shrink in on himself, almost deflating at the thought. He nodded and agreed, "Yeah. I guess that was kind of a dumb idea, wasn't it?"

"Not dumb," Eddie insisted. "You…just wanted to feel normal again. You wanted our relationship to feel normal again. I can understand that."

"And I think…" Richie began before he trailed off. He fumbled with his glasses with his free hand for a moment, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "Maybe I wanted a distraction, you know?" he asked, meeting Eddie's eyes again. "Like you said, it was a very emotional day today, and…maybe I just wanted to do something that…I knew would be good." Richie suddenly grimaced as he considered his words. "And that probably would have turned out to be a horrible disaster if I realized I wasn't really ready for it just yet."

"It's okay," Eddie said. He raised his hand from Richie's shoulder, taking a moment to smooth some of Richie's hair back. "You don't need to be ready. I told you, I can wait." Eddie snorted, remembering some of the things that Richie teased him for before he'd been attacked.

Tilting his head, Richie asked, "What?"

"I had an absolutely horrid sex life with Myra," Eddie explained. "We hardly ever did it in the first place, but when we happened to, it was hardly…good or satisfying. You used to tease me all the time about being sexually frustrated, and yeah, I suppose I was. But believe me, the last thing I want is a repeat of that, so I'm quite capable of waiting for as long as you need."

"I'm sorry." Richie shook his head firmly, like he was trying to clear it. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't wait. I know you made me wait to have sex in the first place, so I know it's not completely vital for you. I just…wanted to be a good husband."

"Oh, Richie," Eddie said around a sigh. He wrapped his hand around the other side of Richie's head, pulling gently until Richie rested it up against his shoulder. "You are, okay?" Eddie continued to run his fingers through Richie's hair, flattening it back from his forehead. "Not being ready for sex doesn't make you a bad husband. Never, under any circumstances do I want you to rush into things, because you think I need them or want them. Because that would make me a bad husband."

"You're not either." Richie leaned fully into Eddie now, tucking his head into the crook between Eddie's shoulder and neck. He took a deep, calming breath before he added, "You never have been. Never will be. A bad husband would have let me go all the way without stopping to think about why I was doing it. Without stopping to think about how it would affect me. And you're right – I don't think it would have been a good idea right now, because it wouldn't have been for the right reasons."

Eddie buried his nose in his husband's hair and whispered, "I love you, Richie."

"Still? Even though I make dumbass choices for myself?"

"Always."

Richie wiggled around, adjusting himself slightly and relaxing more comfortably against Eddie. "I love you," he said around a faint sigh.

It wasn't quite where Eddie had thought they'd end up that day, considering everything that happened. In the end, however, Eddie didn't think it was a bad thing either. Hopefully, neither did Richie.

To be continued…

Author's note: It's only recently occurred to me that one of Richie's attackers is named Connor, and that there is already is a Connor in canon. Richie's attacker is absolutely not Connor Bowers. I happened to be watching a television show with a character named Connor in it when I named him, and I thought it suited him. Just chalk it up to my absentmindedness…and Connor isn't that uncommon of a name, is it?