The Space Between Us
Chapter 20 – The Lineup

Eddie had the fingers of one hand intertwined through Richie's as he steered his Cadillac through the streets towards the police station. A part of Eddie wasn't even sure how they had ended up here, because it had just happened. In fact, Eddie was almost positive that Richie was going to tell him that he couldn't do this, but then, he had suddenly asked Eddie to take him downtown.

Richie was staring out his window, his free hand balled into a fist and pressed up against his lips. His eyebrows were knit into an intense stare, and Eddie didn't think he had ever seen such an extreme look of concentration on Richie's face. Except maybe when they were having sex, which made Eddie blush furiously. Not even when Richie had gotten into "the zone" while writing did he ever look quite that concentrated on any one thing.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Eddie asked, carefully darting his eyes towards his husband and then back to the road again.

Almost immediately, Richie shook his head before directing his eyes down to his lap, to Eddie's fingers threaded through his own. Richie sniffed, placing his other hand over top of Eddie's, squeezing it tightly.

"To tell you the truth," Richie said, "I'm not sure of anything right now. Except for the fact that I want him put away." Richie lifted his eyes from his lap, staring firmly at Eddie. "And I do want that – I want to make sure that he pays for what he did to me and that he can't do it to anyone else ever again."

It was Eddie's turn to tighten his grip around Richie's hand. "I know," Eddie said around a sigh. "I'm just…afraid for you. Of what might happen if you do see his face."

"Me too," Richie, said returning his gaze to his lap. "Terrified. You know I am. But a part of me is even more terrified of what'll happen if I don't do this." Richie wiped at his eyes and adjusted his glasses on his nose before running a hand through his hair. "If this is one of the guys that did this to me, I don't want them to be able to let him go. What if he comes after me again to finish the job, or what if he does something like this to someone else?" Richie shook his head decisively before he added, "I can't let that happen. I would never forgive myself if this happened to anyone else. Besides, I'm braver than I think, right?"

Eddie gave Richie the firmest smile he could and said, "Absolutely."

Sighing heavily, Richie turned back to his window. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he propped up his chin in his hand, staring at the cars in the lane next to them. He didn't look entirely convinced about anything, so Eddie tried his best to encourage him.

"Let's not forget," Eddie said, giving Richie's hand another small squeeze, "you were the one who had the courage to confess your love to me…you know, after the mess I made of things."

Richie faced Eddie once more, letting his head lean back against the seat behind him. "You didn't," Richie told him. "Make a mess of things, I mean. This isn't…what I would call a mess. At least, not from anything you did."

Eddie forced a smile he didn't really feel, because he'd be lying if he said he still didn't feel horrible about the way he hid the truth from Richie. "I guess not."

Richie ran his thumb over Eddie's fingers and then he said, "It's not. We had a really good time last night and a good morning." Richie's grin grew as he said the words. "Besides, I lied."

Furrowing his brow, Eddie asked, "About what?"

"When I said I wasn't sure of anything." Richie's smile softened as he let out a breath. "Because I am sure of this – us. I know we're still far from where we used to be, but…I feel like we're going to be okay." Richie didn't say anything more, but he stared at Eddie with wide eyes like he was waiting for Eddie to confirm his own feelings.

This time, Eddie's smile was genuine. "Me too. We are going to be okay. Bill told me we were when you were still in the hospital, and I didn't quite believe him then. But I do now."

"What did he say?"

Eddie didn't answer right away, but waited until he stopped at a red light so he could face Richie fully. "I was…more or less having a breakdown over the fact that you couldn't remember we were together." Eddie immediately regretted his words, however, when Richie's face fell. Sighing, Eddie immediately said, "And I didn't mean anything by that. You know I don't blame you in any way for what happened. It was just…hard not knowing what was going to happen between us."

Richie bit at his bottom lip and then he nodded. "I know."

"But," Eddie continued on a moment later, "Bill told me that we were much too strong to let this come between us. That if we found our way back to each other after twenty years apart, then nothing was going to keep us apart. Ever. And he knew deep down that nothing could take away your feelings for me."

Richie's smile returned, although it was a bit more somber this time. "And do you believe that now?"

"Yeah," Eddie answered breathlessly. Squeezing Richie's hand once more, he added, "I know we still have so much more to work through, but I feel like we're both completely committed to this and making it work. And that we will get there."

His smile widening, Richie replied, "Me too."

Eddie couldn't help but grin back and he leaned forward, promptly kissing his husband. It was the very first time since this entire ordeal had started that Eddie had made such a move without thinking about it to death. Without turning it over in his mind a million times, trying to work out every single way it could go, and it felt nice. And apparently, Richie thought so too.

Richie only broke the kiss to whisper, "I love you," against Eddie's lips. Then he kissed Eddie more deeply, tilting his head to the side and opening his lips against Eddie's.

In that moment, Eddie truly felt hungered for in a way that he hadn't since their lives had been turned upside down. Eddie's only regret in that moment was that they were sitting in a car, stopped at a red light; he really wanted to be at home with his husband, cuddling on the couch or in bed, and exploring each other to their heart's content.

All at once, the moment was over, because Eddie realized that the light had turned green and cars behind them were beginning to honk. Breaking the kiss, Eddie giggled for a moment and said, "I love you," before turning back to the road.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see Richie grinning at him as they drove. Despite the warm and comforting atmosphere that had settled between them in the car, Eddie could feel the heavy cloud hanging above them, ready to burst open. He suspected that Richie was mainly trying to focus on anything else other than what they were headed to the police station to do, and Eddie couldn't blame him.

Because right then, at least one thing was all right again.

The deeper they walked into the police station, the wobblier Richie's legs felt. The main thought that kept echoing through his head more than any other was the fact that he could now be in the same building with one of the men who had broken into his and Eddie's home. He could even be looking into that man's eyes very soon. Given, there would be a pane of glass between them and Richie knew that man wouldn't be able to see him, but just the thought of being so close to him made Richie feel sick.

All of a sudden, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to do this, but he knew he had to. It was what had brought him here to begin with, what he had told Eddie in the car. The very last thing Richie wanted was to allow the people who had done this to him to walk free, to be able to do something like this to anyone else. Even more than his own fear, that was the one thought that kept him pressing on.

That and the fact that Eddie's hand was wrapped tightly around his. As he had been telling himself this entire time since he had woken up in the hospital and found out what had happened to him, he thought he could do this as long as he had Eddie by his side. Without Eddie, Richie imagined that he would have given up by now, gotten lost in his fear and refused to continue on…with anything.

Thank god for Eddie – his husband and his rock throughout all of this.

Richie cradled Eddie's hand in between both of his as they came upon a small waiting area in a hallway. There was a row of chairs and a water dispenser along one wall. A little farther along from the chairs was a bank of windows that looked out over the city. Bright spring sunshine was streaming through the panes of glass, throwing large rectangles of light along the white and grey tiled floor. It almost would have been a cheery scene if not for what lay ahead for Richie. If not for the giant brick that had settled into the very pit of his stomach. His head was even starting to hurt again which Richie attributed to stress given the fact that any headaches from his head injury itself had subsided for the most part.

When a door opened to their right, Detective Bannerman joined them in the corridor, shutting the door gently behind him.

"Richie, Eddie," the detective greeted, holding out his hand for both men to shake. "I know this is rather sudden and not at all what you planned on doing today, but I'm glad you could come so quickly."

Swallowing hard, Richie glanced furtively at the door behind the detective, wondering if that man was behind the door. "You…really think you might have him?"

The detective shook his head before responding. "I can't answer that. He's here because he bears a strong resemblance to the sketch, but please keep in mind that it may or may not be him at all. We're not the ones that saw him. You are and if you do not see him present in the lineup, you are under no obligation to pick any of them."

Richie nodded, not knowing what was scarier – seeing the perpetrator face to face or not seeing him in the lineup at all. Richie already didn't like this, and he couldn't imagine doing it again. What if the man who had broken into his home was still out there on the street somewhere? Still out there, calculating his next move? What if they called Richie back weeks or months down the road, wanting him to return to do more lineups? In a way, that was almost more daunting than getting it over with right now.

Richie also had to remind himself that this could only potentially be one-half of the men who had broken into his home. The other one would remain out there, and god only knew what he was doing. What he was thinking and planning.

As if sensing his thoughts, Bannerman asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Exhaling a soft breath and staring down at the floor, Richie muttered, "Like I told Eddie on the way here, I'm not sure of a hell of a lot of things, but I want to do this." When he met the detective's eyes, he added, "I have to do this."

"Can…um, am I able to be with Richie when he goes in?" Eddie asked tentatively.

"Unfortunately, no," the detective said around a sigh. "Even though you didn't see the man yourself, we can't allow anyone else in the room who's familiar with the details of the case so Richie can't be influenced one way or another."

Richie had more or less been expecting this, but the thought of doing anything like this without Eddie still scared him senseless. He stared at his husband a little bit helplessly for a second, but Eddie seemed to know exactly what to do.

Eddie gave him the most encouraging smile he could before gripping Richie's left hand in both of his. He brought it to his lips, kissing Richie's wedding ring and then rubbing his fingers over Richie's.

"I'll be right here the entire time," Eddie told him firmly. Next, he pressed Richie's hand over his heart while he reached out and laid his own hand against Richie's chest. Eddie only stared at him, his large brown eyes almost feeling like they were boring into Richie's soul. A tiny piece of Richie wondered if that was how Eddie looked at him when they were taking their wedding vows.

Richie knew Eddie didn't mean that he would be here in the hallway during the lineup; rather, Eddie would be with him in spirit during the entire process.

When he seemed sure Richie got his message, Eddie wrapped his arms around his husband. He pulled him close and whispered, "You can do this." Eddie rubbed his hands up and down Richie's back, trying to give him every last ounce of encouragement he could. "You're braver than you think."

Even though Richie wasn't the least bit sure of Eddie's words, he nodded enthusiastically, trying his best to sike himself up. It was the same thing he did before he went out on stage to perform any of his comedy routines – tell himself he could do this despite any reservations he felt.

When he pulled away from Eddie, he almost regretted it, because his legs felt shakier than ever. He had to take a deep breath and a moment to steady himself before he followed the detective into the room he had emerged from earlier. Throwing one last glance back at Eddie, Richie let the door close behind him.

Like Richie had been expecting, it was a rather small room with a pane of glass taking up most of one wall. It was rather dark in this room, and the only light source came from the somewhat bright lights on the other side of the glass. He had been expecting there to be chairs lined up against the opposite wall, but there weren't. The only piece of furniture in the room was a small table tucked into one corner.

Any time Richie had seen lineups depicted on television, the witnesses had usually been seated in chairs, and Richie now realized how stupid this was. They weren't sitting down to watch a movie; they were picking a potential criminal out of a lineup, so why would they be relaxing in a chair? Not that Richie wanted to be any closer to one of the men who had broken into his home, but he thought standing at the glass would be the best place to be. He wanted to make sure of this man's identity, not sitting halfway across the room to do so!

"Perhaps a little different than what you were expecting?" Detective Bannerman asked.

Forcing a smile he didn't feel, Richie replied, "Yes," automatically.

It was then that he realized that they weren't alone. There was a somewhat petite woman with brown hair pulled up into a ponytail standing just near the table. She stepped forward away from the table before offering Richie a gentle smile.

"This is Officer Hawkins," Detective Bannerman said. "She will be with you during the lineup. As I told you, no one who is familiar with the details of the investigation is able to be present so you cannot be influenced one way or the other." He took a moment to retrieve a clipboard from the table before standing at Richie's side and holding the paper out for him to see.

"This is the instruction form for the lineup," the detective said before reading it out loud to him.

Richie was immensely glad that he didn't have to read it himself, because his eyes had begun to water. He didn't know if it was from fear or not, but the words on the page had started to morph into blurs.

"'You are being asked to view a group of people,'" Bannerman read. "'They will be presented to you one at a time in no particular order. The person who committed the crime may or may not be present. We ask that you take a good look at each and every person and to wait until the end before making any positive identification. Please keep in mind that things such as head and facial hair may change over time. The officer present has no knowledge of the investigation and does not know if any of these people were involved in the crime. If you do select someone out of the lineup, please do not ask any questions about that person as no details can be shared at this stage of the investigation. Please do not share any details about this lineup with any other potential witnesses.'" When Bannerman raised his eyes from the paper, he asked, "Do you have any questions?"

Richie only found himself shaking his head and forced himself to spit out a quick "no." The farther and farther down the detective had gotten on the piece of paper, the more the shaking in Richie's legs intensified. He could even feel it creeping into his fingers now, and he was horrified when the detective held out a pen for him.

"Please sign and date here," the detective said, pointing to a line labeled "eyewitness signature."

Taking the pen in his fingers, Richie wasn't even entirely sure how he got it to the correct position on the paper. It suddenly felt like the entire room was shaking around him, and he briefly wondered if they were experiencing an earthquake. No one else in the room seem to notice it, however, so Richie assumed it was just his nerves and fear.

Scribbling out his signature and the date that looked like nothing more than chicken scratch (even more than it normally did), Richie handed the pen back to the detective. Both he and the officer signed the paper as well during which Richie brought his hands up to his biceps. He squeezed them tightly, a shoddy attempt at comforting himself before he potentially had to look into the eyes of one of the men who had broken into his home.

"I'll be right outside with Eddie, okay?" Bannerman asked before excusing himself from the room.

Richie felt even more awkward once he was left alone with Officer Hawkins. He didn't know if he should stand closer to the glass or stay where he was. He felt almost compelled to say something to the officer to break the tenseness that had settled into the room but he wasn't sure what. Fuck, he wished Eddie was there.

"Um," Richie stammered after a moment. "Should I…?" He gestured towards the pane of glass, not even really aware of what he was asking.

The officer, however, seemed to understand. "Please stand wherever you feel the most comfortable."

Well, Richie decided, he would have been the most comfortable being far, far away from there. Or at least with Eddie somewhere. As it was, Richie kept reminding himself of what he had to do, so he stepped forward. He placed his hands on the small ledge underneath the window, gripping it tightly like that earthquake might kick up again at any time.

At that moment, a man dressed in a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans stepped into the room. He was holding up a piece of paper with a number "1" printed on it in bold, black font. As Richie had seen on television, this man faced forward, faced to the right, to the left, and then faced forward again, allowing Richie to get a good look at him. Almost immediately, Richie felt himself relax the tiniest bit, because he was sure that this was not the man who had been in his home.

This man didn't look dissimilar. He was about Richie's height with black hair and a beard. He even had a rather prominent nose, but it wasn't quite the same. It didn't have the same bump on it or slope down at the same angle. Because that goddamned nose remained at the forefront of Richie's mind and he was positive that he would know it if he ever saw it again.

How dumb. Here was Richie, standing there and waiting to see if that man who had been "beaten with an ugly stick" showed up. Richie almost felt the urge to giggle at the thought, but he was able to contain it. He could only imagine what the officer might think of him if he started laughing, but it made him feel the tiniest bit better.

And so it continued. Richie viewed the second, and third, and fourth people in the lineup all to no avail. They all had similar appearances to the first man he had seen, but none of them had broken into his home. Richie was sure of it. He had not seen that same nose again.

Richie wasn't even sure how long this would go on. He had not been given any indication about how long the lineup was, and his anxiety slowly started to dissipate with each passing suspect. It was still in the back of his mind somewhere that the man in question could enter the room at any time, but at the same time, Richie began to wonder if this was all a humungous waste of time. And energy.

But then the fifth person in the lineup walked into the room and Richie knew.

"Who beat you with an ugly stick?"

"Is anyone else here?"

It hit Richie so hard, it almost felt like he had been bashed over the head a second time. He shook his head, trying desperately to clear the sensation, but it only intensified. His head was throbbing like it had been that day he had come home from the hospital, when all he wanted to do was lie down and close his eyes.

Digging his fingernails into the wood of the window sill, Richie attempted to steady himself, because oh shit, it felt like he might pass out.

Oh god, Eddie.

That fucking nose was there staring him in the face, and he didn't want to look at it anymore. Richie let his eyes travel upward, but that did nothing to help the feeling that was quickly growing to consume him. This man's eyes were so fucking dark, they almost seemed black. Richie had remembered, of course, that they were dark, but he was almost alarmed at just how soulless they appeared to him now. Was that the way the man looked or were Richie's eyes playing tricks on him? Did they only appear that way now because Richie knew what he had done?

"Take whatever you want. I won't stop you."

"You've seen me now. That's a problem."

Richie diverted his eyes away from the suspect, thinking that it might help to settle him, but it only made things worse. It felt like that earthquake was back, the room tilting every which way. Richie glanced behind his shoulder to where he knew the officer was standing, but he could barely see her. The room was nothing but a swirl of colors and motion, like he was on a rollercoaster barreling down a hill at an amusement park, unable to focus on anyone or anything very clearly.

Returning his gaze to the suspect, Richie pressed his forehead up against the glass. He was only vaguely aware that he was probably covering the entire window with sweat, but he had a very vivid image of some poor janitor scrubbing the glass with Windex. The position, however, made Richie feel slightly better. The glass was cool against his skin and it helped to steady him further. Helped to make the earth feel like it wasn't quite spinning out of control anymore.

But it put Richie even closer to those eyes. To that nose that he had so carelessly joked about on that horrific night. Would it have changed things if Richie hadn't said those things? Richie rather doubted it at this point, fairly certain that his life would have spiraled out of control regardless of what he said.

"I won't…tell anyone. I've already forgotten what you look like."

"Now why don't I believe you?"

Richie took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, the glass fogging up in front of him. It obscured his vision of that man, but not nearly long enough. He stood and stared as the man faced to the right and then to the left, going through the same motions as the other men in the lineup, but this one was different. Oh so different. Richie wanted to scream out that it was him, that it was number fucking five, god damnit, but he held his breath. He had been asked to hold his final decision until he had viewed the entire lineup, so that was what he would do. Even though he knew, because

"There's only one way to be sure you won't say anything though. Isn't there?"

"Fuck you," Richie muttered under his breath, and he was pretty sure that the officer behind him was giving him weird looks at this point.

Richie waited for the rest of the lineup to wrap up, which thankfully only included one more person, because he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand there. Richie wanted nothing more than to identify this motherfucker, get the hell out of there, and go home with Eddie.

Because Eddie. Eddie would make everything all right again.

Once the sixth and final suspect had left the room, the officer said, "Okay. That's the entire lineup. Do you need to view it again?"

Richie finally pushed himself away from the glass, but still left one of his hands gripping the ledge underneath the window for support. Richie shook his head. "No. It's number five."

"Without using a numerical scale, how positive are you?"

He had been about to say 'a million percent', but Richie shut his mouth before he could speak. He then had the urge to shout some sort of profanity, but decided that that probably wasn't a good idea either. In the end, Richie stared Officer Hawkins directly in the eye before he said, "Absolutely positive. There's no question. Number five," he repeated, because he didn't want there to be any sort of question about this.

"Okay, thank you," the officer said. "We can rejoin Detective Bannerman now." She gestured towards the door, allowing Richie to make his way across the room before she followed him.

It was strange. Richie almost felt like he had woken up from some sort of dream, like he wasn't entirely conscious yet and wasn't sure what was real. His legs were still shaky, but even the floor didn't feel like it was there anymore. It was like he was walking on air, but not in a good way.

It seemed like an eternity passed before they crossed that little tiny room and the officer opened the door for him. It was then that Richie realized just how stuffy the tiny room had been, because cool, fresh air bombarded him when he stepped out into the hallway. Perhaps that had been contributing to the earthquake feeling, because he felt slightly better now.

Or perhaps that was due to the fact that Eddie was standing right there waiting for him, just as he had said. Richie wasted no time in making his way over to Eddie, in throwing himself into Eddie's arms and burying his head in Eddie's shoulder.

A moment later, Eddie's arms were around him, and things felt marginally better again. Everything probably wouldn't feel entirely better until Richie was back home with him safe and sound, but Richie would take what he could get.

"It's okay," Eddie told him, softly running the fingers of one hand through the hair at the back of Richie's head.

Despite the circumstances, Richie found himself smiling, because he loved that feeling. It almost reminded him of them lying in bed and being intimate with each other, of Eddie grabbing his hair in a moment of passion, and Richie briefly wondered if he had some sort of fetish.

"Do you want to sit?" Eddie asked him.

Without replying, Richie let Eddie guide him to the line of chairs against the wall. Once Richie had plopped down into one of them, it occurred to him that his legs were still shaking. He massaged at them gently, trying his best to get them to still, because the movement was doing nothing to calm his still frazzled nerves.

Eddie ran his hand over Richie's back, occasionally letting his fingers trail through Richie's hair before dipping down to his back again. Eddie stared up at the detective and the officer while Richie diverted his eyes to his lap. He didn't quite want to look anyone in the eye right now.

Detective Bannerman shared a few words with the officer before she excused herself. When the detective spoke again, he said, "Richie, I know this was hard and exhausting for you, but I have a question for you that I hope you'll be up to answering. Please keep in mind that this may or may not have anything to do with the lineup you just viewed, but it is a lead we are looking into at this time."

Only raising his eyes up to Detective Bannerman's nametag, Richie nodded. He took a deep breath and said, "Of course. Whatever you need me to answer…I'll try my best."

The detective reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small notebook. He flipped it open and quickly turned several of the pages over before holding it out for Richie. "Does this mean anything to you?"

This page of the notebook contained one simple line of carefully written characters:

R(+E)T#1

Recognition immediately flooded Richie before any sort of confusion took over. "Yeah," Richie said around a soft breath. "It's, um…it's kind of stupid, but it's the way I number the notebooks where I write down my ideas. This is written on my red notebook, which has all my best material. There's…my initials, 'E' for Eddie, and number one, because…it's some of my best work..."

There was that confusion and fear again ebbing into Richie's mind, because he didn't know what was happening anymore. He didn't know why the detective was asking him this, or what this had to do with…anything.

Richie glanced at Eddie, and his husband looked just as mystified as he did. There were so many questions fighting to come out of Richie's mouth in that moment, like a bunch of cars trying to merge into a single lane all at once, but he finally settled on, "Where did you see this?" Richie reached up, letting his fingers touch the ink on the page, because up until that moment, he hadn't even been sure if it was real or not.

"I believe we know where your notebook is," Detective Bannerman said. "We can't be entirely certain just yet, but have you given it to anyone, or did you misplace it by any chance?"

"Um…" Richie took a moment to try and clear his head, because this was quickly growing to be too much for him to process all at once. Especially after seeing one of the fuckers who had done this to him, and especially with his head still throbbing every once in a while. Why hadn't he brought any of his painkillers to the police station with him?

"It was misplaced," Richie finally said. "Or…or that's what we thought. I was able to find all of my notebooks after the attack…except for the red one."

"I assumed that I just misplaced it while I was cleaning up after," Eddie offered. "The house was such a mess and my frame of mind wasn't the best. I could have easily lost it. It didn't entirely occur to us that…it wasn't there. That's why we didn't report that it was stolen."

"And you're not in the habit of giving your notebooks out to anyone?" Bannerman asked.

Richie shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not. I don't take them outside the house, because I'm a bit of a scatterbrain and could easily lose them. That's why I keep them in the bedroom and always put them back once I'm done with them – so I always know where they are. Keep in mind that these are my earliest joke and routine ideas and I kind of guard them with my life. No one is allowed to see them except for Eddie. And I mean no one."

One of the detective's eyebrows went up. He flipped to a new page in the notebook and wrote something down. "Does anyone else know about them?"

"Um…yeah," Richie answered. "I…I guess so. It's not…really any secret that I have notebooks where I write my ideas down. Anyone who knows me even a little bit probably knows I have them. I mean…don't most creative people have notebooks like that?"

"I don't," Eddie interjected, and Richie knew he was trying to break some of the tension that had settled into that hallway.

Because that hallway didn't quite seem so open and airy anymore. There were beads of sweat forming on Richie's forehead again. He suddenly wished that he was outside in the cool April breeze, because this entire police station felt too stuffy and confined for him.

"I said 'creative people'," Richie muttered, turning his head and side-eyeing Eddie. "You know – creativity, which you wouldn't know if it bit you in the ass."

"Fuck off," Eddie whispered back, despite the fact that they were still in front of the detective. In front of someone who didn't understand them or their relationship, and probably thought they were a couple of complete lunatics by now.

But Eddie always knew exactly how to calm Richie, even if Richie didn't know how to calm himself. He was still running his hand up and down Richie's spine, running a finger or two through Richie's locks every now and again. It was a strangely intimate position for them to be in especially considering the fact that they were in the middle of a police station.

The detective scribbled something else down in his notepad before he said, "Unfortunately, I am unable to share certain details at this stage of the investigation, so I can't answer all the questions you have. As I said, this may or may not have anything to do with the lineup itself, but suffice it to say, the red notebook is a lead we are investigating right now."

Some of Richie's earlier emotions bubbled to life inside him, because he started laughing out of nowhere. For no reason. He was sure that both Eddie and Bannerman would be staring at him like he was crazy, but they both appeared to be sympathetic. It was weird, because most people looked at him like he was crazy.

Running a hand through his hair, Richie stared at the opposite wall, at the little tag next to the door that said 'Interrogation Room'. He didn't quite know what to make of anything and he was so tired. Tired of being scared, tired of the lineup which felt like it had taken forever, and tired of wondering what in the hell was going to happen next.

"This isn't anything like they make it out to be on TV, is it?" Richie asked to no one in particular. He didn't know if he was referring to the lineup itself or to this whole ordeal itself, but Bannerman understood either way.

"It rarely is," he said, replacing the notebook back in his jacket pocket. "I will be in touch if I have anymore questions. Please call me if you can think of anything else that might help in the investigation."

When the detective excused himself, Richie frowned deeply, because fucking hell. "I sort of thought that that would be the end of it, you know? That they'd book him and that would be that." Richie kept massaging at his thighs and added, "They didn't even tell me his name."

Richie still wasn't facing Eddie, so Eddie leaned forward into his husband's field of vision. "So he was in the lineup?" Eddie asked.

"He was there," Richie said, keeping his eyes pinned on that stupid interrogation room sign. On the big brown door and the bright red light above it that apparently came on when the room was occupied. Was that motherfucker in there, potentially being grilled by detectives? Were they asking him questions about that red notebook which Richie now knew had been stolen from his home?

Richie didn't know how he could be so calm right now. He thought he would be crying and screaming out of panic right now, but he was oddly serene and quiet. Even his mind wasn't quite racing like it usually did. He supposed that he was in shock after everything that happened. That all of his emotions would explode out of him at some later date, although that thought didn't scare him as much as he thought it would either.

Eddie had wrapped his arm around Richie's shoulders, pulling him close and hugging him tightly. He rested his cheek against Richie's back and asked, "Do you want to go home now?"

Richie suspected that Eddie wanted to ask a whole hell of a lot more than that. He probably wanted to know about the lineup itself, about the man Richie had identified, about what Richie was feeling right now. He didn't, and Richie was grateful, because he had no fucking clue in hell what he was feeling anymore. Maybe nothing.

"Can you just hold me for a while?" Richie asked quietly.

He could feel Eddie nodding against his back, and Richie let himself melt farther into Eddie's grasp. Into Eddie's safe and protective arms, allowing himself to enjoy the moment and forcing everything else from his mind, because he wasn't sure just now much longer that feeling would last.

To be continued…