Some Assembly Required (15 page)

She looked over at Patrick, who hadn’t moved. “Benji, about Patrick—”

“Go easy on him, he’s had a hard day?” Benji said sarcastically. He curled his upper lip into a sneer.

Agnes snorted. “Not at all. He’s the most emotionally stunted, stubborn man I’ve ever met. Give him hell.”

She surprised Benji by going up on her tiptoes and pressing a brief, feathery kiss against his cheek before disappearing, leaving only the faint scent of wet wool behind after she’d teleported.

He stared at the empty space she’d occupied for a second before turning back to Patrick. He wasn’t sure if Patrick had registered Agnes’s departure at all. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share any of his aura with Patrick. Why should he, when Patrick clearly valued his own afterlife so little?

Patrick tried to push off the counter to move toward Benji, and Benji shot forward to grab him before he could collapse. Patrick looked about as strong as a newborn lamb. He was too heavy for Benji to carry, so he let himself sink slowly to the floor with Patrick in his arms. And since he’d never been good at holding an angry grudge, he rucked up the back of Patrick’s T-shirt and let his fingers rest lightly just above the waistband of his jeans. Patrick had always felt almost feverishly hot to Benji, but today his skin was clammy and chilled. Benji spread his fingers out, concentrating on how much he wanted to help Patrick. His aura flowed out of him, his fingers prickling as Patrick’s skin warmed under his touch.

Benji was glad they were already sitting because the energy transfer made his knees weak. Or maybe it was just relief that Patrick was okay. Either way, he didn’t feel like he was in much better shape himself.

He pulled back and looked at Patrick. Really looked at him, taking in more than just his mussed hair and his gray, drawn face. There were lines on Patrick’s forehead that he’d never noticed, either because he’d never been this close to him before or because the trauma had aged him.

“Trauma he brought on himself,” Benji muttered. It was hard to think about how utterly helpless he’d felt watching Patrick fight off the Weople in the parking garage. He swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat down. He’d really thought he might lose Patrick there for a few minutes, and it had been terrible.

This wasn’t just a crush. He’d convinced himself that it was a proximity thing. Patrick was the only available guy in purgatory, since Benji definitely wasn’t going to try to form any sort of relationship with one of the Impressions. Or moon around after a customer, though that would probably be more productive than trying to get an Impression to actually have a conversation that didn’t revolve around its death.

But there was no way that the panicky terror he still felt coursing through him was due to a crush. He’d fallen head over heels for the prickliest, most sarcastic, most kindhearted and caring asshole he’d ever met. Dammit.

Benji stroked a finger down Patrick’s cheek, and Patrick’s eyes fluttered open at the contact. Each touch made Benji a little weaker, and each touch roused Patrick that much more. Without Agnes’s power boost, Benji would have been in the ball pit by now. If he kept it up, he’d end up there yet.

He pulled his hand back, mindful of the fact that if he were in his right mind, Patrick wouldn’t be nuzzling into Benji’s palm like a newborn kitten seeking heat. This didn’t have anything to do with Patrick’s feelings for Benji, it was just an automatic reaction—

“Benji,” Patrick croaked out, and Benji startled so hard he nearly bucked Patrick out of his lap.

Benji braced himself for an onslaught of accusations and abuse, but they didn’t come. Patrick nestled closer and repeated his name, and Benji’s stomach flipped when he realized that Patrick still wasn’t quite himself.

That had to mean something. The physical attraction between them was undeniable, but with Patrick’s hot-and-cold behavior, Benji had convinced himself that was all it was. But calling out for him in his semi-comatose state? That went beyond the realm of hookup. Benji felt like his heart was in his throat as he cupped Patrick’s cheek, ghosting his thumb across cheekbones that didn’t look quite so sunken anymore. Patrick’s eyes shot open, and he scrambled out of Benji’s lap, all elbows and uncoordinated knees.

Benji groaned as he took a flailing limb to the kidney. Not that he actually needed it anymore, but it still hurt.

“Are you fucking
kidding me
?” Patrick yelled, jumping to his feet with a grace and coordination that surprised Benji, given the pile of pathetic goo Patrick had been only moments before.

Benji struggled to his own feet, keeping his distance from Patrick, who was actively glaring at him now. “Why am I not in the ball pit? Where’s Agnes?”

Benji took a careful step forward. He didn’t know if the power boosts he and Agnes had given Patrick had left him confused and disoriented or if this was just plain old Patrick Defense Mode. It didn’t matter. Either way, he and Patrick were going to have words.

“I’ve been feeding you some of my aura so you didn’t dissipate before I had a chance to tell you what an absolute fucking moron you are,” Benji snarled. His knees still felt weak with relief at seeing Patrick whole and mostly steady on his feet, but the tenderness he’d felt a second ago had vanished, leaving only the white-hot burn of anger and betrayal.

Confusion flitted across Patrick’s face. “You shouldn’t be able to—”

“I don’t care,” Benji interrupted. Patrick’s confusion morphed into shock, his eyes going wide. Benji knew what he probably looked like. Benji’s temper was almost nonexistent, until it exploded. Charles used to jokingly call it hulking out. And nothing got Benji there faster than someone he cared about taking stupid risks. “I want to know what the hell you were thinking going out there.”

Patrick’s expression changed again, coming closer to his usual aloof ennui but missing the mark a bit. He looked shaken and weak, and his eyes didn’t seem to be focusing right. He leaned heavily back against the counter and waved his hand negligently. “I think you mean what in
Wallville
was I thinking,” he said. Even his trademark smirk couldn’t completely erase the exhaustion on his face. “Get it? Because Wallville is hell. Amirite?”

Benji clenched his fists at his sides, since his other option was to throttle Patrick, and he’d expended too much energy keeping him on this plane to banish him with an act of aggression.

“Can you be serious for one goddamn second so we can talk about this?”

Patrick’s fake good humor dropped like a curtain. “No, because there’s nothing to talk about.”

He was still a bit wobbly on his feet, but Patrick managed to leave the counter and start stalking away. His movements were stiff, and Benji wondered if that meant fighting with the Weople had left actual physical injuries. The thought pissed him off even more.

“Well, too bad, because I’m not done,” he bit out, his jaw clenched.

Patrick had made it an entire home mock-up away, out of the kitchen setups and into the children’s furniture, but he was slowing down. Benji caught up with him without a problem.

“What if they’d taken you away? What was worth the risk to go out there?”

Patrick sighed wearily. “There wasn’t any danger, Benji. There was a kid there. We had it under control.”

If Benji hadn’t been standing there with Agnes and Karin earlier, he might have believed that, but as it was, he knew it was a lie. Going to the outer edges of the parking garage by itself was a risky endeavor. But fighting with the Weople? That was a whole other level.

“You know that’s not true.” Benji’s voice broke, and he swallowed hard. His panic and anger had taken a lot out of him, and he felt his own energy levels ebbing dangerously low. “There aren’t second chances with the Weople. If they take you, you’re gone for good.”

Patrick laughed humorlessly. “And is that so bad? If we believe that they take people to hell, then it’s just exchanging one consciousness for another, isn’t it? The law of conservation of matter, and all that.”

Benji stared at him in horror. “Is that so bad? Is that so
bad
? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Patrick shrugged. “Trading one unexplainable existence for another? Who can say? I can’t. Apparently I wasted my life getting my doctorate in particle physics when I should have been studying theology instead.”

“You were trying to get taken.” Benji rushed forward and crashed into Patrick, sending both of them flying into the children’s TARANTO wardrobe with enough force that the door cracked and splintered under the impact. “You absolute asshole. You’re too scared to move on. You want someone else to make the choice for you because you can’t believe that there’s anything else out there. You’re so goddamn scared of admitting there might be a higher power that you play chicken with wraiths for fun.”

Patrick’s wooden smile didn’t come close to lighting his eyes. “It’s more Russian Roulette than chicken.”

A sob escaped Benji’s throat, and he fisted his hands in Patrick’s collar, slamming him back against the door. “You can’t do that.” His voice sounded pleading, and he cleared his throat, trying to get a handle on himself. “People count on you, Patrick. Have some respect for that, even if you don’t have any for yourself or this place.”

He let go of Patrick’s shirt, all of his anger abruptly draining out of him. He felt tired and achy. Broken in a way that he hadn’t experienced since Charles walked out. Why did he always have to fall for men who were so self-absorbed they couldn’t see past their own noses?

He only made it two steps away before he felt Patrick grab him around the waist and reverse their positions. His breath was hot on Benji’s forehead as he held him against the door. The splintered wood pushed against his back, stabbing through the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

“I don’t want anyone to count on me. That’s the point!”

Patrick glared down at him, but Benji refused to be cowed. He stared back, his jaw set and his expression angry.

“I was fine! Everything was fine until you came. I was
fine.”

Benji didn’t respond, not that Patrick waited for him to. Now that he was finally talking, it was like a dam had broken. Benji didn’t think he’d be able to get a word in even if he’d wanted to.

“After Alec I realized that everything here is fleeting. Attachments are stupid. Everyone leaves. And it had been fine. Good, even. I liked my life here. My MILAN bed. My weekly crossword puzzle showdown with Henry. Scaring the ever-loving fuck out of Tommy. Helping people move on.”

Patrick’s expression was so vulnerable and bleak that Benji had to look away. He’d wanted Patrick to open up to him, but this was too much. All or nothing. Everything with Patrick seemed to follow those rules. There was no middle ground.

“But you—you were something else. Someone to hang out with, someone to talk to who actually could keep up. And I thought that would be enough, but you kept pushing.” Patrick was the one pleading now, his voice hoarse. “Goddammit, Benji, why do you have to push?”

Patrick punctuated the last word with a hard push of his own. The sliver of wood punched through the back of Benji’s T-shirt and punctured his skin, a pinprick of pain that was instantly forgotten when Patrick crashed their lips together. There wasn’t anything gentle or teasing about the kiss—it was frantic and angry, all hard edges and barely contained hostility, just like Patrick. Benji gave as good as he got, kissing back with the same bruising force, like he could communicate all of his worry and relief that way.

Kissing someone new always came with a learning curve. A negotiation for dominance, a tentative exploration into what pleased the other person. This wasn’t like that. Even though Patrick had been the one to instigate it, he immediately let Benji take control of the kiss. And Benji felt none of the usual hesitance, instead pouring everything he had into the bright-hot slide of Patrick’s lips against his. He’d braced himself against the cabinet when Patrick had slammed him into it, and he brought his hands up from his sides now, gliding over hard muscle until he could slide his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck. He used gentle pressure and tiny, teasing tugs to get Patrick to curve into him, wrapping Patrick’s bigger body around his own as he stretched and strained to meet him in the middle. Every point of contact between them seemed to sing with energy, and if he’d been able to pry his eyes open Benji was half-sure he’d see actual sparks flying. The energy transfer that was usually a comforting warmth had kicked into overdrive, and Benji’s skin felt electric, crackling with something that made his hairs stand on end.

Patrick reared back suddenly, and Benji instinctively dropped his hands, letting him go. He wasn’t surprised when Patrick bolted, taking one step back and then teleporting away.

Benji knocked his head back against the broken door, his mind whirling as he fought to center himself. His breathing was abnormally loud in the otherwise empty room, and it echoed around him.

He gave himself a moment before leaning forward, wincing as the splinter of wood pulled against the tender skin of his back. He craned his neck trying to get a good look at the damage, but he couldn’t see anything in the shadows of the room.

He pulled his shirt off, his mouth falling open when he saw the huge hole in the back of it. He bent an arm up behind himself, sweeping his fingers over his still-sore skin. They came away dry, which didn’t make any sense. He’d felt the shard of cabinet go into his back, and his shirt was ruined. He hurried over to the long LUCENTE mirror mounted on the TRIGNO wardrobe and turned around, blinking in confusion at the smooth expanse of his back. The only thing that even hinted at an injury was the faintly pink skin where the puncture wound had been.

But if they healed that fast, why had Patrick still been limping so long after his fight with the Weople? Were the injuries the Weople inflicted more serious? Could Patrick die from them?

Benji started to toss the shirt aside but came up short when his gaze caught on the hole. With Patrick gone to who knew where, leaving even more questions in his wake, it was the only proof Benji had that what had just happened was real.