"Risk must be undertaken because the

greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing."

- Anon -

"He is in a mood," Nurse Jeanine yelled to Ben when she saw him slip into the ward. Riley, despite his now-normal sullen disposition, had become one of her favorite patients in the weeks following his transfer from the intensive care unit. She had sat down to coffee with both he and Abigail one afternoon when Riley was particularly ornery, telling them that she'd seen many people do the same when faced with the loss of a sense including her own brother.

"Great!" he shot back with a smile and walked into Riley's room, a bag with dinner hanging off his forearm and a book in one hand. Ben set down both on the nearby rolling table and turned to face the irritated man in the bed, who had both arms crossed over his chest and his mouth twisted in a frown.

They'd gotten into a pattern with Ben arriving at the hospital after he finished his classes for the day, bringing with him something he'd picked out of the Barnes & Noble bargain section and a meal from a randomly-chosen restaurant. He'd stay until visiting hours came to a close while carrying on a written conversation with Riley as well as grading papers or tests. After six, when Abigail finished her desk work, she would join them and they would share the contents of plastic containers and paper take-away boxes, chatting about their day.

How was physio today? He jotted down, saying it aloud as well.

Fine.

Ben sighed at the word. It had become Riley's favorite answer to all types of questions and even Patrick, who had visited twice, had remarked on the fall in the man's vocabulary. While Riley's occupational and speech therapists had said it was expected ("He has to adapt to a whole new life. It's hard for someone who has never had this kind of disability before.") and that he would eventually move on.

Still, it was a harsh reminder of Riley's new path in life and he hated that; Riley valued his independence and without his hearing, he could no longer drive his beloved Ferrari or any other car. He could no longer hear the orchestra at the symphony hall, a place he loved more than any other. He couldn't hum along with the surround sound stereo while he tapped word after word on his laptop and Ben teased him from the apartment's small kitchen.

Just fine? No cursing at the staff today?

The smirk that graced Riley's lips was close to the old ones that he used to give so freely. And what Ben wrote next made the smirk widen and the younger man's eyes spark with life.

Doctors said that if you agree to come home with me, you can get out of here sooner.

Making the offer to watch over Riley while he recovered had been one of the easiest things in the world to do; he hadn't hesitated in the least when he'd spoken with Kayes, telling the man that it was in Riley's best interests to be in a place he knew, a place he felt safe.

Of course, Ben knew that Riley coming to the house meant that he'd been responsible for re-arranging his schedule for the spring semester – something the university administration was definitely going to bitch about – to fit around Riley's physical therapy, psychotherapy, and ASL appointments. Abigail and Patrick would help, but Ben wanted to be the one to help with the nitty-gritty parts of Riley's recovery and be there when his friend would come down hard on himself. Which would inevitably happen, whether or not people realized it.

You're not kidding?

Shaking his head, Ben grinned and leaned over the bed to kiss Riley's temple, happy to see the brightness in the blue eyes. He managed to tamp down on the urge to whisper "I love you," instead using one of the new signs he'd learned and pressed his thumb, forefinger and pinky into Riley's shoulder.

The shiver ran down Riley's spine, confusion flitting over his features. Ben?

It's okay. We have to talk about this anyway. Gates scribbled in reply, knowing that his admission months earlier while Riley was comatose had simply been practice – he needed to say it again, put the whole of his heart behind it and make Riley see how Ben's fears had colored his hopes.

With his heavy pen in hand, Ben started writing, fast loops and weaves and he stopped at one point to decide how best to say what he needed. One hand swiped over his brow as he thought; it was more difficult than he imagined to write down what had been so easy with the spoken word. However, Ben knew he couldn't leave too much room for Riley to question what he was saying. Where he could have once kept talking until Poole forcibly listened, he knew that a pair of closed eyes or a turn of the head could block out any explanation.

He finished without a flourish, pushing the pad back to Riley and waited while he read it. Ben knew his friend's ASL teacher would berate him if she found out that he'd not used the instance to practice Riley's lipreading skills, but he was sure neither of them was in the mood. They only wanted to repair the damage done to their friendship and perhaps move forward.

Don't screw us out of something good because you're scared or because of age. A one sentence answer delivered with the most pleading eyes that Ben had ever seen.

I won't. But we're not starting anything until you're on your feet and then we're going slow.

Ben, given the amount of time he'd had to think since the diagnosis of Riley's deafness, had made the deal with himself that he was done worrying. If anything came of this thing between them, then he would be happy with it but he'd also promised himself that he wouldn't let it be some sort of rebounding issue. Riley needed someone there to love and support him, only he would question anyone who came into his life while he recovered.

Abigail joined them shortly thereafter, amused by both men's faces, like they were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. She quickly remarked, "Well I see all four hands..."

The pillow Riley threw at her landed solidly against her face and Ben snickered when she stuck out her tongue in response. It was the first real instance of teasing between the two; they'd always reacted to each other like siblings than friends, and Ben had missed the volley of jokes and barbs they'd traded so easily.

"Alright, boys, feed me," she declared, signing along with her words. Ben was quite jealous of the ease with which she had picked up the language, having ranted about it in the safety of his home after their first lesson. She'd tried to appeal to his logical side, pointing out that she'd had to learn a whole new language earlier in life so a third was nothing, but he wouldn't be placated and it continued to irritate him.

For his part, Riley was having just as hard a time comprehending the signs and connecting them to the ones they represented. It was a regular battle with the woman who was trying to teach him, at times accepting it and others, angrily refusing to participate. She'd luckily taken it all in stride and kept on trying to get him to form the letters and signs, never letting his outbursts stop her.

He fisted his right hand and lifted it into the air, bending it back and forth, saying yes and grabbing the utensils Ben passed him while Abigail looked greedily into the paper bag. She licked her lips theatrically as she pulled out the single serving containers of lasagna, baked ziti, and stuffed shells. Three breadsticks and garlic knots jammed into tin foil followed and Ben double checked the door, ensuring that no one was about to ambush them.

With a smirk from Abigail, the trio tucked into their dinner and only later, after Ben had crawled into bed, did he recognize that their silence had been a comfortable one.

"The manner in which one endures what

must be endured is more important than

the thing that must be endured."

- Dean Acheson -

With both Riley's left arm and leg weak from not being used, it was impossible to get to his fourth floor apartment under his own power. The elevator was broken (again) and his cell phone was now useless as anything more than a paperweight so sitting in the lobby while Ben packed his bags was out. He had a few changes of clothing at Ben's; he wouldn't have to walk around naked, but just the same, Riley wanted more than a few pairs of lounge pants and long-sleeved henleys.

He wanted his worn in sweats, his heavy feather-down blanket, and his penguin slippers with the pom-pom eyes. And while his work laptop had become a broken piece of garbage water dispensing shit, Riley did not lack in other fully functioning computers that could amuse him while he was alone. He had movies abound that had their subtitles option written in tiny print on the back of the cases.

The amassed collection of CDs filled a large tower case, a taunt even in memory, and he couldn't decide a better fate for them: burning, flinging them like frisbees into the river, or selling them. No matter what, they were a pointless item to own.

In the end, Ben had promised they would return when Riley's moron landlord had the building in somewhat functioning order. Lord knew that once the elevator was fixed, something else would break – it was a cycle Ben usually mocked mercilessly, usually when Riley ended up on his doorstep because he had no heat or hot water – but at least the two would be able to pack up some of the things he would need.

"Where's the suitcases?" Patrick asked when the car pulled up to the garage. He'd gotten there a few minutes earlier, recruited by his son to help move furniture and set up one of the three first floor bedrooms. Riley would be wheelchair bound for a few weeks yet even though his leg was technically healed and his arm had been transferred from cast to brace, making it imperative that he had room to maneuver the chair.

"Don't have them," Ben answered, popping open the passenger door before opening the trunk. "Elevator's down for repair, if the landlord ever calls to get it repaired, and getting him up four flights didn't seem like a grand old time. So Riley's stuck in whatever clothes of his are here already and my historical documentary DVDs which he has already damned to hell."

Riley made a face, knowing what Ben was saying, and flipped him off once Ben ducked back around to his side of the car. "Asshole," he said, signing out each letter.

"I prefer jackass, thank you," Gates shot back, as he locked the wheels and went back to the trunk. Between the stop at the convenience mart on the way home, needing to buy Riley the underwear and socks he wouldn't of had otherwise, and the bags he'd left the hospital with, both hands were full. "Dad, you want the bags or you want to push Riley?"

"I can take Riley," he smiled, considering it a step. He'd decided after a few weeks of thinking, that rejecting his son wasn't an option but rejecting his religion wasn't either. Catholicism left little wiggle room for such beliefs, yet seeing how happy Ben was pushed hard at his heart. So as he fought to balance a lifetime of the church's teachings with this new part of his life, Patrick opted to take each day one at a time.

There was flicker in Riley's eyes that Patrick almost couldn't place, heart a bit heavy when he realized it was fear. He patted the younger's shoulder reassuringly, and took hold of the handles to propel him forward, knowing Riley was not supposed to be out in the chilly winter air for too long.

Inside the house, Ben was surprised and pleased to find that his father had started a fire in both fireplaces, warming the great room and lighting it in oranges and reds. He slipped into the guest room while Patrick set to helping Riley out of his heavy winter coat, hoping to have a few minutes to put away the items in the bags. He knew his friend would be safe with his father, though a mite uncomfortable – Riley knew Patrick was struggling with regards to his relationship with Ben.

He turned to head back out into the room and heard the unmistakable noise of Riley's chair, the wheels squeaking with every full revolution. It was something he'd started doing at the hospital between his physiotherapy appointments: pacing. Before they would release him, Riley had to show that he could adequately move his chair, even with his arm sore and braced, in case of an emergency. "I don't intend to leave him alone," Ben had pointed out when they had truly started forcing the issue and was given the reply, "It's more a psychological issue, Mr. Gates. He just needs to know he can do this on his own."

Finally selecting an oversized plush sofa, Riley locked the wheels in place and started to move himself and his still-sore left side into it.

Ben walked over to him as he struggled to bear enough weight on his right hand to lift him upwards. After the second time he fell back into the leather of the wheelchair, Ben tapped his shoulder and asked, "Need help?" in stumbling sign language; at least he was getting better at the signs themselves and not spelling out each and every word.

"Yes, please," Riley replied and reached up to set his hands on Ben's shoulders while the other's hands slid into his armpits. He watched Ben's lips, knowing the minute the tip of his tongue peeked out that Ben was going to lift him up and he would have to pitch himself sideways.

"Thanks."

Ben shrugged, smiling. "It's what I'm here for," he said and took Riley's hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back. Affection was something Riley would always have difficulty accepting Ben knew, but it would be a lie if he said he didn't enjoy the blush that crept up Riley's neck. He leaned forward to rest his cheek momentarily against Riley's head, glad that they no longer had to obey visiting hours or leave ID with a security guard just to see him.

The smell of bacon and the sizzle of it frying reached Ben. He'd hoped that his father's disappearance from the great room meant dinner, mainly so he wouldn't have to cook himself, and he straightened up without preamble to investigate what was being made. Ben tossed Riley the remote before he'd moved too far away and said, "No porn."

"Bite me," Riley threw back and Ben laughed, disappearing into the kitchen.

"I thought breakfast for dinner," Patrick said with a gesture toward the pans. "Bacon, sausage, eggs. I think I saw some english muffins in the fridge." He turned back to the bacon, pulling strips from the thin layer of oil and placing them on a paper-towel covered dish, and said to Ben, "I know we've never really been able to talk to each other, but I..."

The phone interrupted anything more. Ben sighed; he needed to talk to Patrick, but with the caller ID displaying the university's name, he couldn't simply ignore it.

"Benjamin Gates," he greeted, reluctantly, and listened to the head of the history department for a minute. He muttered, "Shit," under his breath and told the woman, "I'll be there in fifteen minutes, Gwen." Hanging up the phone, he turned to his father, "There's an emergency faculty meeting."

"Everything all right?"

"Two students died tonight," he admitted. The girls had been his advisees, wonderfully avid learners who had been a great help after he returned from his semester sabbatical, and they would not be in class the next morning. "They're assembling the staff to go over procedure," Ben added, glad he'd not yet taken off his jacket. "Can you hang around until I get back?"

"Yes, of course. Is there anything I should do?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't think so. Just make sure Riley eats something and takes his medication before he goes to bed." With no more instructions, he promised to return as soon as he could and slipped out the back door with car keys in hand.

"He is the happiest who

finds peace in his home."

- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe -

The meeting had been straightforward: there would be a one week reprieve for the student population. Classes could be skipped for bereavement appointments; the teachers themselves would make the announcement to avoid the sterility of emailing though the latter would be done that afternoon. Ben made sure to note that they would be given the days of the funerals off, so the girls' friends could attend if they chose and as he made his way home, he detoured to stop for flowers at the same convenience mart he'd been in hours earlier.

He held the roses and calla lilies in one hand as he fumbled with the doorknob. A yawn escaped him, eyes closing, and when they re-opened, Ben found himself staring at his father. "Sorry, ran long."

"Obviously," Patrick joked, tiredly. He moved out of the way, letting Ben into the house and raised an eyebrow at the flowers.

Reaching into a cabinet, Ben only said, "For the girls' roommates." He set about filling the largest of his vases with water and setting the flowers within, his hands almost refusing to do what he needed. "Riley asleep?"

"Conked out a little while ago. I got him to have some toast and some bacon, and he took all of his pills so I didn't think I should force it." Patrick left out the conversation he'd carried on with Riley, an entire pad of paper used as they'd talked about life and family. It had truthfully been more for the younger man's benefit, letting off some of the anger that had filled him at the people he couldn't see or name.

There were so many things Patrick hadn't known that had come spilling from Riley, things that made his paternal side strengthen. He'd sat there reading the secret that Riley's biological parents had been deemed unfit after he was born addicted to crack cocaine and he hated that they had made him that way, his body now craving the morphine he'd been given in the hospital and in part causing his mood swings. How anyone could purposely hurt their unborn child was a question Patrick knew would never be answered.

"It's late. You don't have to drive home," Ben said, cutting into his thoughts.

"No, no." Patrick gave a small smile. "I'll be fine. You've got important things to do tomorrow and I'll just be in the way," he said, "Besides, I'm sure Riley would enjoy time alone with you. One of those relationship things that you're always claiming to not be good at." He chuckled at Ben's indignant sputter, saying his pleasantries and that he would be by the next day with lunch, before walking to the door and saying, "I think he'll be as good for you as you for him."

Alone in the kitchen then, Ben was still and tired and his mind was reeling. He bent over the sink, hands braced against the cabinets and breathed through the sudden rush of nausea, his attention so focused on not being ill that he never heard the footfalls.

Riley had fallen asleep on the couch and woken when the headlights of Patrick's Cadillac had illuminated every corner of the room. He'd assumed that if Patrick had gone, Ben should be home and padding into the kitchen Riley was glad to see he was right. Without thought, he walked right up to his friend and wrapped his hands around Ben's middle, laying his cheek against one broad shoulder. He wished he could ask if Ben was okay, if there was something he could do, but both would require moving and Riley didn't want to; the slow bleed of tension from the tall body made him smile.

Ben didn't startle when Riley wrapped around him, reaching to take the smaller hands in his and lacing their fingers together. He let the warmth of the tee shirt clad chest ground him, turning his head to nudge at Riley. Eventually, he turned in the hold and nuzzled the dark hair, wishing he didn't need to sleep as much as he did. That he could stand there with Riley until dawn.

With a push, the two parted and Ben said, "You're not not supposed to be standing up yet." He brushed his fingers down the side of Riley's face before adding, "And you should be in bed."

"I was in bed for months," Poole whined, and Ben wondered how Riley managed to convey that with fingers. Of course that made Ben frown as he thought over what he'd been told by the doctors, how Riley could still speak – clearly – if he wanted to: his voicebox wasn't damaged; he wasn't deaf and mute. "Give it some time, Ben," Abigail had told him while they watched Riley sign paper after paper for his release, "Imagine if you tried to speak and there was only silence."

"And you still should be, Riley," Ben commented, feeling more parent than friend or lover at that moment. "Your muscles aren't used to the strain."

As if on cue, Riley was cut off from forming any letters as his knees buckled under him and Ben immediately reached out to stop the man from falling in a heap on the floor. He said nothing, instead giving Riley a look that spoke volumes, and, managing to balance himself and Riley on one foot, hooked a chair from the near by table to yank it over.

"Stay there for a second," Ben ordered as he turned to go in search of the hospital-issued wheelchair. He fought to keep his lips even, a mental cheer reverberating in his head that Riley had been the one to comfort him. Such had never happened in the past; Ben had gone so far to wonder if the Poole family had ever even hugged each other.

With the chair in tow, Ben returned to the kitchen and laughed when he saw that Riley had fallen asleep with his head back against the counter, one hand pressed to a cheek and the other flopped at his side. He smirked, prodding his friend awake and asked, "Don't need to rest, huh?"

His answer was a shrug and yawning, Riley shoved himself into the seat, closing his eyes for what he thought was a second but what apparently was longer if the amused look Ben was giving him was anything to go by. "Sorry," he signed, a small yawn escaping him and he reached out.

Riley was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, wishing he knew why he was so exhausted.