The Space Between Us
Chapter 21 – What We Wish We Could Forget

Driving home with Richie that day was like bringing him home from the hospital all over again. Richie sat quietly in his seat with his hands in his lap. He stared out his window, a deep frown etched into his features. An uncomfortable silence had grown to encompass the car, and it was nothing at all like the trip down to the police station earlier that afternoon. The one filled with conversations and kisses.

"I'm sorry, Rich," Eddie said around a heavy sigh, not taking his eyes off the road before him.

"What are you sorry for?" Richie asked, leaning his head back against the seat as he turned his head toward Eddie.

Eddie didn't reply at first, only paid attention to the other cars in the road so he wouldn't have to meet Richie's gaze. Finally, he muttered, "Everything. For convincing you to go to the lineup in the first place, and-"

Richie silenced him with a hand on his leg. "Don't. It's not your fault. Despite all my earlier reservations, I wanted to go. I wanted…to stand up to that asshole. Let him know that what he did wasn't okay. But…just like I told you and the detective, it wasn't quite what I thought it would be." He paused, letting out an exasperated breath as he shook his head. "I thought they'd put him away, and that would be that."

"Yeah. I kind of did too."

"Seems kind of obvious now though why they can't do that, doesn't it?" Richie asked. "They can't just throw someone in jail because someone else said they did something wrong with no other evidence to back it up."

Richie eyes suddenly grew wide and he quickly turned to face his window again. After a moment of encompassing silence, Richie finally asked, "Do you think…he's going to be back out on the streets again, isn't he?"

Eddie wished to god that he could assuage Richie's fears. That he could tell him everything was going to be okay. They'd put whoever had done this to Richie behind bars, and that would be the end of that. But Eddie wasn't going to lie to Richie anymore, even if he did have good intentions. Even if he did want to save Richie some heartache, because Eddie had already tried that once and it had backfired horribly.

Instead, Eddie decided to remind Richie of what would hopefully become the light at the end of the tunnel. "I don't know," Eddie muttered, closing his eyes briefly, "but don't forget that they do have a lead. Remember the detective said they think they know where your red notebook is. I'm assuming they came across it when they were investigating this guy – whoever he is – and…maybe that'll be enough. Or maybe it'll lead them to something else. Something bigger that can tie him to what happened and they'll be able to arrest him then."

There was that overwhelming silence again before Richie whispered, "Maybe. I just…keep thinking that he's going to come after me now. Because I know who he is. Because I identified him. He'll come after me before they can find any damn evidence! Not to mention, he has an accomplice out there who I know nothing about! I haven't been able to remember anything about him! He could come up to me in the street before I even know what the fuck is happening, and I don't know which one is scarier!"

Richie slammed his fist down on the armrest in between them, his eyes wide behind his glasses and his breathing hard. His fist was so tight, his hand was shaking and his knuckles were white. A horrible scowl had taken over his face, and it pained Eddie to see his partner like this.

It might have been the angriest Eddie had seen Richie…since forever. Richie wasn't typically an angry person. Even after everything that had happened, after everything they had been through in their lives, Richie usually processed things differently. He might say a few things here and there in anger, but Richie rarely just snapped and yelled like this. Even after he'd found out that Eddie had lied to him about their relationship, there hadn't been any real anger in Richie's words or actions. He'd known Richie had been angry, but he mostly just showed his hurt and disappointment.

Eddie wanted nothing more than to pull Richie into his arms, to hug him fiercely and tell him everything was going to be okay. He was still driving, however, but they were very close to home. Eddie took the time to drive the last few blocks before pulling into their driveway and putting the car in park.

"Hey," Eddie said, turning to face Richie and grasping his hand in between his own. He brought Richie's fist up, placing a tender kiss to his ring finger, just below where his wedding band sat. Eddie tilted his head and rested his cheek against the back of Richie's fingers, staring at him intently. "I know. Okay? I'm scared too, but don't forget that we have our own personal guards right over there."

Turning his head, Eddie glanced out the rear window of his Escalade. Just across the street and down a little way sat an ugly tan unmarked police car. It was parked just under a tree there, the long branches that dangled out towards the street providing the perfect shade for the men inside.

Richie took a moment to turn around in his seat, staring at the car before returning his gaze to Eddie. "Yeah," Richie mumbled, although it was a word he obviously didn't feel. "I forget they're there a lot, you know? Remember when I didn't even want them, because I thought they might be an intrusive presence in our lives? And I always wonder what'll happen if…they don't see. What if those guys come when it's dark outside? What if they come in through a back window or something and the guards don't see? What if…? Just…what if…?"

Richie's breathing had grown harder yet, his voice becoming louder and louder with each word. He brought his free hand up to his forehead, pressing his palm against the skin. Closing his eyes, he whined and grimaced.

"Is your head starting to hurt again?" Eddie asked, bringing his free hand up to brush some of Richie's hair away from his face. Richie's skin was sweaty underneath his touch.

Nodding slightly, Richie said, "It started when I was in there. When I was looking at the lineup. It…it wasn't so bad then, but…it is now."

"Let's get you inside," Eddie suggested. "I'll get you your meds, and make you some tea, and…do you want to lie down for a little while? Maybe with Grayson? I'm sure he'll help you feel better."

Giving a half-hearted smile, Richie only nodded. It looked like he wanted to say something more, but a moment later, he reached for his door handle. Eddie pulled his keys out of the ignition before getting out and hurrying around to the other side of the car. He took Richie's hand, closed his door for him, and silently led him into the house.

Before they even had time to cross the threshold completely, Grayson was at their feet, whining and wagging his tail. Richie smiled again, an expression that still didn't completely reach the rest of his features. Bending down and beginning to scratch the dog under his chin, Richie said, "Hey, boy."

Grayson licked Richie's fingers and whined again, his paws stomping up and down against the wooden floorboards. His claws kept clacking as he did so, and goddamn it if that dog didn't fucking know. Grayson seemed uncomfortable and almost panicked in a way that he hadn't before. Perhaps he had just missed them, but Eddie didn't quite think so. He thought that dog knew that something was off with Richie, something would come oozing out of him in the hours and days to come.

Eddie let the tips of his fingers trail along Grayson's back before he made his way towards the kitchen, over that spot on the floor that he was trying his very hardest to ignore. He tried to pretend like it was no big deal, like it didn't even exist, even though Eddie knew that he would never forget about it. Every time he stepped past it, he got the intense feeling that he was walking over someone's grave. It was stupid, because no one had died there, but…Richie almost had.

Shivering, Eddie got a glass of water for Richie from the refrigerator. Setting it down on the island counter, he opened Richie's bottle of meds and shook two pills out into the cap. When Richie joined him in the kitchen, Grayson hot on his heels, Eddie waited while he swallowed down his pills and drank some water.

"Um…do you want to lie down in the bedroom?" Eddie asked. "Or, um…"

"The living room," Richie immediately answered. "I don't know. I'm…feeling like I did when first came home from the hospital, and I laid down in the bedroom that night, remember? And I had that nightmare…" Richie paused, wrapping his arms around himself. "Maybe…maybe I'll feel better in the living room. I don't know," he repeated.

"Yeah," Eddie agreed, "that makes sense. Why don't you go ahead and lie down with Grayson? I'll make you tea and I'll bring it in when it's ready."

Richie began to turn towards the living room, but then he paused, facing Eddie once more. "You'll be here the entire time, right? You're not going to leave, are you?"

It had been quite a few days since Richie had asked him these sorts of questions. Richie had been doing so much better recently, and he hadn't been as anxious or needy; he'd been able to move about the house without having to know exactly where Eddie was. Not that Eddie blamed Richie, of course. Richie had been through a lot over the course of the day, and Eddie knew the events were weighing heavily on his mind.

Eddie only wished he could make things better. Hell, he wished that they could go back to how they had been just that morning, lazily making out in bed before everything had been turned upside down again. In the end, however, Eddie knew that Richie had done the right thing, and Eddie hoped to god that things would work out going forward.

"Of course not," Eddie told him, reaching one hand over the island counter and squeezing Richie's hand. "I think I'm going to do the dishes and clean up a little bit, but I'll be right here. I promise."

Eddie spared one look around the kitchen. It wasn't messy by any means, but they had left their breakfast dishes sitting out on the island counter when they had gone to the police station, and that alone was driving Eddie up the wall. He rarely left dirty dishes sitting out for fear that bugs and insects would descend on them any second now.

"Okay," Richie whispered, slowly pulling his hand out from Eddie's grasp. "And…you'll turn the lights on if it starts getting dark while I'm sleeping?"

"You know it."

As it turned out, Richie must have been a lot more tired than either of them had realized. By the time Eddie had gotten Richie's tea ready, Richie had already fallen asleep on the couch. His breathing was deep and slow with Grayson precariously balanced on the edge of the cushions, pressing into Richie's legs.

Eddie placed Richie's mug of tea on the coffee table before quietly making his way back to the kitchen. He intended to try like hell to keep himself busy, but that proved much easier said than done. After getting that morning's dirty plates and mugs into the dishwasher, Eddie resorted to cleaning the sink and counters. After his third trip around the room with a sponge, Eddie decided he'd better stop before he scrubbed a hole through the countertops.

Eddie just didn't know what else to do with himself. He didn't want to go into the bedroom, because he didn't want to be too far away in case Richie needed something. Eddie liked being able to look around the corner to make sure his husband was still sleeping peacefully. On the other hand, Eddie didn't want to sit in the living room, because he was feeling too damn fidgety to sit still, and he didn't want to risk rousing Richie from his respite.

He had the urge to make himself some coffee, but knew that was probably a bad idea. He certainly didn't need the caffeine right now given how frazzled his nerves already felt, but he didn't want Richie's decaf either. Eddie wouldn't admit it right now considering the fact that it was all Richie was allowed to drink, but decaf was indeed fucking disgusting.

Eddie wasn't much of a tea drinker either (he really only liked to drink it when he was feeling under the weather), but that was what he ended up putting in the Keurig. He stood here and watched the steaming amber liquid pour into his cup, not even sure why he was making it, because didn't even know if he wanted it or not. It was more for something to do right now.

Sitting down at the island counter, Eddie stared into his hot cup of tea, staring at the plumes of steam rising from the surface. A part of Eddie wished Grayson would come and sit with him, because he felt like he could use some companionship. Eddie knew Richie needed the dog more than he did, but goddamn if Eddie wasn't feeling weirdly connected to that dog after only a day.

Jesus, had they only gotten Grayson yesterday? So much had happened since then, it almost felt like a lifetime.

In the end, Eddie resorted to pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing Bill's number. He hated bothering Bill all the time like this, but he knew Bill wouldn't mind. Besides, a lot had happened since he had talked to the Losers last, and they really needed an update.

"Hey," Bill answered after the third ring. "How is everything over there?"

Eddie gave Bill a quick rundown of everything that had happened over the last few days – getting Grayson and the fact that he and Richie were basically "back together" in the most general sense of the words. It was weird thinking about how much had changed over such a short span of time, because in reality, it had only been days. Days.

"Told you, man," Bill said, sounding a bit smug. "Nothing is going to keep you two apart. Not now, not ever."

"Yeah," Eddie said around a sigh. "I guess I should have listened to you from the start, huh?"

"You guys are working things out," Bill replied, sounding like he didn't really think that would be much of a hurdle for them either. "It's going to be okay."

"That's what we keep telling ourselves. And each other."

A moment of silence passed before Bill honed in on Eddie's tone – and Eddie had known he would. Besides, it wasn't like Eddie had called Bill just to tell him about him, and Richie, and Grayson, as great as those things were.

"Why?" Bill asked. "What's going on?"

After taking a long breath, Eddie turned his tea cup on the counter, watching the still hot liquid swirl around inside. "Richie got called down to the police station today to look at a lineup," Eddie finally said.

"He did," Bill replied, and it wasn't a question. More of a question to make things seem real to him. "How…how did that go?"

"I don't know," Eddie said, and he truly didn't. Didn't know if they were ever going to be able to put the guy away or if things might go to shit again like Richie seemed to think. "I don't know," Eddie repeated, because it seemed like his brain wasn't following the conversation. "I…can't discuss the details with you – whether Richie identified anyone or not – but…it was hard on him. Even thinking about having to face that again."

"I imagine so."

"He…didn't even want to go at first," Eddie said miserably. "I mean, he knew it was the best course of action, but…I encouraged him to go." Eddie paused, because he was getting to the root of the matter. To the reason why he had called Bill in the first place. Because what he wanted was for Bill to tell him that he wasn't being a shitty husband again. "Maybe…I shouldn't have been so gung-ho about it."

"In the end, I think you did what you felt was right," Bill said. "I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have done the same thing in your shoes. It's good that Richie is taking a stand and trying to find who did this. Because that's the best outcome in all of this, isn't it? Getting those assholes behind bars, and that realistically can't happen if Richie doesn't do these things. I know it's hard for him right now, but it'll really be better in the long run. And it wasn't wrong of you to encourage that."

"I know," Eddie said around a breath. A tiny part of him felt slightly better due to Bill's words, and he was reminded again why Bill was one of his best friends; Bill always knew exactly the right things to say. "I just…I hate seeing him like this. Things were getting a lot better when we were able to focus on us and…trying to forget everything else that's happened. But I guess that's impossible, isn't it?"

"Mike told me something once," Bill said. "'Sometimes we are what we wish we could forget.' I wish I could forget what happened to G-Georgie. But…it's who I am now. There's no escaping that. No escaping how much it changed me, and…I don't know if that's entirely a bad thing. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Eddie replied almost automatically, staring down at the deep blue tile on the counter. At what had probably been white grout that he once upon a time would have been obsessed with cleaning with a goddamn toothbrush. "I do."

Eddie sometimes wondered why he'd had to go through so much shit with his mother and Myra. Why his life couldn't have been easier and simpler like it seemed for so many other people. But he reminded himself that that was a lie, because everyone had it hard in some form or another. Eddie just didn't know why he was the one who had been cursed with a mother and a wife who had fucked him up six ways from Sunday.

Then again, those things had really helped him and Richie to grow closer during the initial weeks and months of their relationship. They had always been close and loved each other, yes, but being able to work through those things with Richie by his side had deepened their love into something else entirely. Eddie wasn't going to say that what his wife and mother had put him through was a good thing, but in some weird fucked up way, it gave him what he now had with Richie. Something stronger than it could have been otherwise.

Maybe at some point in the very distant future, Eddie would be able to say that about everything they were going through now. Eddie couldn't quite imagine that ever happening, but he never thought he'd be entirely free of his mother and wife either.

"This whole thing is going to be hard for Richie," Bill said, pulling Eddie from his thoughts. "And hard for you too. That's undeniable. You can't…go through this trying to shield yourselves from experiencing any heartache, because that's impossible. But…it's like when we fought Pennywise. It was hard, and it s-sucked, and I'm sure we all wish we hadn't had to do it at all, but it's better now that It's dead."

"Yeah. It is."

Eddie sometimes had a difficult time thinking back on everything that happened with the clown. It wasn't like it was fading from his memory, not like it had the first time. Not quite. But it seemed so fantastical, like something out of a storybook. Not like something that happened to real people. Something that had happened to them.

They'd comment on it sometimes – on that 'fucking space clown' – but then they'd leave it there. Leave it in the past where it belonged. They would never dredge too deep into the details, but Eddie occasionally wondered how the people back in Derry were doing. If the kids there especially were living better lives now that It was dead. If the Losers had actually changed things for the better as much as Eddie liked to think they did. Or if things were still fucked up. If it was still a shithole town as much as it had always been.

But things were fucked up everywhere, weren't they? It was the nature of the world and the nature of humans as a whole. It wasn't Pennywise that fucked up everything. Just some things, and it was humans who fucked up the rest out of their own free will. Just as life in LA had now proven to Eddie, they didn't need a demon from outer space to make their lives miserable.

Then again, there were humans who didn't fuck shit up. People like Richie, and Bill, and the rest of the Losers who Eddie would never stop being grateful for. People like Richie who Eddie now wouldn't hesitate to lay down his life for, just like he had done back in the sewer in Derry. Eddie was only thankful that what Richie had seen in the Deadlights had given him enough foresight to push Eddie out of the way in time.

Richie. The other half of him that always seemed to make things okay again. That had joined him on this crazy rollercoaster called life and had somehow made everything Eddie had been through before worth it. Even if things were taking a slight detour now.

Eddie just needed to do the same for Richie now. Needed to take Richie's hand and guide him through the storm they found themselves in. Just as Richie had for him. Just as Richie never hesitated to do.

Anything for Richie. For his soulmate.

Releasing his hold on his mug, Eddie took a moment to stare down at his ring. At the diamond and platinum wedding band that Richie had placed there what now seemed like a lifetime ago. Eddie wondered if they would ever get back there – back to a time when everything between them had been so easy and simple – but he decided that it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered right now was getting Richie through this and trusting that things would fall into place on the other side. Just as they had once before.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, Eddie found himself smiling. Found himself weirdly grateful that he was the one who got to do this with Richie. That Richie was the one who wanted Eddie to help him through this. Wanted Eddie more than anything else. Still. After all this time and despite Eddie's massive mistakes, Richie was the one thing that would never give up on him.

Eddie turned around on the barstool, peering around the corner into the living room. He could only see the very end of the couch from his point of view, but it was enough to glimpse one of Richie's socked feet hanging off the end of the cushions. And the very tip of Grayson's tail wagging lazily as he slumbered next to Richie.

This tugged at Eddie's heart and he whispered, "Thanks, Bill."

"Think nothing of it."

It was strangely dark when Richie opened his eyes again. The sun had set outside and no lights were on in the house. None. But Eddie had promised that he'd turn them on once it started getting dark, so why hadn't he? Come to think of it, the comforting weight of Grayson sleeping against his legs wasn't there either. He supposed the dog could have gotten hungry and had gone to eat something, but still, why was it so dark?

This caused Richie to bolt up from his position, grabbing the back of the couch and looking around the darkened room. The only light in the room was from the moon and a streetlamp outside, which wasn't very much. Richie squinted into the blackness, trying to make out the shape of something familiar – Eddie, the dog, anything. Anything he could cling to for support until he found a fucking lamp to turn on.

"Eddie?" Richie asked, his voice seeming to echo off of the darkness itself. "G-Grayson? Here, boy." Richie whistled, hoping that this would get the attention of his wayward dog, but no. The rest of the house remained silent and unmoving.

Swallowing audibly, Richie reached out for the lamp on the table next to the couch, but it wasn't there. He reached farther, his hand flailing around, but it only met thin air. He even resorted to feeling around on the table itself, hoping that the base of the lamp would meet his fingers, but he only felt the smooth glass, his wedding ring tapping along the surface.

What in the hell was going on?

Next, Richie's eyes settled on the arch that led to the hallway, or rather, where he thought the archway would be, because it was entirely too dark to even see that. There was a switch on the right side of the doorway for the overhead light fixture in the room. They rarely ever used it, much more preferring the softer lamplight instead, but right now, Richie craved the way that light was able to flood the room with brightness. It would light up every nook and cranny, chasing away those things in the corners that people always pretended weren't there.

Richie pushed away from the back of the sofa, slowly setting his feet on the soft carpet in the center of the living room. It was reassuring in a way to know that at least the carpet he remembered was still there. That he wasn't going crazy completely. Climbing to his feet, Richie tried to ignore the fact that his legs felt weird and wobbly underneath him. It was just his now very real fear of the dark that was making him feel that way. Nothing more.

Richie tried to remind himself that he wasn't alone. Eddie and Grayson were still somewhere in the house. They had to be, because Eddie wouldn't just take the dog and leave Richie there. But then it occurred to Richie that maybe Grayson had to go out. Eddie might have taken him on a quick walk, not wanting to disturb Richie. But, no. He doubted that Eddie would just leave him there without any warning and without any lights on. Surely Eddie would have woken him up to tell him if Grayson needed to go.

"E-Eddie?" Richie asked again, only silence meeting his eyes. "Grayson? Come here, boy."

His feet still shaking, Richie quickly made his way over to the wall, to the light switch that would bring everything into sharp focus. Richie nearly slammed into the wall in his haste, his hands thumping along the textured painted surface for the plate that housed the switch. For a very brief, fleeting moment, Richie thought it wasn't there either. Just like the lamp itself. Gone from this world that was suddenly feeling so very wrong. But then his fingers connected with it, finding the switch itself and flipping it on.

Richie had time to wonder if the light would even come on at all, but then it did. Glorious, bright, flooding light that emblazoned across the room and lit up those pesky, sneaky corners. Richie flinched away only slightly, blinking his eyes against the harsh brightness. Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Richie carefully stepped off the carpet and onto the hardwood floor that led to the hallway. He continued to grip the wall in his hand, using it to steady himself as he edged around the doorway.

But then, oh dear god. He suddenly wished that the light hadn't worked at all, because he thought that the all-encompassing darkness would have been better than this. As his eyes adjusted to the light, the scene before him came into frightening clarity.

On the floor in the hall, on their highly polished wood floor that Eddie prided himself on, was a giant pool of blood. It was deep red, stark against the cherry wood tone, and oozing out into a larger puddle. At first, Richie wasn't sure where it was even coming from, but then he saw that too.

"E-Eddie?" Richie asked again, but this time, it wasn't to an empty room. His husband, the man that he loved more than anyone and anything else in the entire world was sprawled out on the floor before him.

Eddie's arms were stretched out, his hands clenched slightly with his fingers digging into the floorboards. Likewise, his legs were spread-eagled around him with one of his feet at an angle that Richie was pretty sure wasn't natural. That, however, wasn't what was so terrifying. Eddie's head was smack dab in the center of that gruesome puddle, and Richie could see more blood pulsing from somewhere in Eddie's matted hair.

More blood still was dripping from Eddie's slightly open mouth, and most horrifying of all were Eddie's eyes. They were still open too, but in this case, it was not a good thing. His beautiful soulful brown eyes were staring at Richie, unfocused and unseeing. Eddie wasn't moving and he wasn't breathing. There was nothing behind those eyes anymore – no emotion, or life, or love. Nothing. Nothing that Richie had once loved about his partner's eyes.

"Eddie!" Richie cried, lurching forward into the hallway. A moment later, he had collapsed to his knees in front of his husband, his blue jeans immediately soaking up that crimson color. The color of hurt, and death, and everything bad. Always. Red. Everything bad. "Oh my god, Eddie!"

Richie reached out, one of his hands going to Eddie's blood-soaked hair and the other going to one of Eddie's hands. But there was nothing to grab onto. Eddie was still there, but there was no warmth on his skin and no movement. He felt strangely cold, like a windowpane in the dead of winter, keeping the frozen air at bay.

"EDDIE!" was all Richie could scream. The only word that he could even remember anymore, because nothing made sense. Richie had only taken a nap and had woken up to…this. To his husband lying dead on the floor.

His beautiful, caring, loving husband. His everything.

The only thing Richie could do was scream. Scream into an otherwise empty room for the love of his life, lost to him again. Scream bloody murder for whoever had done this, and a part of Richie was pretty sure who it was. Those bastards back to finish the job they had started with him.

Only this time, they had left Richie unharmed. At least, he was unharmed in the physical sense, but Richie was pretty sure he was already dead too.

After Eddie had hung up with Bill, he resorted to playing some stupid matching game on his phone. He had already tried to get some reading done and that proved impossible, because he was unable to focus or make sense out of anything. He didn't want to watch videos or turn on the television for fear that he might wake up Richie, so at least this game was holding his focus for the time being.

Anything to pass the time. Anything to keep his mind off of everything else that had happened that day.

Grayson's whining was the first thing that alerted Eddie to the fact that something was wrong. At first, he assumed that maybe Richie had inadvertently pushed the dog off the couch in his sleep. Eddie set his phone down on the island counter, turning his chair and leaning back so he could see into the living room.

Grayson was still on the couch, but he was upright this time. He was staring down at Richie intently, whining ridiculously loudly for some reason.

"What's wrong, boy?" Eddie asked, which caused the dog to bark loudly.

Leaning over, Grayson looked like he was sniffing somewhere around Richie's face, but Eddie couldn't quite see over the back of the couch. Grayson whined again, appearing to press his muzzle against Richie's head. Sitting straight up again, Grayson barked at Eddie once more before returning to attention to Richie.

This got Eddie moving, jumping up from his seat and hurrying across the hardwood floor on shaky legs. Eddie's heart felt like it had leapt up into his throat, pulsing ridiculously fast. Eddie had no idea what was going on, or what had caused this reaction in Grayson, but he was fairly certain that it couldn't be good. He'd never seen the dog do this before, and he'd already acknowledged the fact that this dog knew shit.

"Richie?" Eddie asked quietly as he crossed over the threshold into the living room. He didn't want to startle Richie if he was still sleeping soundly, but a moment later, Eddie knew that wasn't the case.

Richie groaned loudly, thrashing his arms and legs out suddenly. Grayson was indeed displaced from the couch then, hopping down onto the floor. The dog was immediately on his hind legs, placing his front paws on the couch and pushing his nose into Richie's face again. Richie swatted mindlessly around, but Eddie didn't really think it was in response to the dog at all.

Squirming around on the cushions, Richie moaned again, but this time, it devolved into a loud sob. Richie mumbled something that Eddie couldn't quite make out, but then he heard something that nearly sounded like his name.

Grayson was staring at Eddie helplessly, and that finally made Eddie leap into action. He scurried around the end of the couch and promptly sat down on the coffee table in front of Richie. He reached out for one of Richie's hands, but then Richie suddenly flailed again, his arms going in opposite directions. Another scream escaped from his throat, just a garbled, nonsensical noise that dissolved into a sob.

It was Eddie's turn to scream now. "Richie!" he yelled, reaching out more firmly this time and taking both of Richie's wrists in his hands. Richie jumped and cried out against the touch, pulling away from Eddie, but Eddie held fast. Richie's eyes still didn't open, and he made no acknowledgement that he had otherwise heard Eddie.

"Richie!" Eddie shouted again, more loudly this time. He stood up slightly, using more of his weight to try and hold onto Richie. "Richie, please wake up. You're having a nightmare!"

Grayson took the initiative then, shoving his very wet nose into the bottom of Richie's chin. That caused Richie to yelp, kicking out one of his legs before his eyes opened, wide and scared behind his glasses. Almost immediately, Richie thrust himself up into a sitting position. He turned around on the sofa, staring out into the hallway before turning back to look at Eddie.

Richie was breathing hard, his entire chest and back quivering with each breath in and out. There were large beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, shining in the late afternoon sunlight still beating in through the windows. His damp hair clung to his forehead in clumps, his glasses fogging up from the moisture and warmth of his own skin.

"Hey," Eddie said quietly, releasing one of Richie's wrists. Instead, he brought his hand up to Richie's cheek, letting his fingers caress the stubble there. "Richie, you were having a nightmare. I'm here and you're safe, okay?" Grayson chipped in his two cents with a quick bark, and Eddie conceded, "And Grayson's here too."

Eddie took a moment to quickly scratch the dog behind the ears before refocusing his attention on Richie. Eddie brushed his fingers against Richie's cheek again and said, "You're okay. It's just us, and we're safe and sound at home. Nobody else is here."

"But…" Richie finally spoke before turning around in his seat again. He stared long and hard out into the hallway, and Eddie knew. He knew that Richie was looking at that spot in particular, the one where he had laid for god knew how long and bled. Eddie only wondered how much of what happened Richie remembered. How much of what happened had shaken loose after his time with the lineup.

"You were there," Richie said, still staring at that place on the floor. "You were there and-" Richie broke off with a sob, and Eddie pressed gently against Richie's cheek, trying to divert his husband's attention back to him.

"Richie," Eddie said quietly. He waited a moment, and when Richie didn't respond, Eddie said, "Don't look at that. Look at me."

Richie eventually faced Eddie again, albeit reluctantly. Why Richie would want to keep staring at that place on the floor was beyond Eddie, especially if he was started to remember what had happened there. Eddie brushed out some of the sweat-soaked hair from Richie's face, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he went. Eddie really wished he had a tissue or something handy, but he wasn't about to leave Richie right now to go and get some.

"You're okay," Eddie repeated, finally sitting back down on the coffee table again. "Can…can you talk to me?"

Richie nodded, bringing his hand up and placing it over the one Eddie had on his cheek. Richie's other hand sought out Grayson's head, giving the dog a few scratches behind his ears. This alone seemed to calm Richie considerably, and he drew a deep breath, relaxing back into the couch.

"Um…" Richie began, although he didn't entirely look like he knew what to say. He closed his eyes, drawing another deep, shuddering breath before he began again. "You were dead."

Eddie was silent, almost expecting Richie to say more, to explain what exactly his dream had been about. Then again, Eddie understood how even those three words had been difficult enough for him.

"I'm not dead," Eddie said firmly. "I'm right here."

Richie nodded again, although it seemed mechanical, like he really didn't know what to believe anymore. His eyes were still so large and round, and Eddie wished to god that he knew exactly what to do for Richie when he woke up like this. Talking to him didn't seem like enough, and touching him didn't seem like enough. But damnit, he would try.

Very slowly and carefully, Eddie stood up from the table. He didn't straighten up entirely, but instead, turned around in his spot, gently sitting down next to Richie on the couch. At least they were at a place in their relationship where Eddie didn't have to shy away from offering his husband the most intimate of touches.

Eddie hesitated for a moment, feeling Richie stiffen a bit next to him. "Can I hold you?" Eddie asked, not sure if Richie even wanted that.

Richie didn't reply for a moment. He continued to sit there, now staring straight ahead at what seemed like nothing in particular. His hand was still on top of Grayson's head, giving the dog a few absentminded pats every now and again. Then all at once, Richie leaned heavily into Eddie.

Eddie was momentarily caught off guard, but then he promptly brought his arms around Richie. His husband was shaking so very much, his shirt damp with sweat too. Eddie hugged him harder, hoping that perhaps the strong protectiveness of his arms would help to calm Richie further.

Seeming to curl in on himself, Richie tucked into Eddie's chest, almost like a tiny child. He brought one of his arms up, laying it over Eddie's and squeezing Eddie's bicep incredibly hard.

"Eddie," Richie gasped out before the sound dissolved into sobs. Richie began quivering even harder now, his own shaking now joined by the force of his cries.

Not having any clue what to do, Eddie gently began rocking Richie back and forth. He started running a hand up and down Richie's back, hoping that that too would help to bring Richie some comfort.

It seemed like Grayson didn't know what to do either, because he was staring at the scene in front of him with ridiculously round eyes. Grayson eventually jumped back onto the couch, sitting down on the other side of Richie. Laying his head down on Richie's thigh, Grayson whined, staring up at Eddie in sadness and confusion.

Eddie knew exactly how he felt.

Meanwhile, back at the Los Angeles County Police Department, Detective Bannerman shoved the sides of his suit jacket out of the way and placed his hands on his hips. "Fuck!" he shouted as he watched his partner, Detective Schulman close the door of the interrogation room.

They had just watched their main suspect, Erik Copeland, walk out of the station. They had to, because as much as they had tried, Erik wasn't answering any questions much less admitting to anything. The man had already consented to a lineup, but they couldn't hold the man based on a positive identification alone. Erik had asked if he was being arrested and after a negative response, he asked if he could leave.

Bannerman could only let him go.

"You really think it's him," Schulman said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I mean, the victim's ID in these cases doesn't always count for much," Bannerman replied. He then pointed to his little notebook, which he had opened to that page with the symbols on it and laid out on the table for Erik to see. "But Richie knew what that meant and where it's from." He shook his head firmly before he added, "That isn't a coincidence, and thank god you had the foresight to write it down."

The very corner of Schulman's lips twitched up into a smile. "I knew that meant something. It was…weird, you know? Just that red notebook sitting out on his table with this strange string of letters and symbols written on it. I…didn't even know if it had anything to do with the case in particular, but…I don't know. Something made me take note of it."

Bannerman stared up at the ceiling, at the panel in particular that had a huge stain on it from a water leak at one point. He always wondered why they couldn't get it replaced, because it was so unsightly, but he supposed they had more important things to spend money on rather than those stupid foam squares that covered the pipes and shit in the ceiling.

"If only that alone was enough to arrest someone," Bannerman mused.

A very long moment of silence passed before Schulman asked, "Do you think it's enough to get a search warrant?" When Bannerman met his eyes, Schulman added, "The worse that could happen is the judge tells us to go fuck ourselves."

Bannerman stood there, staring at his partner and weighing the pros and cons in his mind. He desperately wanted to get this man off the streets for Richie, but even more than that, he wanted to find out who had committed this crime with him. At least there was some sort of comfort in knowing who did this, but when they only had the identity of one-half of the perpetrators involved, there was no telling what the other one could be up to.

Picking the notebook up from the table, Bannerman flipped it closed before replacing it in his pocket. He reached for the door, pulling it open and holding it for his partner.

Following Schulman from the room, Bannerman said, "If the judge yells at us, I'm blaming you."

To be continued…