A/N: If you have my playlist for this fic (or even if you don't and just like listening to music while you read), I suggest listening to: The Scientist, by Coldplay, Train Wreck, by James Arthur, Little Talks, by Of Monsters and Men, Just One Yesterday, by Fall Out Boy ft. Foxes, Heaven Knows, by Five For Fighting, and A Little Death, by The Neighborhood. Trust me, set up a little playlist and read this chapter. I proofread, I know what I'm talking about.
Öyleyse iki me—
Rook was surprised for about a second. Then he shot up in bed and, with an uncaring side sweep of his arm, sent the alarm flying and splintering against the wall with a ringing crack. He sucked in a hard breath and was amazed when it didn't hurt, hands prodding his bare chest for an abrasion where there was none. He felt his jaw, wincing at the memory of it shattering beneath the car tires a nanosecond before the rest of his skull followed. Phantom pain pulsed deep in his bones, down his spine and settling beneath his skin in a full-body sort of ache that made Rook want to claw his way out of his own body.
He took three steady deep breaths, forcing himself to, then his lower lip trembled. And that did it. Rook felt tears in his eyes and didn't try to fight it as he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow to sob. He had died. Had Ben felt it like that, too? The sudden, overwhelming pain followed by waking up in the morning?
Then, so suddenly that it would have knocked Rook over if he had been standing, he felt a flood of anger that drowned out whatever misery he had been stewing in. He had died. Rook had given his life for Ben's and that still wasn't good enough.
Rage and hopelessness only served to fuel each other as Rook impulsively sunk his teeth into his pillow and clawed at it, snarling as it fell to pieces, scratchy fabric and cheap foam stuffing in his hands. When the pillow was gone, Rook shredded his sheets and then the mattress beneath it, letting out a horrible wailing noise that sounded like an unholy cross between sobbing and screaming. Either way, Rook was shaking so badly that his fangs were chattering painfully. He wasn't seeing red — Rook saw nothing at all because to see implied being able to process something beyond the all-consuming rage threatening to eat him alive.
He picked up his bed frame when he was done and slammed it into the wall with a scream that rattled his bones far more than the recoil of the blow did. Rook heard his door swing open, cursed himself for not locking it on Wednesday night, a lifetime ago, and the Plumber who slept in the room next to Rook's poked his head in, asking something that Rook couldn't hear in a tone that he faintly recognized as concerned. Rook's response was to snarl and chuck a book in that direction. The door slammed shut, the other Plumber gone at the same time that the rest of Rook's bookshelf hit the floor.
Tipping it over didn't make him feel any better so Rook got down on hands and knees like an animal and dug his claws into the spines, wishing that the shreds of paper around him were torn skin and that the falling-apart-spines were muscles held together with flimsy tendons. He wished that there was blood seeping through his fingers, warm and grounding, instead of the cold nothing that was battling to extinguish his angry fire.
Rook wasn't one for excessive violence normally, but it was less about the violence than the act of doing something grounding. He was hyperventilating. Surely, murdering someone would last? Something that serious couldn't just be erased the next morning, could it?
But, of course it could. The whole situation had only started because of a death that shouldn't have happened.
It was impossible to remember a time when Rook had been anywhere close to this angry because it had never happened before. He was practically foaming at the mouth and there was no sign of him crashing any time soon. He had never wanted to make someone else hurt so much. Anyone else. Maybe the guilt would knock him over, maybe Rook would get out of his own head long enough to think about someone else's misery. He had never wanted to make someone hurt before, but Rook screamed at the wall and wondered what it would sound like if there was a different voice joining him, equally as anguished.
He just didn't want to be so fucking alone anymore. Even if that meant dragging someone else down with him.
However angry Rook was, though, he only had so much bedroom to destroy. He wished that he'd decorated more before this whole thing happened so that he could have had more to tear into. His bed frame was dented, his bookshelf was in splinters, his fake potted plant was shattered, and his nightstand—
Chest heaving, Rook slowly turned to the only piece of furniture in his room that he hadn't destroyed yet. He walked over to the nightstand and, hands trembling, carefully picked up the frame that Ben had given him. Rook wondered what sort of photo they could have put into it. Maybe a goofy one, knowing Ben. He might have jumped onto Rook's back, or comically leaned all of his weight onto Rook, or snatched his Proto-Tool and accidentally misfired it right when the camera snapped.
Half-heartedly, Rook knocked his nightstand over before sinking to the ground. He pulled his knees up to his chest and took one last, long look at the photo frame before chucking it against the wall with all the force that he could muster. It broke on contact, of course. Bits of glass and pink plastic mingled over the floor like a splattering of raindrops.
Rook didn't feel any better. His hands were so empty that they ached and Rook contemplated shoving one of the bigger pieces of glass through his neck. Maybe that was what he had done wrong? A sacrifice wasn't a sacrifice if it wasn't direct, was it?
In the end, Rook didn't try to kill himself again. He wasn't sure why not. Maybe because it wouldn't accomplish anything. Maybe because he was more terrified of waking up on Thursday again than he was of never waking up at all.
With his alarm clock broken and his Plumber badge lost somewhere in the chaos of his room, Rook wasn't sure what time it was. He didn't care, either. Time had stopped holding meaning. He was subdued and exhausted, but no less angry. It had gotten to the point that Rook wasn't sure what he was angry at; himself, for not doing enough, Ben, for not listening to him the first time and never putting himself in danger, the universe, for forcing this situation upon them at all. And for what? What lesson was Rook supposed to be learning, what was he supposed to be able to do to fix this?
It had gotten to the point that, even if only for a moment, Rook wished that the loop had never happened again. At least if Ben had been allowed to die once and called that the end of it, there was closure to be found in an ending like that. What Rook was living through at the moment was in no way fulfilling. He was stuck. He was trapped. There was no moving on because how was Rook supposed to be able to put it behind him when he had to relive it every time he woke up?
At some point, Rook's Plumber badge rang with an incoming message. He thought about answering it, but couldn't find a way to justify that to himself. Why bother answering? He already knew that it was Ben, wondering why Rook was late for their patrol. What would he even say if he answered? Explain himself? Beg Ben to come see him? Fumble through the day like it wasn't Thursday for the eighth time in a row? No. Rook didn't have the energy nor the patience for something like that.
And the more he thought about Ben, the angrier Rook got, working himself up all over again. He had done so much to try and fix this. Rook wasn't angry with Ben, not really. None of it was Ben's fault. But Rook was furious on Ben's behalf, because this wasn't fair, because there was no way out of it, because Ben was trapped as assuredly as Rook was and he didn't even know it.
Maybe Rook would have been happier not knowing, carrying through everyday without being able to remember that he had already lived it. A popular human saying was "ignorance is bliss" and, for the first time, Rook was beginning to understand it.
He would trade just about anything to be a happy idiot instead of a crumpled mess fighting between snarls and sobs in the remains of his bedroom.
And then the inevitable happened, exactly when Rook knew it would: his bedroom door was swung open with a bang and Ben was standing in the doorway. He reached over to flick the light-switch on and Rook stared at him blankly. He watched Ben's lips form the familiar rant he had given before: "Rook! What the hell are you doing? First of all—" He cut himself off as his eyes raked over the room and, rather than concern, his expression of anger melted into one of wariness. Had it been anyone other than Ben Tennyson, Rook would have expected them to run. But Ben just stared. "What happened?" He asked finally, sounding faint. "Are you…?" The question went unfinished. Ben didn't need to ask if Rook was alright when he clearly wasn't.
"You died," Rook said without feeling, staring at the wall next to Ben's head, "seven days ago. We're in a time loop of some kind. No matter what I do, I can't seem to fix it."
As even as he kept his voice, every word fueled the anger that Rook was struggling to choke down. He wished that he didn't have to keep repeating it. He wished, selfishly, that he and Ben could trade places. Ben would know what to do: he was a natural leader, so much better at finding solutions than Rook was. He likely would have already had the problem figured out and solved. Then Rook wouldn't have to know what was happening, wouldn't have to keep waking up every day and missing Ben so much that it ached, wouldn't have to submit to his own helplessness in the face of a yawning eternity.
If there was an end to the time loop, Rook didn't see it coming any time soon. Death and continuing the loop seemed the same to him: both were eternal, and Rook was not nearly ready to wrap his mind around the permanence of forever.
Ben shut the bedroom door and crossed the room to Rook. He probably should have left. "Rook, what are you—?" He reached out to set a hand on Rook's shoulder, only for Rook to suddenly reach up and latch onto his wrist.
"Don't," Rook hissed through clenched teeth, his jaw throbbing in protest as he squeezed Ben's wrist. "Don't touch me."
He wanted to make someone else hurt. It didn't matter who. And he couldn't make Ben hurt emotionally in the same way, because he was incapable of remembering what had happened, so the only other way to inflict pain was…
Unafraid, Ben stared back patiently. And why would he be scared? He was Ben Tennyson and Rook was nobody special. He was the moon and Ben was the Earth. If they collided, there was going to be a clear victor. "Rook," Ben said, infuriatingly calm. "Let go. You're hurting me."
The grip that Rook had on his wrist was probably going to bruise, he realized. But contrary to how Ben wanted him to stop, Rook didn't think it was enough. He snarled and found some horrible twist of delight in the way that Ben's eyes widened in surprise. Then Rook yanked, hard, and found himself pinning Ben to the ground.
The patience was gone. Ben was still unshaken, even though Rook had his Omnitrix pinned along with his other wrist. "Rook, get the hell off of me," Ben demanded, attempting to yank his hands free. "Whatever this is, I get why you'd be upset, but—"
"No," Rook cut him off, trembling. "You wouldn't understand." But I'm going to make you, he added in his head, leaving the implication hanging in the air but unspoken.
"Rook." Ben's tone was one of finality. His eyes were hard and achingly green, like they were on fire. "Get off."
Revonnahganders were a lot like humans, Rook realized. They had both created settlements and societies and civilized themselves to some degree, created law and order and justice. But they were both still animals. Savages. Rook had never felt bloodlust before. He hadn't even known that he was capable of it. But he was breaking down and nothing made sense to his rational thinking anymore. Why bother conducting himself respectably or trying to reign himself in? His poor decisions would be gone by tomorrow.
So Rook didn't get off. Quite the contrary. He dug his claws into Ben's wrists and saw red, felt Ben's bones jostle when he winced at the pain. There was a spark of uncertainty in his eyes, that adrenaline rush that meant he was getting ready for a fight, but Ben still wasn't afraid. Rook had never seen Ben scared before and the thought nearly bowled him over. He wanted to. He wanted to break Ben down until he was just as torn up inside, just as beside himself, just as primal. It wasn't fair that Rook was the only one who had to feel like this. He'd rather be dead. He'd rather that Ben was—
Rook was still wearing only the boxers that he'd worn to bed a week ago. So when Ben suddenly jammed his knee upward between Rook's legs, he felt it without any protection. Funny. The Proto-Armor was so advanced that Rook hardly ever felt the pain of blows anymore. He was used to getting the breath knocked out of him, but only that. The pain was a refreshing sort of agony. At least it was outside instead of inside.
He let go of Ben's wrists reflexively, recoiling and letting out a sharp gasp. Ben pulled his knees up to his chest and shoved his feet into Rook's stomach, sending him onto his back. Rook clutched his stomach, wishing that it would bruise. Wishing that the days would stop looping long enough to let it bruise. If the looping had stopped, he and Ben would have made quite the picture: Ben with his rib cage crushed, his head bleeding, his leg twisted and broken, and Rook with his head crushed like a grape, his spine scattered in pieces, his legs separated from his torso.
It would still be better than continuing to day nine.
When Rook pushed himself up and looked over, Ben had positioned himself in a crouch. He was staying eye-level with Rook, perhaps trying to be comforting. He was clutching his wrist, but not touching the Omnitrix. Blood oozed slowly between his fingers. Rook hadn't cut deep enough. It wasn't nearly enough.
"Rook, what the fuck?" Ben asked, which seemed perfectly appropriate and eloquently put. He looked confused and shocked and a little betrayed, but still not scared. "What's gotten into you? Are you being controlled?"
Of course that was the first thing that he went to. Ben was used to people trying to hurt him. He just wasn't used to that person being Rook.
The question was ridiculous, so Rook didn't justify it with a response. He lunged forward, grabbing Ben by the ankle and yanking his leg out from under him. Ben went over on his side, reaching for the Omnitrix at the same time that Rook grabbed his arm with his other hand and twisted it behind Ben's back. Rook pushed his wrist toward his head and watched as Ben grimaced in pain. He wasn't thinking anymore. When Rook grabbed Ben around the neck, there was not a thought in his head, only the instinctive desire to hurt someone.
That was another human saying, wasn't it? Misery loves company.
With blood splattered around them and Ben pinned beneath him, his fragile bones creaking beneath Rook's grip and Ben's pulse fluttering against his fur, Rook couldn't help but think that Ben looked like a baby bird with a broken wing. Already dead. Still gasping and writhing, as if that would help.
"This is all your fault," Rook gasped to Ben, to himself. He felt cowardly for being unable to do this to his own body, for having to use Ben as a stand-in. If that old saying was true, that you could only hate someone as much as you'd ever loved them, then Rook supposed that he must have loved Ben quite a lot. "If you'd just listened to me, if— if I'd just saved you the first time, then all of this—"
Rook struggled with himself for a moment and his grip on Ben's neck tightened. Ben choked and seized up. His heart was hammering so loudly that Rook swore he could hear it, and he was drooling. He couldn't kick Rook with their legs tangled together, he couldn't use his hands with one pinned behind his back and the other pinned beneath his torso. He was helpless — completely at the mercy of someone else's whim. So much like Rook.
"I hate you." Rook was whimpering, a noise like a wounded animal. He sunk his claws into Ben's neck, felt the shudder of bone and the warmth of blood trickling out around his fingers. "I wish I hated you. Maybe then it wouldn't— hurt so much. I'm— I love you, I'm so sorry that I—"
None of his words were sinking in. Ben was staring up at him and Rook found it difficult to read the emotions on his face when his skin was turning red and splotchy, when his mouth kept moving without sound, when his body started to go limp. But it was as his eyes were closing that Rook finally got what he wanted. There was fear. Not acceptance, like the last time Rook had watched him die. Terror, and a look that so clearly said: "I'm not ready yet."
And Rook pulled away, shaking. He wanted to vomit. He had done it, he had broken Ben down to be exactly like him, and Rook wished he hadn't. He wished that he could take it back. There was the sound of Ben coughing, sucking in ragged, wet gulps of air and Rook had to close his eyes. He turned away, shoving a fist in his mouth and biting down on his knuckles hard enough that he tasted blood.
Oh, Brallada… What had he done?
It was quiet for what felt like a long time. At some point, Ben had regained his breathing, but he hadn't made any move to approach. Not that Rook could blame him for that. The anger faded and, for the first time since it had flared, Rook didn't think that it would be coming back.
He felt completely horrible. What could have possessed him to even think about hurting Ben? For a moment there, Rook had really, genuinely wanted Ben dead. More than that — he had wanted them both dead, he'd wanted them to trade places, he had wanted himself dead. Rook had wanted so many things, but that wasn't the point. The point was that nothing he ever wanted should have included Ben being hurt.
"I'm so sorry," Rook managed. He'd already said that and it felt just as empty the second time. He winced and his vision blurred with tears. "Ben, you should leave. I don't—"
The sound of movement froze Rook on the spot. He was scared of what he might see if he looked behind him but he turned anyway, looking up from where he was on his knees as Ben picked himself up and approached Rook. The expression on his face was unreadable, but there was determination in his stride. There were only three steps between them. Ben closed the distance swiftly and Rook had about a second to process his hand closing into a fist before it was being slammed into Rook's jaw.
It hurt, unsurprisingly. Rook rolled his jaw with a grimace, feeling the responding surge of pain. But that was it? He had just tried to kill Ben, and… a punch was his punishment?
"That," Ben panted, sounding ragged, "was for choking me without even being mind-controlled. Jackass." He dropped to his knees in front of Rook, somehow managing to look both calm and annoyed at the same time. At least he wasn't scared anymore. Rook wasn't sure what he would do with himself if Ben was too terrified to look at him the same way. "So, what's wrong?" He prompted when Rook stayed silent. Ben rubbed his throat absentmindedly. It was already turning red and Rook wished that his guilt had physical weight so it would crush him and bring this nightmare of a day to an end. "You wouldn't do that for no reason. And it takes a lot to shake you up, so…?" Ben trailed off, leaching the question open-ended.
It wasn't even a real question, so Rook probably could have skated by with a non-answer. He didn't try. At the very least, Ben deserved the truth.
"We are stuck in a time loop," Rook whispered, looking at his fists clenched in his lap. "On the first day, you died. It was an accident, completely my fault. And when I went to bed that night, I woke up and you were alive, ready to go on our patrol. I thought that I must have dreamt the entire thing, but then you died again. In the same way." He wasn't trembling, oddly enough. Rook considered it similar to hypothermia setting in: the body shivered at first to keep itself warm, then began to still as the last of its warmth was leached away and it began to shut down. He had frozen solid. There was nothing left to cling to, so why continue fighting it? "This is the eighth day. I'm sorry, Ben. I thought that if I— I killed you, then maybe—" He winced, gnawing on his lower lip anxiously. His fur had to be a mess with all of the blood getting splattered in it. "But that's not it, not really. I just… wanted to hurt someone. I wanted you to hurt the same way that I do, because it's not fair, it's— all of this is— why did it have to be me?"
The hopelessness of his closing question caught even himself off guard as Rook wrenched his head up, gazing pleadingly into Ben's eyes as if he might have the answers. He wasn't sure how he expected Ben to react after all the nonsense that he had just spilled, but Rook certainly hadn't expected Ben to set two hands on his shoulders and give him a reassuring smile.
"Rook, it's okay," he soothed, knowing full-well that it wasn't. "I… Look, I get it. I've had my own moments where I was so angry, so sad, so determined that I just… wasn't thinking." Ben glanced away, staring into the distance at some memory that Rook wasn't privy to. He felt a stab of jealousy at whatever had Ben's attention, only for it to fade as soon as those green eyes focused on him again. "I've hurt people when I didn't mean to. Everyone's done things when they were angry that they regret later. And you've got every right to be angry." He reached up with one hand and brushed his fingers along the damp fur beneath Rook's eye. It didn't dry the dampness so much as it matted Rook's fur even further, but he found himself leaning into the touch all the same. Somehow, Ben's smile was even brighter than his eyes. "What have you already tried? I'll help you."
What had been only a few tears suddenly became a sob, a noise that ripped itself out of Rook's throat without his permission as he latched his arms around Ben and pulled him close. For his part, Ben only grunted inquisitively and squirmed, settling down when Rook squeezed him tighter. It wasn't so much a "hug" as it was Rook clutching Ben like a lifeline and sobbing into his shirt. It was completely undignified and a shameless display of vulnerability, but Ben only patted Rook's shoulder and muttered "there, there," repeatedly with a tone somewhere between confusion and bewilderment.
It made Rook want to cry harder. Ben's unconditional support was so much more that he deserved, especially after what he'd done. He didn't understand how the universe could produce someone like Ben Tennyson and then see fit to punish him like this.
"There's nothing to be done," Rook whispered, because if he was any louder then he was worried that his voice would break. "I've tried. Nothing works. Not Clockwork, not Alien X, not Gwendolyn's spells…" He buried his face in Ben's shoulder. "Keeping you from dying doesn't stop it. And killing myself didn't solve anything, either."
Ben made a noise like he'd just been punched. He pulled back suddenly, despite the whines of protest Rook made, and stared with his jaw hanging open. "You… tried to kill yourself?" He asked very, very quietly.
Rook hesitated, caught off-guard by the unexpected look on Ben's face. "...Yes?" He tried, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. "I thought that it was worth a try."
That didn't seem to make it any better. Ben threw his hands up in frustration. "Okay, and if you had been right and that made the looping stop, then you would be dead, smartass!"
"That is just stating the obvious." Rook shook his head helplessly. "Obviously, I knew that, Ben. Does it matter?"
Humans came in a variety of colors, but Rook had never seen one turn purple before. Ben was doing a very good impression of an angry plum. "Of course it matters!" He snapped, grabbing Rook by the shoulder and giving him a good, hard shake. "Rook, if I had to choose between the two of us, I'd pick you every time! We can find a solution to this, but you are not allowed to die. Do you understand?"
Scowling a little, Rook brushed Ben's hand off, grabbing his hands to make sure that he didn't go far. "That is more than a little hypocritical, don't you think?" He pressed. "You're allowed to die for people, but no one else is? Ben, I would die a hundred more times if I thought that it would fix this. When I first signed up to be your partner, they taught me that my life was far less valuable than yours and I should be willing to act as forfeit as any time if necessary," Rook admitted. Ben looked offended on his behalf but, before he could start ranting, Rook continued, "And now, I believe that more than ever. But not because I'm your partner. Ben… you have to understand, I would rather be dead than allow you to continue living this non-life. It is not even a question worth asking. I cannot think of anything that I would not do for you." Rook didn't say it, but he hoped that Ben could tell what he wasn't saying: murder, self-sacrifice, torture… If it would help Ben, Rook would do anything. And he wasn't one for hyperboles.
Ben's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Rook…"
He couldn't think of anything to say. Not surprising — Rook's declaration of undying loyalty had to confuse him horribly with the dried blood around his neck and the reddening bruise encircling the column of his throat. He looked down at their entwined hands, Rook locking their fingers together, and his knotted expression smoothed out. Rook had the strangest urge to brush his hair back and press a kiss to Ben's forehead; he always got worry lines there when he frowned.
"I don't care if it's hypocritical," Ben said finally, still not looking at Rook. "If you care so much about making me happy, then I'm telling you that I'm much happier living the same day over and over again than I would be if you were dead. So promise me that you won't try something that goddamn stupid again."
Easy for him to say, Rook thought bitterly, when he didn't have to remember every day before. Still, Rook swallowed his pride without choking and said, "Alright. I promise." He brought one of Ben's hands up, hesitating. For a moment, Rook had almost pressed a kiss to Ben's knuckles. Remembering himself, Rook instead set Ben's hand over his cheek, finger curling over it, and leaned into the touch. It was less romantic but just as intimate. Rook wanted to close his eyes and believe that Ben would fix everything like he always did.
There was a frown on Ben's face as he worried his thumb over Rook's fur, brushing faintly along the line of his jaw. He was squinting at Rook's face like he wasn't quite sure who he was looking at. "So what now?" Ben asked. He was letting Rook hold onto him, seeming unbothered and indifferent to the contact. Rook, unused to touching anyone without his armor in the way, felt his throat closing up the more he thought about how warm Ben was, so he tried not to focus on it. "If you've tried everything and nothing has worked, then… How are we supposed to fix this?"
"We," as if Ben couldn't imagine a world where he and Rook didn't tackle their missions together. Even when all he had to go on that there was a problem at all was Rook's word.
"I do not know." Rook forced himself to take a deep breath. At least he had stopped crying. "I am… beginning to consider that there's not a solution at all."
Ben made a funny little noise of disbelief. "So… what? Are you giving up?" He reached up with his other hand, letting go of Rook to grip his face with both hands. "Rook, don't give up on me like this. There's always a solution."
Rook didn't bother trying to fake any optimism. His eyes slid lazily to the side and his shoulders slumped. "How?"
Stumped, Ben stared with his mouth slightly open and said nothing. A dozen emotions flashed across his eyes too quickly for Rook to discern, then his eyebrows drew down into a scowl and he settled on one feeling: determination. "I don't know, I'll— I'll try Alien X again. I'll get Bellicus and Serena to agree with me somehow. I've done it before," he argued.
The thought of spending the rest of the day with silence and his destroyed room while Ben debated inside of Alien X filled Rook with such potent dread that his stomach seized up. "No!" He grabbed Ben by the forearms, leaning in closer. "Don't. Tomorrow, we can try again, but for today—" Rook struggled with the right words. His expression crumbled. "Don't leave me today. Please."
There was a moment where Ben just stared at him, motionless, and Rook held his breath. He knew that he had no right to ask that of Ben after what he had done, but Rook couldn't imagine dragging himself through another hopeless day alone. No, not alone — doing it with anyone other than Ben would be just as miserable as doing it by himself.
Ben let out a breath and closed his eyes. "Alright," he agreed when he opened them. He forced a little smile. "It's not like I'll remember this, right? It doesn't affect me. We can just sit here for today if that's what you want."
A small part of Rook wanted to argue. The idea that this didn't affect Ben was just wrong. He was as stuck as Rook was, just as trapped, just as disillusioned. Rook could see it in Ben's eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat realizing that, tomorrow, he would have to do this all over again. See Ben so subdued and quiet and agreeable, so unlike the overconfident grin that normally adorned his face.
Rook was dimly aware of how close their faces were. He wanted to cup Ben's face, press their foreheads together and breathe him in, feeling the reassurance of his weight… But Rook didn't move, letting out a fluttering sigh. "Thank you, Ben. You have… no idea how much that means to me."
"Don't mention it, dude." Ben's smile tilted up awkwardly on one side, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes turning strained. "But, uh, if you're going to keep holding me, can you put on some clothes?"
Ah. Right. Rook looked down at himself, still wearing only the boxers he'd gone to bed in, and felt a distant brush of embarrassment. It was hard to feel ashamed when not wearing a shirt was so unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
"Of course." He nodded and stood up. Rook had a shirt and a pair of pants he could use, just standard workout wear that the Plumbers provided to everyone. He usually didn't wear it because, if he wasn't training in his Proto-Armor, how was he supposed to be accustomed to it when he fought?
He walked over to his destroyed dresser and then paused, turning to look at Ben. That time, Rook was a little embarrassed. "I, um… you do not mind if I skip taking a shower, do you?"
He really didn't want to spell it out, but the thought of letting Ben out of his sight made Rook's stomach churn with anxiety. And since showering in front of Ben was obviously out of the question, Rook was going to have to skip brushing his fur for a day. He was more than okay with that.
It took Ben a moment to catch on, but then his face colored. He looked a little embarrassed but, also, touched. Flattered, maybe? And definitely confused. "Sure. Yeah, don't worry about it." He waved his hand dismissively. "It's not like I shower every day either."
With that settled, Rook turned his back on Ben and pulled on a loose, plain white t-shirt and a pair of army-green sweatpants. The sensation of fabric against his fur was foreign, but not in a bad way. It sort of reminded Rook of being back on Revonnah. That must have been the last time he wore proper clothes, too. His fellow trainees used to tease him for never relaxing or being out of uniform, but the joke was on them. Rook's obsessive hard work had gotten him the position of being Ben Tennyson's partner.
And maybe more than that. Rook wanted to say "best friends," but that didn't quite sit right with him. He would have to ruminate more on that later.
Dressed, Rook sat back down in front of Ben on the dirty floor. He hesitated with the newfound awkwardness that had settled between them, then reached out and grabbed hold of Ben's hands loosely. "I am sorry," Rook said, staring between them. He watched as his thumbs traced lazy circles over Ben's knuckles. "I know it is not fair of me to ask this of you."
Ben made a noise that could have been a laugh if it wasn't so sad. "I'd do this for you every day, Rook," he promised.
For some reason, Rook believed it. There were a dozen different ways he could have disagreed: "I don't deserve that," was a particularly powerful protest that rose in his throat, a noise Rook choked down only at the last second. But he didn't want to argue. Instead, Rook smiled. "I know," he said. And he did.
So he held Ben's hands in silence and let the seconds tick by. Rook breathed.
A/N: The next chapter will be the first happy one. Yay! You guys must be hyped for that.