The Space Between Us

by SpoonyLupin

When Richie is the victim of a home invasion and ends up in the hospital with a head injury, the idyllic life he has built with Eddie is shattered. It becomes apparent that while he still recognizes Eddie, Richie has no memory of their romantic involvement or their marriage. Eddie is simply his 'bestie', and Eddie is left wondering if Richie's feelings for him died in the attack.

12. Chapter 12: The Red Notebook

The Space Between Us
Chapter 12 – The Red Notebook

Given the fact that Richie had recalled more about the appearance of one of his attackers, a sketch artist had accompanied the detective to take Richie's statement. Mr. Bradley, the sketch artist was an older balding gentleman who sat on the loveseat with the detective. He had a large notepad and pencil with him, sketching out a portrait as Richie spoke and asking detailed questions about the intruder's appearance.

Eddie sat with Richie on the couch the entire time, his hand on Richie's back, rubbing small circles into the fabric of Richie's t-shirt. Eddie's other hand was perched on Richie's forearm, his thumb brushing gently against Richie's skin. He could feel Richie shaking just below his fingers, but for the most part, he thought Richie was doing pretty well at describing his attacker.

"Um, he was a white male about my age – early forties," Richie said. "Maybe a little older." He kept wringing his hands, frowning down at them intently. "About six foot tall, maybe two hundred pounds. He had an LA Dodgers baseball cap with a hoodie tied tightly around it, but I got a good look at him otherwise. Dark eyes, brown hair-"

"Was his hair curly or straight?" the sketch artist asked, not looking up from his notepad.

Richie scrunched up his face in thought for a moment before he said, "Sort of like mine, I guess."

"Were his eyes close together or far apart?"

"Average, I guess," Richie replied. "What I really remember is his nose. He had a very…prominent nose."

As dire as the entire situation was, Eddie fought to contain a smile that threatened to overtake his lips. He knew what Richie had really wanted to say about that man's nose – that someone had beat it with an ugly stick, as he so eloquently put it.

"Prominent how?" the artist asked, glancing up from his portrait and gesturing with his pencil. "Long or large around the bridge?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah, large around the bridge. Kind of a bump there, and it bent down sharply."

The artist worked silently for nearly a minute before he asked, "What about the lips? Were they thin, or large, or average?"

Richie frowned in thought again before he replied. "Average, I think. Um, he had a really full moustache and beard, so I guess I didn't really notice his lips so much."

While the artist continued to work on the portrait, Detective Bannerman continued to ask some more questions and make notes on his own little notepad. "Were you able to remember anything else about the other intruder?"

Richie shook his head in response, his face contorting into an expression of deep regret. "I can't." He squeezed his eyes shut for several seconds, as if that might help to trigger some memories. When he opened them, he muttered, "I can't remember. I'm sorry." He pressed a hand to his forehead.

"It's okay," the detective replied. "Remember what I told you? No detail is too small, and right now, you've given us more than enough to work with." He glanced at his companion, at the sketch he was currently working on. "We can start showing the sketch around the police department as well as share it with other police departments around the area. Oftentimes, these people can be repeat offenders or even career criminals, so there's a chance an officer may recognize this man from previous run-ins."

"And if no one does?" Richie asked, his voice shaking at the possibility.

Detective Bannerman let out a long and heavy sigh before he spoke again. "In which case, we usually ask if we can show the picture on the news."

Richie swallowed loudly. "The news?"

"Yes," the detective said. "It's obviously the best chance we have of reaching the largest audience. You'd be surprised how many tips we can generate that way. Now, there's a chance that a lot of them won't pan out, but sometimes they do. We may get a name from a friend or family member, or even a current address for this man. It could go a long way in helping us catch him, which may even lead us to the other perpetrator."

Richie turned his gaze towards Eddie, his eyes going large and round behind his glasses. He didn't say anything, but Eddie didn't need him to. Eddie was still able to successfully read his partner's expressions, even when other things between them weren't quite the same.

"It's up to you," Eddie told him, still keeping his hands on Richie's back and arm. "You know no one will force you to do something you're not comfortable with, but if there's a chance that this may lead to an apprehension…" Eddie trailed off, his own eyes firmly holding Richie's. "But only if you want to," he added quickly, biting at his bottom lip.

"I do want to," Richie responded quickly. "God, nothing would make me happier than to catch this asshole, but-" Richie cut himself off, his gaze quickly going back to the detective. "If he sees his picture on the news, what if he decides to come back here? He'll know I know what he looks like, and he'll get rid of me once and for all."

"We'll obviously keep the details about your attack to a minimum," Detective Bannerman said. "We'll just say that he's wanted for questioning in a break-in in the LA area. If this is a repeat offender, he might not even know who it was that gave his description to the police."

"And if he isn't a repeat offender?" Richie asked. "What if I'm the only one he's attacked, he knows it was me…?"

"Again," Bannerman said firmly, "we can always offer you police protection if that's something you're worried about. We could even provide you with an alternate place to stay while this investigation is still going on. We know you're afraid, and we certainly wouldn't leave you to fend for yourself in a situation like this."

Richie began shaking his head almost wildly, his soft curls bouncing against his forehead. "I'm not…I don't want strangers in my house, and I'm not going to let that asshole make me leave either. I like it here."

"They wouldn't necessarily be in your house," the detective corrected. "We could simply have them stationed outside in an unmarked vehicle. Their presence in your life would be kept to a minimum, and hopefully, it would only be for a little while-"

"But I just want my life to feel as normal as possible," Richie cut him off gently, a small whine working its way into his tone. "I know it's not, not anymore, but…I can at least try and fool myself," he muttered miserably. He leaned back into the couch, continuing to glare down at his hands.

Eddie wanted nothing more than to pull Richie into his arms and hug him tightly. The way Richie whined whenever he didn't get what he desperately wanted was something that Eddie heard time and again. In fact, Eddie had heard it the very last time he had seen Richie before the attack, when his husband had begged him to stay home and make love to him all day instead of going to work.

It was something that Eddie found endearing, and he often found it difficult to tell Richie no whenever he heard it. Richie knew that, and he often used it to his advantage. Or at least, he tried to. But on the particular morning, Eddie had been obligated to go to work and he had refused Richie his request. Now, that just might become the biggest regret of Eddie's life, because he wasn't there to protect Richie from those assholes on that fateful night.

"Rich," Eddie said quietly, turning to face Richie more fully. He still had his hand on Richie's forearm, letting his fingers graze over the hair. "I know it wouldn't be normal, but…hell, when have we ever done anything that's normal?"

A small smile passed over Richie's lips, and Eddie knew he took that to mean their battle involving Pennywise and everything that resulted from that. Eddie, however, had also meant their entire relationship as a whole. Honest to god, how many childhood sweethearts completely forgot about each in their twenty years as adults, only to find their way back to each other and admit their feelings for each other once and for all? How many other couples could claim to have a love that kept burning for nearly thirty years when they couldn't even remember each other?

If only Richie remembered that.

"Maybe it would help to make you feel…safer?" Eddie suggested next. "I mean, I'm glad you do like it here, and I'm trying my best to keep it that way for you, but…we both know things were rough for you last night."

Biting at his bottom lip, Richie diverted his gaze to the other side of the room. There was a window that looked out over the side yard, and even now, with the sun high in the sky, illuminating the bright green grass beyond, Eddie thought he knew what was on Richie's mind. Sooner or later (probably a lot sooner for Richie), the sun would set and darkness would be pressing in on the glass. The all-encompassing blackness that Richie had come to fear and hate.

"I'm not complaining," Eddie added immediately. He moved his hand up from Richie's back to his shoulder, hoping that his touch could better convey what he was feeling. "I would never do that. I'm just trying my best here, but I don't know if that's enough."

Richie turned his head, staring intently at Eddie. "Except it is. I already told you how much you're helping me."

His voice was barely above a whisper, and with good reason – were they really having this sort of personal conversation in front of two virtual strangers? Eddie, however, heard him clearly, and he wasn't going to shy away from it.

Eddie smiled, his hand trailing down Richie's back again. "We could always try it and see if it helps too," he suggested.

"Maybe?" Richie asked, sounding completely at a loss. "I don't know." He slumped forward, burying his head in his hands and letting out what Eddie was pretty sure was a sob.

"If you don't like it, or if it makes you uncomfortable in any way," Eddie said, "then we can just go back to the way things are now. No harm, no foul." He raised his eyes, gazing at the detective and the sketch artist over Richie's back. "Is that something we could test out for a day or two, just to see if it's for us?"

"Absolutely," Detective Bannerman said, nodding. "It definitely doesn't have to be anything permanent if you don't want it to be. It's our job to protect you, and we're prepared to offer that to you in whatever form you're comfortable with." He paused, staring at Richie intently. When Richie still hadn't replied, still hadn't moved from hiding his head in his hands, the detective asked, "Richie? What do you say? We could try it out for a day or two to see how it goes."

At long last, Richie lowered his hands from his face, but he still didn't lift his gaze from them. "Yeah," he finally said before meeting the detective's eyes. "If we're going to release this sketch to the media, then yes, I'd feel a lot better if someone was keeping an eye on the house to make sure we're okay."

"Then that's something you want to do too?" the detective asked. "You would like us to release this sketch?"

Richie nodded, and it was perhaps the most confident thing that Eddie had seen Richie do today. "Yes," Richie said, firm and unwavering. "I want this asshole to be caught. If this is the best chance we have of doing that, then I want it out there."

"Okay," Detective Bannerman said, flipping his notebook closed. "We'll get this sketch out there immediately, and we can have officers posted in the next day or two. Not a problem."

Up until that moment, the sketch artist had been working intently, but then he finally looked up from his pad of paper. "Now keep in mind," he said, "this is only a rough sketch. I'll clean it up a bit more and finish it up once I get back to the station, but is there anything that you need me to change?" He turned around his paper, holding it up so that both Richie and Eddie could get a good look at it.

As far as Eddie could tell, everything was there – a man with dark hair and dark eyes, with an LA Dodgers hat and a hoodie pulled up around his features. A full beard obscured the lower part of his face, but there was that 'very prominent' nose in the middle of the sketch, just as Richie had said.

Eddie made sure to get a good look at the drawing himself, because he wanted this asshole committed to memory. If he ever ran into this man, Eddie was fully prepared to stab the shit out of him for what he had done to his husband.

Richie drew in a shuddering breath and looked away, his eyes going to the windows on the far side of the room again. His eyelids fluttered and he pressed a hand over his mouth, tears building up in his eyes almost immediately.

"You're okay," Eddie said, moving his hand on Richie's back to wrap around his shoulders instead. "It's just a drawing." Eddie ran his other hand down Richie's arm, laying it over top of Richie's closed fist.

Without even missing a beat, Richie turned his hand in Eddie's grasp, entwining his fingers through Eddie's. They tightened around Eddie's, like Richie was clinging to him for dear life.

"I know," Richie gasped, still not looking directly at the portrait. Not again. "I am okay. But…it's him." Richie sat up straighter in his seat and scooted slightly closer to Eddie, like he was trying to get away from those dark eyes in the picture. "It's him. Just like I remember…it's him."

"Okay," the sketch artist said, immediately turning the picture back towards himself. "Then I will get it finished up, put some final details on it, and we can have it released."

"And you haven't remembered anything else?" the detective asked. "Anything else that would help our investigation?"

Richie shook his head and sniffled. "No, I think that's everything. For right now anyway."

"Okay," the detective said, standing up. The sketch artist followed suit before Bannerman continued, "We'll be in touch, and we'll be sure to let you know before the sketch goes public and when the officers are ready to move into place. Please don't hesitate to call me if you remember anything else."

When they headed for the door, Eddie tightened his grip on Richie before he said, "I'm going to show them out. I'll be right back, okay?"

Richie gave him a quick nod, although he seemed anything but sure of himself. Or the circumstances.

When both the detective and the sketch artist were gone, Eddie returned to the living room to find that Richie had once again buried his head in his hands. Eddie couldn't quite tell if he was crying – he wasn't shaking or making any sounds – but Eddie suspected he was.

Eddie dropped down into his seat next to Richie, immediately turning towards him and pulling Richie into his arms. Richie went, leaning heavily into Eddie, and that was when the first sob came.

"You did so good," Eddie whispered, pressing his nose into Richie's hair. He wanted so badly to give Richie a kiss there, to press his lips to Richie's scalp like he used to do all the time before their lives had been plunged into this mess, but he managed to contain himself. "You're so fucking brave, and I'm ridiculously proud of you."

Burying his face into Eddie's shoulder, Richie only let out a hiccupping sound before he quieted. It was nearly a minute before Richie whispered, "You don't think I'm…dumb for being afraid of a picture? Because I feel dumb."

"No," Eddie replied, finding Richie's curls with one of his hands. He loosely threaded his fingers through them before he repeated, "God, no. Not in the least. It's not dumb, okay? It's the first time you've 'seen' him since…that night. Of course it's going to be startling to you, and I would never think any less of you for that."

"Can, um…can we just sit here for a while?"

"Of course." Eddie relaxed into the back of the couch, gently pulling Richie with him. "Anything you need, okay? Just say the word."

Richie pulled his legs up on the couch, tucking them underneath him before he settled against Eddie's shoulder again. He pressed his forehead into Eddie's neck, and Eddie could feel Richie's breath against his skin, warm and steady. Richie's hair was brushing up against his cheek, and oh god, it was everything Eddie could do to keep from burying his nose there and kissing him. There wasn't anything else that Eddie wanted in that moment. Except maybe for Richie to remember more.

But then…it happened, and Eddie really wasn't sure if he wanted it after all.

Eddie almost thought that Richie had fallen asleep against him, his breathing had slowed so much. But when Richie spoke again, Eddie felt his heart plummet into his stomach.

"'Heart beats fast. Colors and promises.'"

Eddie froze in his spot, the fingers that he had brushing through Richie's hair coming to a sudden halt. Eddie's heart was suddenly pounding so hard and his breathing had intensified, because he really wasn't sure what all of this meant. Was Richie quoting lyrics from their wedding song just because they randomly popped into his head like a lot of the other things that day? Or was Richie remembering more about what their life together had entailed before all of this happened?

When Eddie didn't reply, Richie asked, "Isn't that a song we used to listen to? I…don't even really remember what song it's from but…it was a thing for us, wasn't it?"

Eddie had no fucking clue what Richie meant by 'a thing', and he wasn't really sure he wanted to ask either. As much as Eddie wished and hoped for Richie to remember more about their relationship together, Eddie really wasn't prepared for it at all. Wasn't prepared for the fact that Richie would know that Eddie had been lying to him this entire time. Letting Richie think they were only just friends and roommates when that couldn't be further from the truth.

Why in god's name had Eddie been so stupid? Perhaps he should have just listened to Bill from the start and been up front with Richie about things. Because now…Eddie was terrified that Richie would be deeply hurt by the things that Eddie had kept from him, and he had every right to be.

Eddie had only been trying to protect Richie from being hurt further, but when he thought about it, it was horrible thing to be lied to by your husband, wasn't it? What if Eddie was in Richie position and found out that Richie had kept their entire relationship hidden from him? He thought he'd feel pretty hurt too, even if Richie had been doing what he thought was right at the time.

Just…why was Eddie such a shitty husband? Why did he make stupid mistakes like this? Just like marrying Myra and not coming home that night before those assholes had attacked Richie. Eddie had been doing nothing but fucking things up for himself and everyone around him. He thought he should be used to it by now.

"Um…yeah," Eddie replied weakly when he realized that Richie was still waiting for an answer. In the end, Eddie settled for half of the truth, because at least he wouldn't be flat-out lying to Richie. "It…it's called 'A Thousand Years' by Christina Perri. It was a song that Bev really liked and she said it would make a great wedding song. We kind of…disagreed with her, because it was from that dumb vampire movie. But she kept playing it for us to prove her point that it was a beautiful song, and…yeah, she was right."

"Oh," Richie said, and Eddie thought he might have detected a note of disappointment in his voice.

Actually, Eddie couldn't blame him for that, because he kind of felt it too. Felt the disappointment coursing through his veins that Richie hadn't remembered something more concrete about their time together. At the same time, however, Eddie was terrified of that, so he wasn't even entirely sure what he wanted anymore.

"Can you play it for me?" Richie asked after nearly a minute.

Now it felt like Eddie's heart had jumped up into his throat, making it harder to breathe. Eddie could feel his hands quivering the tiniest bit, and he hoped to god that Richie couldn't tell. Eddie was almost glad for a reason to release Richie from his grasp, and he almost leaped forward to grab his cell phone from where it sat on the coffee table. He was still scared to death about playing the song for Richie, about what memories it might stir in him, but then he was also terrified about trying to hide it from Richie. Like he had done with everything else. He thought he'd have more explaining to do if he tried to brush it off, so he gave in and opened his phone.

Richie laid against the back of the couch, his temple grazing ever so slightly against Eddie's shoulder. Eddie was glad that he'd had the foresight to change the wallpaper on his phone from their wedding picture. It was still a photo of the beach from their wedding day, but at least it was a pretty generic picture that anyone might have on their phone.

"Mm," Richie hummed when he spotted it. "Isn't that where the picture of us was taken?" he asked, gesturing behind them towards the hallway. "You know, the one you're getting reframed?"

Oh. This was bad. This was very bad. Things seemed like they were coming so fast and hard for Richie now, and Eddie wasn't sure where those things stopped. Could Richie remember exactly what they had been doing in that picture, or did he just recall the background of the picture itself? Why had Eddie ever decided to hide the truth from Richie and willingly put himself into this position?

Bill was right. Eddie should have been honest with Richie in the first place, and then he wouldn't be in this awkward situation, dancing around the truth like they used to do all the time before they had gotten together.

Fuck. Fuck.

"Y-Yeah," Eddie answered, hoping that his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought it was. "It's the beach in Santa Monica. Not far from where I work." Eddie brought their wedding song up on their phone, his quivering thumb hesitating over the play button for only the briefest moment.

Eddie felt sick to his stomach as the opening chords began to play, but he tried with all his might to suppress the feeling. It certainly wouldn't do for Eddie to go running into the bathroom right now, because Richie would definitely be wondering what was up then.

"We should go there again to that beach," Richie said, seemingly oblivious to the reaction that was coursing through Eddie. "It looks nice." Richie inched closer to Eddie, reaching his arm around Eddie's stomach and hugging him.

"It…It is."

"Do you have that picture in your phone? The one from the hallway?"

"No," Eddie lied. Flat-out lied. Not even a half-truth, but a complete and total lie. Again. Just like when he had said that picture was out getting reframed. And that was something he had never done to Richie before this entire awful experience had begun. Except for when they were hiding their feelings from each other of course.

"I can't wait till we get it back. I feel like seeing it would help, you know?"

"Yeah," Eddie replied automatically.

Eddie wondered when Richie was going to ask about his own phone. Richie hadn't asked about it since he had awoken in the hospital, and he still didn't seem concerned about it now. It still sat on the desk in the spare bedroom where Richie had left it that night before he'd been attacked. Where Richie had left it after Eddie had called to ask what he wanted for dinner. Before everything had been turned on its head.

If Richie got into his phone, Eddie knew it would only be a matter of time before Richie saw certain things. Pictures from their wedding. And then Eddie would have a whole hell of a lot of explaining to do. Eddie only wondered if Richie would remember his PIN number, given that it was their wedding date. Would it come to him as a reflex action, something he had typed into his phone and his laptop time and time again? Or would he pause over the screen, squinting in thought, trying desperately to remember something that was just outside of his consciousness?

If that happened, what would Eddie say if Richie asked him about it? Would Eddie offer up those four little numbers – 1001 – or would he continue to hide them from Richie like the horrible lying husband he was?

But then again, Eddie reminded himself, the only thing that mattered in the here and now was Richie's well-being. Eddie was getting ahead of himself, thinking about all of the things that could go wrong. It was partially where Eddie's anxiety stemmed from in the first place, letting his mind run wild with negative possibilities. Eddie tried not to do that so much now, because things with Richie had been so fucking perfect, Eddie didn't need to let his mind wander so much. Doing so now would also be a disservice to Richie himself, because Eddie owed it to him to offer him the support that he needed right now. It wasn't the time nor the place to fill his mind with everything that could go wrong, because he really would make himself crazy now.

Trying to push his own fears down in his mind, Eddie lifted his arm, wrapping it around Richie's shoulders again and letting Richie curl up against his chest. He just hoped that Richie couldn't hear his heart trying to beat a hole through his ribs. Eddie didn't see how he couldn't, because it was so loud in his own ears, he was sure that everyone in the entirety of fucking Los Angeles county could hear it.

"Bev was right," Richie murmured. "I like this song. It matters fuck all if it was in a dumb movie."

Richie sounded like he was beginning to doze off, and Eddie was glad. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do this – sit here and hold Richie, pretending like everything was normal when that couldn't be further from the truth.

"That's what she said," Eddie replied, closing his eyes and praying that the song wouldn't stir up any other memories in Richie. Even though that was something that Eddie desperately wanted at the same time, and that was fucked up. He was fucked up. And a shitty ass husband.

Eddie felt like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, and he hated that feeling. Hated everything that this entire situation had made him do.

Snorting softly against Eddie's shirt, Richie tucked his head underneath Eddie's chin and stilled against him. Eddie was at least glad that he had been able to calm Richie down from his earlier panic attack and how upset he'd been after the visit from the detective.

After the song had finished playing, Richie didn't say anything more, which helped to quell Eddie's anxiety. In fact, Richie's breathing had deepened and evened out, signaling the fact that he had fallen asleep. Their wedding song had completely relaxed Richie from his earlier panic, and Eddie couldn't blame him for that. Aside from his own reaction to the song just now, Eddie normally found it very comforting too.

Letting out a deep and calming breath, Eddie wrapped both arms tightly around Richie, holding him close as he slept. Then he ducked his head, burying his nose in Richie's hair and kissing the top of his head softly. Something he had desperately wanted to do since he and Richie had settled onto the couch together.

---

When Richie woke up nearly an hour later, he made absolutely no mention of anything that had happened earlier, and for that, Eddie was grateful. But at the same time, Eddie knew that it was only a matter of time before the truth came precariously close to coming out again.

How in the fuck had Eddie even gotten himself into this mess? With his own husband, the one person in the world he had been nothing but open and honest with over the last year and a half?

In contrast to Eddie's own inner turmoil, Richie's emotional outlook seemed better than it had in days – at least since before he had left the hospital. Perhaps it was the fact that Richie had finally remembered something concrete about one of his attackers and the police could actually start taking steps to find the asshole. Maybe it was because Richie was going to have police protection again that was giving him some peace of mind. Either way, Eddie was glad to see Richie acting more and more like his old self.

When Eddie went into the kitchen to make some fresh coffee after their short nap, Richie followed him, sitting down at the island counter. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the countertop and settling his chin on top of them. He watched as Eddie got some more K-cups out of the cupboard before Richie expressed interest in having something more filling for lunch.

"You know what sounds good?" Richie asked. "Cheeseburgers."

Eddie paused as he was turning on the coffee machine. He turned to his husband, his heart clenching in his chest at the sight. Richie looked so goddamned cute sitting there, his head propped up on his hands, and Eddie resisted the urge to hug and kiss the shit out of him then and there.

Eddie smiled, relief coursing through him at the thought that Richie's appetite seemed to be returning in full force. "You want cheeseburgers for lunch?"

"Y-Yeah," Richie said, a blush rising up in his cheeks. "If that's okay."

"I told you," Eddie said, going to the refrigerator to see if they had the proper ingredients. "You can ask for anything you want." When Eddie opened the fridge door, he said, "We have ground meat, cheese, and buns, so I can make burgers." He closed the door and added, "We have potatoes too, so burgers and fries?"

"Yeah," Richie said, a grin overtaking his lips. "I think that'll hit the spot."

"On one condition," Eddie said. "You have to peel the potatoes."

"I think I can do that," Richie said, immediately jumping up off the barstool to fish some potatoes out of the bag in the pantry.

For the next half hour, they quietly moved about the kitchen, Eddie making the burgers and Richie peeling and cutting the potatoes. And…it was normal. It was so normal, Eddie could almost fool himself into thinking that nothing had ever happened. That he was just spending another mundane afternoon at home with his husband, making lunch like Richie hadn't almost had his brain bashed in.

Like Richie actually remembered the full extent of their relationship, and he and Eddie weren't just friends. Just roommates.

When Eddie had finished making the burger patties, he set them on the griddle on their stovetop to begin cooking them. That was when Richie brought his pan of potatoes over, placing them on the counter, ready to go in the oven. Richie, however, stepped just a bit too close, his hip brushing lightly up against Eddie's own.

Eddie's breath caught in his throat and he stepped out of the way, giving Richie access to the stove. He directed his eyes down towards his hamburger patties, swallowing hard as he felt Richie's gaze on him.

"S-Sorry," Richie gasped quietly. He stepped back as well, like he was suddenly afraid to be so close to Eddie. Like they hadn't just been cuddling on the couch together just a mere thirty minutes ago.

And there they were, back to dancing around each other like some absurd ritual. Just as they had done all their lives before that glorious moment when they had kissed each other on the cliff above the quarry.

"You're fine," Eddie muttered, turning away. He hurried over to the sink, busying himself with washing his hands while Richie took his turn putting his potatoes in the oven.

Eddie was still scrubbing his hands – because fucking E. coli – when he could feel Richie's presence next to him. Eddie simply focused on the soap between his fingers, because he didn't feel like he could meet Richie's eyes just then.

"I was thinking…" Richie began, but then he stopped, waiting for Eddie to acknowledge him.

Rinsing his hands now, Eddie swallowed hard before he glanced up quickly at his husband. He returned his gaze to his hands, however, his heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest the longer he held Richie's gaze. "'Bout what?" Eddie asked nonchalantly.

"Are my notebooks still in the bedroom?"

Blinking up at Richie, Eddie was completely caught off guard, because that was one of the very last things he expected his husband to ask him. But as always, Richie could always fucking be counted on to keep him on his toes.

"Um…yeah," Eddie replied, finally turning off the running water. "I put them in one of the dresser drawers when I was…cleaning up." Eddie shook the excess water off his hands before grabbing a hand towel from the counter. "They're all still there."

Eddie found himself smiling, because Richie was asking about something so normal. Something that had been such a huge a part of his everyday life before everything had completely changed for them.

"Do you have some ideas?" Eddie asked, returning his towel to the countertop.

Richie shrugged and said, "A few. I don't know if they're any good, especially right now, but…I was also thinking that reading some of the shit I wrote down might help…up here." He gestured his temple before he said, "You know?"

"Yeah."

"I…kind of thought that that song would help to jog something, but it…really didn't." Richie let out a heavy sigh, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. "And it's fucking infuriating, the things that I am remembering. Like there being a picture on that wall." Richie pointed at that blank space on the wall accusingly, like it was the wall's fault that he couldn't remember anything. "And I even remember the background of the picture, because we were at that beach. But then…I try and remember us and it's a big black hole. Like fucking Swiss cheese."

Richie stopped suddenly, as if he realized he was ranting. He pressed his hands over his face and rub hard in frustration.

Eddie reached up, laying a soft hand against Richie's arm. "It'll come," Eddie promised.

"Maybe," Richie grumbled.

"It will," Eddie repeated. "Maybe you're right and your notebooks will help. They're all in the bottom drawer of your dresser. I…I didn't know if you'd want them out when you came home or not." Eddie was still having a hard time meeting Richie's eyes, so he fiddled with the towel near the sink, folding it over and over again. "Was that dumb or not?"

"I can see why you'd put them away," Richie said, his voice understanding. "I haven't exactly been in the joke-telling mood lately."

"Yeah," Eddie agreed, patting down the towel against the countertop now. Richie was still standing ridiculously close to him, and Eddie wasn't sure whether to move away or not. To look up into his eyes and see what happened, or step away like the thought of being close to Richie wasn't making him crazy. Wasn't electrifying every single part of his being.

"I'm going to get them," Richie said, taking the decision out of Eddie's hands. He skirted around Eddie in the tiny space between the sink and the island counter, careful not to touch Eddie again.

As Richie made his way down the hall to the bedroom, Eddie was left to mourn the loss of closeness with Richie. Like they wouldn't be sleeping while in direct contact with each other later that very same night. Like they could actually go even a fraction of the day without touching each other.

Fumbling around in one of the drawers for the spatula, Eddie heard Richie rooting around in the dresser in his bedroom in search of his notebooks. Eddie busied himself with turning over the burgers on the griddle before Richie returned to the kitchen, a pile of notebooks in hand.

"Eds?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's my red notebook?" Richie asked. He had laid his notebooks down on the island counter, sorting through them one by one.

"What do you mean?" Eddie asked, turning around from his place at the stove. "Isn't it there?"

Richie shook his head, frowning down at his notepads. "They're all here but the red one."

Now that Richie mentioned it, the fact that his red notebook wasn't there was suddenly very glaring to Eddie. Richie had a very precise method to his madness, and when he wanted to write down what he thought was an excellent joke or idea, he immediately went for his red notebook. He also had a blue one, a white one, a yellow one, and a green one, all used for varying scales of mediocrity or excellence as he saw fit.

"Well, it's got to be there somewhere," Eddie said. "Like I told you, everything was thrown around the bedroom after…" Eddie cut himself off, not needing to go into detail again about the night Richie was attacked. "I might have accidentally misplaced it while I was cleaning up, but…I'm sure it was there."

Richie returned to the bedroom in search of his notebook while Eddie remained at the stove, keeping an eye on their burgers. Richie was opening and closing drawers in the bedroom, each time sounding slightly more frantic than the last.

It wasn't long before Richie reappeared in the kitchen empty-handed. He was frowning deeply, his hands on his hips. "It's not there. That one has my best ideas in it."

"It's got to be around here," Eddie told him again. "Maybe I picked it up and moved it by mistake. I…might have put it in the…in my bedroom by accident. I wasn't exactly in my right mind when I was...cleaning up after."

Richie swallowed, his eyes darting to that spot in the hallway. The one where he had laid for god knew how long, bleeding out while he waited for Eddie to come home. Richie hadn't paid that spot any attention at all before, but now it seemed like something might be clicking in his mind. In the end, however, he shook his head and went into the second bedroom to continue his search for his notebook.

Once lunch was ready and Eddie called Richie back into the kitchen, Richie again returned empty-handed. He stood at the island counter, his hands on his hips as he bit furiously at his bottom lip and stared down at his other notebooks in thought.

"We'll find it," Eddie told him. "I make fucking awesome burgers, so If you clean your plate, I promise to help you look for it later."

At least this made Richie smile and seemed to get his mind off of his missing notebook for the time being. Eddie had been teasing about Richie cleaning his plate, but Richie still managed to do so, using his very last French fry to wipe up the very last puddle of ketchup before popping it in his mouth.

Eddie was relieved, given that it was the most Richie had eaten at one time since he had woken up in the hospital. At least it seemed like his appetite was returning along with many of his memories.

As Eddie finished up his own burger, Richie sat quietly in thought, like he was trying to puzzle out exactly what had happened to his missing red notebook.

"It's got to be here," Eddie said again after swallowing his last bite of food. "I'm sorry I'm just a scatterbrain and can't remember where in the hell I put it."

"I'm the one who's a scatterbrain," Richie disagreed. "Not you."

"I told you," Eddie responded, "I was a mess when…this place was a mess, and…I'm sure I misplaced it somewhere." He reached out across the space between them, laying his hand over top of Richie's on the countertop.

Richie turned his hand over, letting Eddie press their palms together. Neither one of them said anything more, and Eddie wondered if Richie could feel it – that sense of electricity and pull between them, like they were two magnets trying desperately not to throw themselves at each other.

Was that what Richie was thinking, or was Eddie just consumed with wishful thinking?

Eddie was suddenly glad for the missing notebook, as frustrated as Richie seemed over it. At least they had something to occupy their time for the rest of the afternoon rather than falling into the same old pattern of dancing around each other.

Try as they might, however, they would never find Richie's missing red notebook, because unbeknownst to them, it wasn't there.

To be continued…