'There's a problem,' Max said grimly. He leaned forward, resting his hands against a pale green control panel lodged into the wall, the screen above etched out like chalk with the way it's pixels shone out, bright and fierce. It depicted Sunny resting on a stool behind an interrogation table, her legs moodily swinging back and forth beneath them both like a pendulum - the angle of the camera was from above and to Ben at least, it made her limbs look like pale sticks, tiny and delicate, like swabs of paint against an uncaring wall.

'Of course there's a problem,' he said dryly. He peered closer at his Grandpa's grim face, noting just how many wrinkles were perched within his brow. That was never a good sign. 'What's up, Grandpa?'

Max groaned. 'Sunny's in over her head. Her parents have been frantic because she's taken up with another 'bad influence.'

Ben cocked an eyebrow. 'Let me guess. Another Antonio?'

'Worse,' Max said grimly. 'Fistrick.'

Ben sputtered and Rook frowned in fascinated disgust. 'I...' he said, before frowning even harder and then shaking his head as he came to a conclusion. 'No. I believe this is what Ben would call 'gross.'

'And she's not even your family,' Ben muttered. He gave Sunny's small form an appraising glance. 'Still. At least it's not Michael Morningstar.'

'She might be dead by now if it were,' Rook pointed out. But his voice as he spoke was curiously flat, with not a tremor of the usual care in its inflection.

His sister is in the hospital, Ben reminded himself, he hasn't got much room for caring about anything else.

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'but I don't get why this is such a problem. I mean...it's Fistrick. He's dangerous, sure, but, well, it's Fistrick.'

His Grandpa narrowed his eyes into mere dots. 'Fistrick is a lot more than just mere muscle, Ben. You know this. He's been quite influential in the smuggling trade and he's usually bright enough to cover his tracks.'

'Not that bright,' Ben muttered, crossing his arms, 'or we would never have caught him as much as we obviously have.'

'And each time he eventually ends up escaping,' Rook pointed out wearily. 'Manister Tennyson is right, Ben.'

Ben threw up his hands in the air. 'C'mon almost every prisoner here has ended up escaping at some point! Plumber HQ is high-tech, sure, but secure we sure ain't, what with the number of criminals coming and going. It's like we're one big revolving door.' He paused at Max's and Rook's twin looks of consternation. 'Well,' he amended grudgingly. 'Emperor Milleous' is always here. But that's only because Attea inherited all the brains in the family. If she had been here instead of him, she would have escaped ages ago.'

Rook shuffled uncomfortably. 'Can we please get back to the subject of your wayward cousin?'

Max cleared his throat. 'The point is that Sunny's obviously been drawn into Fiskrick's business. She's refusing to say much, but from what her parents have said, she's spent all her spare time with him. And honestly, stealing Amber Ogia is more Fistrick's MO than hers.'

'It would make sense,' Rook acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head. 'Since he has done it before.' His expression soured in remembrance.

'Okay, but let's not forget the last time a boyfriend was a 'bad influence' on her,' Ben said, injecting as much scorn as he could into the two words he wrapped up with finger quotations. 'And remember how that turned out? Sunny was ten times worse than whatever Antonio could muster up.'

'So is Fistrick,' Rook said firmly, 'and while I was not there, I can well believe that Sunny was the primary perpetrator in the event you are referring too. They are probably more terrible together than apart.'

'That's where the problem comes in,' Max said grimly. 'Fistrick is up to something. He's been smuggling over valuable crops and no one knows where he's keeping the stash from his raids. The DA's ready to throw the book at Sunny if she doesn't cooperate, but she's swearing blind that she would never betray her boyfriend. Says their love is strong enough to survive anything.'

'Yeeeeah, but a few months in prison ought to change that,' Ben said flippantly.

Max sighed. 'Maybe,' he said. 'But unfortunately, we don't have that kind of time. There's a big shipment of some Xenteen wheat coming through this sector from Kinet in a few days time.'

Rook perked up, bringing his hands together in a quick clap of pleasure. 'Oooh! I must confess, though I have seen a hob of it in person, the videos on the Extranet show it to be quite a striking type of cereal. It glows from time to time, discharge similar to static running over the nubs.'

Ben stuck out his tongue. 'Ew. Please never say either 'hobs' or 'nubs' again in the same sentence. Sounds gross.'

Rook frowned. 'Actually, it was two sentences,' he said rather crossly. 'I remember distinctly taking a breath between the two.' His palms fell away from each other. 'Besides, what words should I have used instead? They strongly resemble Earth corn hobs in appearance and the seeds attached look very much like nubs, rather than a 'piece' or a 'part.'

'Oh my God,' said Ben bleakly. 'Just when I think I've forgotten what it's like to sit in English class, you open your mouth and it all comes racing back.'

Rook's frown deepened, but just as his mouth fell open to speak, Max cleared his throat.

'Anyway,' he stressed, 'the point is that Xenteen is a primary ingredient for many intergalactic energy drinks out there. And some energy bars too. It's quite popular among planetary trekkers for it's revitalising properties. Unfortunately it can also double up as a rather toxic steroid in the wrong hands.'

Ben winced, picturing the bulge of Fistrick's muscle. Just because the guy was a health nut, worse than Rook even, it didn't mean he wouldn't want to take advantage of the profit selling some high-demand steroids would offer. After all, it wasn't like he was going to be injecting the stuff into his own veins.

'Double ew,' he said weakly.

Max shook his head. 'At times like this, I wish you weren't so friendly with Judge Domstol. He and his various associates in the High Court have taken a personal interest in this matter, stating that someone of 'great importance' has been affected somehow. They're keeping their identity secret and are claiming that it's a matter they can entrust only to you.'

Ben grinned, letting his next words roll out alongside an easy shrug. 'What can I say? I'm a people-pleaser.'

'This is serious, Ben. Because they seem to believe that as well.' Max looked him straight in the eye. 'They're insisting that you be the one to accompany Sunny and get the information out of her. And they're already drafted up a fake report from the Anodite home-world, insisting that you be held accountable for 'sullying the energy inside one their own with the stillness of that which should not be.' Max seemed to pronounce these words with a solemnity that was hard to recognise; perhaps because he was reciting a value he didn't fully understand. Ben took a second to process this, remembering that his Grandpa had actually lived and had children with an alien who came from such values, and perhaps that was why he felt the need to stress the poetry of this ruling.

'Ah, of course,' said Rook softly, an air of realisation about his tone. 'Ghostfreak does not possess mana. That must be a discomforting thing for any energy being to make contact with.'

Max shrugged. 'The Anodites don't really care to enforce such a ruling unless one of their own has been possessed for a number of days, rather than minutes. But it's a source of enough contention to enforce it still.'

There was quiet for a moment. 'No,' said Rook, realisation still running strong and thick through his tone. 'Magister!'

'Oh yes, I'm afraid so,' said Max grimly. 'They want to throw Ben inside the prison with her, under false charges until this matter gets cleared up. They say that since Ben's technically family, she'll be more willing to open up, than if we had him parading around in an alien disguise.'

Ben didn't even need to turn around to know what sort of expression his boyfriend would be making. He was probably choking on his own indignation.

'No sweat,' he said, keeping his eyes firmly ahead. And then, to top off his impression of absolute casualness, he leant all of his weight onto one elbow, propping himself up against a control panel to his right. 'When do we start?'

'No, absolutely not!'

Ben sighed, inspecting the creases in the light purple jumpsuit that was compulsory wearing for the prison he was going to be living in. Orange was more Earth's default colour for such things it would seem.

'That's the sixth time you've said that,' he pointed out idly, fingers fiddling with a loose thread he had found trailing from a pale button on the chest. In all honesty, it wasn't bad; plain, unadorned and made of a fabric that creased at the touch like his cargo pants, he spread it out across the bed a little more firmly as though he could iron out the folds.

But Rook still glared at the thing like it was made of dynamite, fuming. 'And I will say it again! Do you not remember the last time you went undercover when Fistrick was involved?'

Ben groaned. 'Yes, yes, how could I forget?' He paused and flashed a sly look at Rook over his shoulder, eyes narrowing with a gleam and alighting on the tight line of his boyfriend's mouth. 'Aw, you're all worried. But you don't need to be. There's a key difference between this and last time, don't forget; Fistrick isn't actually going to be in the prison. It'll just be Sunny and me. Come on, I'm not completely rubbish at getting information out of people, you've seen me in action.'

'Yes,' Rook said grimly, 'and I have also seen you in over your head.'

Ben snorted and turned away, now feeling a little cross himself. 'The mission hasn't even started yet. I'll be fine. Both you and Grandpa worry too much.'

Rook sighed, and Ben heard him in step forward, boots making a dull thud as they pressed in against the concrete floor. And then Rook's fingers were sliding over his shoulder, those large palms cupping the roll of bone beneath so he could turn Ben round more easily to face him. 'Ben...'

Now would be a good time for a joke to lighten the situation, thought Ben. But for once, he didn't really have any good ones. Not when Rook looked so serious about all this.

'...You will be human...'

Ben stared back gormlessly for a second before shaking himself slightly.

'Yes,' he replied, with a suddenly aggressive bite to his voice. 'I will. And you know what else I'll be? Fine. Without you. As a human. You, know like I've been for the majority of my life.'

But Rook was shaking his head, a bitter twist to his expression. 'Forgive me. I did not mean to imply that you were helpless'-

Yes, you did, thought Ben. You just forgot to let your politeness hold you back, for once. And if that wasn't a true testament to Rook's worry, then he didn't know what was.

-'I was merely attempting to give credence to the expression 'you are only human,' but I experienced a brief lapse in my memory.'

Which wasn't really much of a save in Ben's opinion.

'Thanks,' he said bluntly, deciding that enough was enough. 'But I don't need your approval to do this.'

Something pained crept into Rook's expression then, before he sighed and lowered his head, hands dropping from Ben's shoulder like the human was suddenly hot to the touch. He looked so downcast that for a moment Ben was tempted to reach out and stroke the thick black central stripe that took over his scalp, the arrowed point of it hovering in front of him at just the right height for his fingers to reach in and scratch. But then the moment broke, was gone and whipped away by the speed in which Rook's head suddenly shot up, a new, bright gleam of determination present in his eyes.

'Do not ferry materials for anyone in there.' He spoke fiercely, as though hurrying to get his words across. 'But do not be afraid to ask for small, innocuous favours for yourself; I have read that this is a good way to subconsciously build rapport without putting yourself at risk.'

That...certainly explained that strange second week of their acquaintance when Rook had rather persistently asked Ben to hand him his tablet, and then that oily rag for his proto-tool, followed by three hundred other little tools, even if they had been less than two metres away at the time. And it might have continued for a lot longer until Ben had snapped at him for treating him like an 'air hostess'.

'And,' continued Rook, his finger now pointing straight at Ben's face as though daring him to complain. 'You will wear 'flip-hops' in the shower. The prison bathrooms are probably the ideal location to pass on warts and other fungal infections.'

Ben suppressed a shudder. 'That's flip-flops, Rook.'

'I do not care. I merely wish to safeguard your heath.' Then the Revonnahgander sighed and with what looked to be a herculean effort, attempted a smile. 'Either way: I will wait for you, Ben.' The proud tinge in his voice and the gentle way in which one of his hands came up to slide over Ben's knuckles told the human all he needed to know about precisely what sort of peace-offering his boyfriend was going for. One filled with pop-culture, or at the very least, a cheesy, oft repeated line from any number of jokes or procedural dramas. Or possibly a movie.

He chuckled. 'Look at it this way,' he said airily, one of his hands now coming up to brush and fall against the soft slide of Rook's cheek in a show of cheap forgiveness. 'You'll get to put me in handcuffs for once. And come on, how often have you wished for the excuse to do that?'

Rook narrowed his eyes – or at least struggled to, given the gently, sloping glide of Ben's thumb and the way it soothed a path across the raked-up ruffles of his fur. 'I have never wished for your arrest, Ben. But for you to be put in restraints? I will confess, the thought gives me more pleasure than it should.'

Ben giggled. 'Wanna give it a trial run?'

Rook stared at him thoughtfully, his fingers beginning to trace the outline of Ben's stomach from under the loose fall of his shirt. 'Alright,' he said finally, a slight grin appearing on his face afterwards.

And Ben giggled again, the gentle vibration in his throat doing nothing to deter the tickle of Rook's furry fingers as they traveled up against the slope of his chest. Because make-up sex was the best.