221B

A true, full-fledged smirk grew on Ben's face at Baldric's words, the man'a laugh rumbling through his chest and yet also pulsing through Ben. It brought a lighter, less stressful feeling for the older man, and though it made him wary and cautious, the feeling was appreciated immensely. His shoulders relaxed as Baldric moved to rest his chin atop one, fearful that his anxiety would be felt easily due to his lover's nearness. But it seemed that the blond was attributing any tension in the dark-haired man as delayed stress from the day, and not what it really was:

Panic.

Bentley had no right to ask Baldric to try and understand what he had done. And, really, he knew there would be retribution for hiding yet another thing from his Gryffindor. So he decided that, if given opportunity, he would just have to throw it all out there and accept his fate. It was better than being halfway to the bedroom when Baldric looked down and caught sight of the mark. Impossibly so.

"Well I don't think any of you really want to be stuck there," Ben mused aloud, pulling his fingers back so he could cut farther down, only half registering how slowly he was actually accomplishing the task at hand. It seemed as though he could keep the topic at bay as well as keep Baldric wrapped around him so long as he kept working on the leeks in question. "I doubt that any of the people working with Keiran would be upset if someone admitted it."

At Baldric's announcement, Ben set down the knife, turning in his lover's arms to give him a proud smile. Really, it felt odd to be proud of someone he wasn't attached to in any real terms, but they were close enough that he felt it just as strongly. "That's brilliant," he offered earnestly. He faltered at Baldric's question, unsure for a moment if he had the courage to say anything. Ben came to the conclusion, surprisingly quickly, that if he wanted his Gryffindor to have any sense of acceptance, he would have to tout a few qualities of the house of lions.

Swallowing hard, he stole a lingering kiss before pulling back and extracting himself from their embrace. He moved to pick up the beer he had been given, partly as an excuse but mostly because he felt he might need it in a few moments. When he set the bottle back down, his expression was one of discomfort and frustration. "Bae, I did something dangerous today. See, Audriana found out more about my parents than I really cared to know. But I found my father, and... Well, there was only one way to get him to talk with me. Get him to meet me and... Well, I just hope he keeps his word to explain everything to me."

His lips curled in between his teeth for a moment before he let out a breath, his right hand reaching for the left shirt sleeve. He hesitated, though, not daring to roll it back yet. Instead, his eyes pleaded with Baldric silently for a second before he spoke. "I had no choice, Bae. I have to know him. I have to understand why he wouldn't keep me after my mother died."

The idea of being stuck anywhere lacked any appeal whatsoever. Confinement was something that Baldric, like many Gryffindors, struggled with – especially during Hogwarts. It was what had turned him onto Quidditch, what had made him love it beyond his father’s incessant urging to do so. It was what had made him turn to the influence of the older students, to, with Millie, dance into the dark shadows of their world and come out in some semblance of order. Somehow they’d made it out alright in the end – bad people come good, in a sense. Structure would always be a problem for him and discipline in some areas ever a trial but that was what made it endlessly ironic that he desired the strange uniformity of further education.

“It’s been invaluable though,” he protested with a small smile. “I suppose more than anything I’m just bugged that this is meant to be the modern sort of government the people of the past should’ve yearned after. Instead blood purists still have the run of the place. Terrible things happen to people who can’t help sickness.” He sighed heavily and squeezed around Ben’s middle, shooing away the sadness within himself. He smiled at the congratulations and pressed a kiss in thanks to the pulse point thrumming away somewhat wildly in the elder man’s neck given he was only cutting leeks and having cuddles. It wasn’t the aroused sort of bullet train pulse, either. If Baldric didn’t know better, he would’ve said there was something like terror there.

Baldric didn’t mind when Ben pulled away, electing to take up the knife and chop up the things with a little bit more speed than his other half was treating them with. Soon enough the leeks were cut into neat little circular piles and Baldric moved onto the onions, cracking open the skins and beginning to slice them gently into rings. He smiled at Ben a little but the upwards curl of his mouth receded when the elder man began to speak. Baldric put down the knife and turned, wiping his hands on his jeans before reaching to pick up his own beer, listening intently to what his lover was saying.

“What have you done?” Baldric asked, fixing a steady eye on Ben. His tone was clipped and cold but his body language remained half-normal and accessible. Yet, the nervousness was there. The assertion that Ben always had a choice was present, daring to be tipped off of his tongue into the open air but he couldn’t bear to part with it just yet. Instead he stayed quiet and waited, his eye inconsequentially flitting over Ben’s hand and where it lingered. It took a moment but the significance of that arm, that forearm did not go wanting on the mind of the Gryffindor. He didn’t want to believe it but the inevitable question reached his lips.

“You didn’t?”

Bentley's mouth turned down at the corners, his eyebrows pulling together as shame and sorrow became openly apparent. "I think you know exactly what happened," Ben said quietly, not daring to pull the sleeve up. If Baldric chose to do so, that would be his choice. But Ben refused to push it in the blond's face considering it seemed to hurt him so badly just to think about it. Ben wasn't sure about the story behind that, but he was completely sure that he didn't want to ask about it.

"Love, I was guaranteed a way to see my father, and I took it. I'm going to prove to him that it was a mistake to give me up, no matter the situation with my mother. You know the deal with her isn't the issue here - blood whatever or not, this is about redemption. If I have to work with them, I'm going to."

It was.... blunt. It was harsh. But it was the truth, and so long as he didn't outrightly lie to Baldric, Bentley could hope that some sort of forgiveness would be sent his way. Already, he was waiting for the younger man to walk over and hit him. Or just leave. Either way, the weekend was ruined, and something told Bentley that he was going to regret it forever. What if Baldric never came back? He wouldn't know what to do with himself.

But even still, if Bentley had not taking the opportunity presented to him by Lorcan, he would have regretted that forever just the same. It came down to his need to understand his father. It came down to the engrained question of what he could have done to make his parents not want him. Now, he knew it was his father that was the one who left him, as his mother had not been given a choice. As far as he could tell, she had wanted him, but in the end, she couldn't have come back for him. She certainly couldn't now that she was gone. And Bentley couldn't even remember her. He needed confirmation, needed an explanation, and needed... help, probably.

He just wished it could come from the man standing in front of him. "I need you to know that this has nothing to do with how I feel about you. Because I love you. This is about how I feel about my parents and my past. I can tell that you're angry. I understand that. But this is the only choice I have. I desperately hope you'll understand, but I don't expect you to. I can't ask you to do something you don't believe in. And if it's me that you can't handle this time, that's fine. But I hope it's not."

Baldric bristled, his shoulders straightening, as all traces of humour flooded free from his face. He swallowed tightly, desperately trying to find some sort of reconciliation between the man stood before him and the man he thought he knew. Baldric clenched and unclenched his fingers, ignoring the snapping of the joints as they unfurled. He flinched at Ben’s words, dismay burgeoning across his features. He stole back a step, his bum hitting the counters, almost scalded by the tone he was presented with, but he reaffirmed his disbelief, reaffirmed his resolve and he stared, unable to quite acquiesce with the fact that he was actually hearing what was passing by his ears.

Clasping his hands together with mock-enthusiasm, Baldric addressed Ben with all of the vitriol that he felt brimming up inside of him without repent.

“So, what, you and daddy will go out on little jaunts somewhere through the countryside at the weekend, torturing Mudbloods as you go? Then maybe a trip to the pub afterwards to laugh about the way they writhe, scream and cry for their loved ones? It’s the epitome of a father-son relationship, isn’t it? Completely non-problematic and to think,” He slapped his hand to his forehead, widening his eyes as though having an epiphany. “I thought the route of the problems with my father was that we were both bastards to each other but no, it being based off of Quidditch was completely wrong. Not a bonding point at all. I forget that the best way to get to know another human being is through wanton murder, militant racism and a healthy dose of the Cruciatus Curse. Oh! How I’ve gone wrong!”

Baldric threw his arms up into the air, reaching out to grab his beer off of the side. He shook his head, taking a deep swig, trying to get some sort of sense out of Ben’s words – some sort of reasoning or rationale. He had none. There was none for this. This was madness.

“Don’t give me that bollocks,” he spat, slamming down the bottle. “You always have a choice. There is always a better way. And they are not your parents. You want closure? That’s fine. You want to understand where you came from? That makes sense. But they did not raise you, Ben. They do not care for you. Your mother can be forgiven somewhat but him. If joining those fanatics is the only way you can speak to him then, I am sorry, but he’s not worth finding out about. You owe nothing to him. You are not the one that should be bending. And God knows you shouldn’t so stupid as to fuck up everything you have now for the sake of someone who abandoned you. That’s mad.”

“I love you, Ben.” Baldric snapped. “And I’m not angry. I’m pissed. You can’t take that back, that mark. You can’t wiggle out of what it means. Do you even have the stomach for what they do? Can you do that to another human being? What they do? What they did? To the Longbottoms, to the Weasleys … to my mum? Could you live with that just for the sake of being with your father?” Baldric ran his hands through his hair. He’d said it himself. There was no way out.

“You’re weak, Ben,” he spat, folding his arms across his chest. “You should know that it’s wrong. That he’s wrong for siding with them. Why is this man who you owe nothing to who, I can’t stress enough, abandoned you – who in twenty-odd years didn’t put in the slightest bit of effort to see you – suddenly so important now? Why is he worth everything you’ve ever worked for? Because that’s what’ll happen. Death Eaters go to Azkaban. That’s where he’s going to land you, Ben. The Aurors. The Ministry. They’ll take everything away because you are now guilty of everything he is - everything they are - because you wear that brand.”

"You have no idea what you're on about, Baldric," Ben snapped, jaw tight and eyes cold. "My mother is somewhat not in the wrong? Fucking hell, mate. I don't care what you say about my father, but you'll watch what you say about her. She may have wanted to keep me, but it hardly mattered considering she died." He paused, allowing that fact to register in Baldric's mind after he had tried so hard not to have to think on it. "I will not sit back and let you make her into a villain for something she couldn't control. For not knowing who my father was -- who he would become.

"So don't you dare go off on me about who is to blame. For all I know, she wanted to keep me. And you'll not take that from me."

He couldn't help the fact that he was fuming, or that his threats came with pointed fingers and grand shows of aggression both on his features and in his stance. Never had he been so angry with Baldric, or even bothered to fight back when the blond became angry. But something about his desperation for at least one of them to have considered him worth something... It just made him utterly furious when that possibility was being judged.

His hands came up to tug at the ends of his hair, trying with all his might to subdue the anger that resonated through him. "Of course I damn well know what it is that they do. I've been-" involved with them for years. Been feeding them money to stay off of their hit list. Bentley cleared his throat, attempting to play it off like he was just so upset that he had gotten stuck. "I've been following their actions just like everyone else," he amended.

"Don't pretend you're some righteous Gryffindor who has never done anything against anyone. I told them outright that I refuse to be involved in battles of any kind, and that's not going to change. I won't be dealing out curses or tearing apart families. Really, you should be glad I didn't become a werewolf, considering everything they've been doing recently. I should hope you would be a bit more concerned about that one. The fact that you think -- that you can even imagine me doing any of those things...? It just tells me what I needed to know. You have no faith in me. I was wrong and naive to think that you could. Clearly, if you can't see how important this is, and how much good it could do me, then I don't care to hear what you expect me to do to innocents.

"This isn't about making lives miserable, as much as you seem to want to believe it is. I cannot live, now, knowing that while my mother could have wanted me, she had no option - but my father, he could have. But I'm not good enough. Wasn't then, and in his eyes couldn't be. But I've built myself up from nothing, and spent years on my own because the world thought I couldn't do anything or make anything of myself. I was this shameful, parent-less Slytherin who could amount to nothing. He'll be shown that he's never been more wrong than he was when he made that decision. He could have made me into the very image of a Death Eater, but now I'm doing things on my terms and he'll just have to deal with it."

Ben's chest heaved with the effort of drawing in rapid breaths and trying (but failing) to keep his voice level. Mrs. Hudson would be up any minute if they didn't start keeping their volumes set to inside-voice. "You know what?" He added, closing his eyes briefly and shaking his head. Opening them once more, he glared daggers at Baldric, not sure if he should be depressed or feeling completely entitled to his new-found aversion. The younger man seemed unable to find the good in him that he had claimed Ben possessed. "I can't sit here and listen to you tell me what a horrible human being I am. I really can't. You clearly have no intention of finding a way to handle this, so I won't ask you to. Someone who loved me would try to understand rather than leaving me just like he did. That makes you no better than he was in the moment that he decided I wasn't worth trying.

"I think you should go."

Baldric would allow for the stab of guilt. He took it in, accepted the wound, but quelled the regret within himself. He wanted to apologise in that moment but his anger dissolved his gentler, apologetic feelings. He didn’t want to hurt Ben but every word that came out of his mouth had been dripping with daggers primed to inflict damage. But he hadn’t wanted to. He loved him. Baldric’s fault lay in his temper and his inability to articulate what he really meant. Instead the words that left his mouth couldn’t be taken back. There was part of him that didn’t want to, either.

“Dead is she?” He exclaimed. “Well mine is dying because of something your oh-so-precious father’s friends did to her. I have to live with what happened to her! So yes, I do have every idea of what I am on about. I’m sorry you don’t get to know your mother – really, I am. I know how that feels. She probably did want to keep you, any mother would, but you know what? No mother would want this for their child. She wouldn’t want you with them. God knows, I’ve made it clear as day this is the last thing I want for you. Anyone who has anything to do with them needs their marbles felt because they are evil.”

“It’ll change,” Baldric swore, his eyes flashing. “They don’t give a flying toss about what you want. You are number, Ben. You’re not important to them – not important enough for them to respect what you want. You will be involved with battles. You will have to rip families apart because that’s what it’s going to take, isn’t it, to knit yours together again! I’ll be forgiven,” Baldric spat, “for being blind to how ‘good’ this can be for you because I know what they do. They don’t just destroy the lives of innocents but those who are in their ranks, too. I have faith in you, Ben, but I don’t trust what they’ll do to you.”

“You weren’t good enough?” Baldric all but shrieked. “You were a baby! He didn’t know a light about you! You were a babe in arms that needed someone to love you! If he thought that you weren’t good enough, when you were guilty of nothing in the world, then he’s the one that needs to get his priorities together and it makes everything you’re doing for him even more asinine than it already is, Ben! He should have loved you as fiercely and as irrevocably as I do from the word go! He has no right to do anything because you said it yourself – he could’ve chosen you! He didn’t. Why should he get anything now when he’s done nothing for you?”

“And you were never that person,” Baldric snapped coldly. “You were always going to amount to something, Ben because you are a Slytherin – you’re made of ambition and drive so there was no way in hell you weren’t going to be someone great or do something important! You did that without him. You proved that for yourself, not for him. Damned I might be in your eyes now but for god’s sake, I’m not going to just stand here and support you in throwing your life away! I’m not perfect and righteous I am but I want to protect what I have. I’m not going to amount as much success as you are but I wouldn’t be so eager to throw everything away for someone who has done nothing but let me down!”

“You’re crazy if you think that making yourself into a Death Eater somehow makes it better. Because it’s your choice? So? You’re still doing it! You’re still crazy enough to think that it’s an okay thing to do! No, you see, you’re wrong. I don’t think you’re a horrible human being I’m … I’m mad for you. I love you, Ben. But no, you must be right. Clearly I don’t love you enough to understand this – as though it’s something completely rational and capable of being understood!”

Baldric blinked at the final sentence. Part of him stubbornly wanted to stay but he knew that all hope of a pleasant weekend was long gone now. No, instead he turned off the hob roughly, one last show of lingering concern for Ben. He could hear the movements of Ms. Hudson below and he didn’t want to linger for that dressing down. So no, Baldric did leave, storming through the flat. He shoved his feet roughly and imprecisely into his shoes and grabbed his jacket off of the back of the couch, throwing it on, deciding to leave his bag. There were only really bed clothes inside and a few movies he’d thought they could watch. Nothing that mattered.

“You know what?” Baldric whirled around. “I am nothing like him, Ben. I want what’s best for you and I have enough sense to know it’s not that. But I’m going to respect your decision.” Baldric held up his hands in defeat. “I’m going, just like you want. But you are worth trying for. He’s not. He should’ve changed for you, not the other way around. But you’ve made your bed, haven’t you? Lay in it, by all means. I clearly can’t stop you.”

And with that, Baldric was gone.

By the time Baldric returned Ben to his flat, the older man was already feeling a bit more comfortable in his own skin. That wasn't to say, of course, that he felt he deserved to be taken away from Azkaban or anything. He had given up the secrets Baldric had entrusted him with, just for a shot at getting to know a man who clearly couldn't care less about his own son. Who didn't give a thought to the innocents he took down in his attempt to infuriate the werewolves. Unfortunately, the ones Keiran taught were not affiliated with James, so Clarence's plans had been for naught. That, Ben conceded mentally, was at least one thing he held back - Veritaserum or not.

It wasn't like he had wanted to give up the things he kept quiet to earn Baldric's faith. Not really and truly. But the serum had done its work, and Ben had been of the mind that he could at least meet Clarence and give it a go. Obviously, luck had not been on Ben's side. Nor had his father.

It was as the door opened and he saw his flat for the first time in days that he realized Rose would be gone back to the school. The place was suddenly nothing but a huge, pretentious, empty flat - save for one misguided and troubled man, who would be trapped within those walls just as much and as easily as he was trapped in his own mind. The idea that someone like Ben owned such a place made the man himself want to scoff. For two years, he had called the apartment his home, and yet it held no touch of the dark-haired wizard anywhere. Instead, photos of Rose's family had hung on the walls - though Ben noticed as he walked into the living room that they had been taken away with her. All the better; he didn't want to have to see her expression when she heard. If she had seen him as he was now...? Ignoring the casual attire, it would have been obvious that Bentley had spent his last five days being tortured - not physically, mind, though it nearly felt that way. What he wanted more than anything in that moment was to just go over to the far wall, lean against it, and slide down to sit at the base of it. Such a stance had become his automatic, somehow rational-seeming approach to his cell, and now it was trying to translate itself into his rooms at home.

Ben tore his gaze away from the wall, instead making himself focus on the couch where it sat behind the low coffee table. That was where he would have sat himself any other day. But Ben had the distinct feeling that Baldric was watching him, so his movements were rapidly becoming questioned more and more in his mind. Rather than choosing either of the options he had considered, Ben turned around to face Baldric, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he shifted his weight (which, in all probability, was much less than it had been a few days prior).

"Um. So, thanks, I guess," he offered weakly, eyes scanning the floor rather than meeting the other man's gaze. "I'll send the clothes to you as soon as I've changed." Lie. Or, at least, a postponement of the inevitable. Ben intended to wear the apparel for as long as he could still feel Baldric there - still smell his (ex-?) lover in the material.

"I think I'm just going to try and sleep," he shrugged, frankly uncertain as to whether or not he could stomach anything after failing to do so for upwards of five days. Honestly, sleep wouldn't come no matter what Ben claimed he wanted to do. But it was better than asking Baldric to stay when he doubted the blond could bring himself to do so. It was unfair and would probably just end up making his insides ache. Not to mention the fact that it would be utterly presumptuous of him to imply any expectation for his former roommate to stay. Obligation didn't need to be felt by either party as far as Ben was concerned.

And he was, by the way. Concerned. But mostly that he had ruined his life and had only just begun to feel the effects of it.

Mrs Hudson was downstairs, no doubt, watching Loose Women with a cup of tea and a sandwich. It felt as blessed as it did bizarre to be at home again. Baldric shed his jacket and hung it up on the hook by the door, stretching his arms up over his head, clicking his arms and shoulders. He sighed gently and slid off his shoes before moving into the living room, considering flopping down on the sofa and abandoning himself to slumber. He wanted to be able to wake and know that a short walk in any direction would take him to his lover. He wanted to wind his arms back around Ben’s middle and attach his lips to the elder man’s neck and get him to turn and with all his might kiss Ben silly. So, at his words, Baldric’s face fell.

Sucking back a churlish retort, Baldric dropped his arms down to his sides but soon he reached up to fold them over his chest, stretching a steady look down over his lover as he did so. The Dementors didn’t really leave much time for their charges to sleep. Exhaustion was written liberally over Ben’s face. Yet, there were more pressing issues in Baldric’s mind than allowing the man before him to sleep. He was much more interested in making sure Ben was clean, warm, and well fed. Sleep was going to be inevitable, as soon as Ben’s body found somewhere comfortable to rest into. Baldric certainly wasn’t going to begrudge him the luxury but he wanted to look after him a bit more. He could be angry once he left, he rationalised to himself. For now he wanted to make sure Ben was alright.

“Go and have a shower then,” Baldric grunted, unable to quite properly vocalise the fact that he did care. “Get the grime out of your bones and I’ll have something for you to eat when you’re done, okay?”

Baldric rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, eager himself to get rid of the feeling of Azkaban. Had things between them been close to some semblance of good he knew he would’ve slunk in after Ben, sliding into the shower to rub every ounce of the place they’d vacated from the man’s skin. He would’ve kissed a trail across every inch and made him feel whole again. But given they could barely look at each other, Baldric thought that honestly it was the last thing Ben would have wanted. He. He was the last thing Ben must’ve wanted. So Baldric pushed off into the kitchen.

There, he found out a bag of fresh potatoes and threw a handful into the sink, pouring some water over them in order to loosen the skins. Then, Baldric replaced the bag back where he’d got it from and found out the speed peeler from the dish washer. He took a minute to unload it, the need to do something and retrace his steps through his home overcoming all sense of purpose. The plates he returned to the cupboard along with the bowls and smaller side plates. Cutlery was plucked from the basket and put back in the drawers and pots, pans, colanders, and large spoons and trays were returned to their homes. It was then that he delved his hands into the water after a potato which he rapidly began to peel, putting each one onto the chopping board to be cut up for the pot he’d gathered from the dish washer and filled anew with water.

Once the potatoes were cut and tossed roughly into the water-filled pot, Baldric threw down a tea towel to mop up the splashes he’d sent across the floor in his petulance. Then, after pulling it back up again he drew the towel across the counter top and reached into the salt pot, taking out a pinch to sprinkle into the pot. It was only then that Baldric took a breath and realised he had nothing else to do, that he’d motored through that task because he had needed something to do with his hands to keep him from kissing Ben or alternately shaking him to distraction.

All Baldric knew was that he didn’t want to go out there again. He felt like a 1950s housewife hiding from her husband and children. Baldric had neither of course much to his now increasing frustration so furiously he turned on the oven, throwing it up to 180 degrees. He wanted to go home. Really home. He wanted to go back to Glospie and sit in the hills and watch the sheep bleat as they roamed past. He wanted to go down to the coast and spend his days sailing off of the head, riding out the bumpy waves and rampant winds. He wanted to take a football along the wing of a muddy pitch and break a cross abreast the goalmouth and scream when his striker popped in the goal. He wanted simplicity again. He wanted to be able to breathe.

He didn’t know when it had gotten so complicated.

Pulling a saucepan out of the cupboard next to the oven, Baldric lifted it up onto the hob and turned on the heat underneath. He then went to the fridge, finding out some butter which he unfurled from its wrapping and dumped into the pan base after checking that there was some there for the potatoes. He prodded at it with a wooden spoon he got from a holder on the side and furrowed his brows before reaching up for some sugar and cocoa from his baking cupboard which he was amazed was still there. Much to his derision it had been added to by Rose but he ignored the newcomers for the sake of his own sanity and busied himself with pouring in the sugar and cocoa with one hand, stirring all the while with the other.

As he made up the mixture for what would eventually be brownies, Baldric wandered into his own thoughts. How had it come to this? That was his first, principle wonder. How had he met this crazy man? Now that, mind you, wasn’t something he remembered too well. It had something to do with alcohol, most definitely, and inevitably an argument with his father but most importantly it was the Leaky Cauldron, too much Firewhisky and Ben. He could remember blinking a lot and rubbing gingerly at his face as he tried to find the words. Then all of a sudden they were in that room, drinking wine and chatting, pouring out bits of themselves, flirting indiscriminately, tumbling into the abyss.

Turning off the gas, Baldric suffered a long sigh and went after a ramekin and some eggs. Four he cracked into the ramekin and after fishing out bits of shell, the mixture was sufficiently cooled so he could beat the eggs quickly with a whisk and stir it into the gloop along with some flour and coconut. Then he poured it into pan he’d lined with greaseproof paper and shoved it all roughly into the oven, glad for the mess he’d made because it meant that yet he had something to do. So Baldric, after flicking on the kettle and starting up a couple of cups of coffee, rolled up his shirt sleeves again and dove his hands into the foamy water within the sink.

Bae closed his eyes, wishing against hope he could turn back the clock. Back to Christmas. Before all of this had happened. When he was happy. When Ben was happy. When they were happy.

Ben's mouth opened, wanting to reject the suggestion that he head off and shower. Originally, his objection had been because there was a possibility that Baldric might leave during his shower. But then the younger man finished his sentence, and Ben found himself objecting to the idea that he had to give back the man's clothing. It was fairly ridiculous of him, and probably seemed obsessive, but Ben just couldn't help it. He needed the feeling of Baldric around him like he needed air to breathe. He could object all he wanted to, but it didn't change the truth. Ben loved him.

So he deflated, accepting defeat, and turned around to make his way into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower after a bit of fiddling about - as one does - but as soon as the door closed, it was like Ben couldn't breathe. He was too closed in, and found himself falling against the wall, sinking to the floor of the shower despite the steaming water running over his face. It took him too long to register that he wasn't in a cell, but instead in his own flat, where he had felt at ease for so long. Well, more at ease than in a cell, certainly. Red had caused some issues, to be sure. But still, it was his home, and he should have felt safe there - especially since he was sure that Baldric was down the hall.

Eventually, he stood and started about cleaning up properly. The water had started to run cold by the time he decided enough was enough. So Ben got out, wrapping a towel around his waist, but he hesitated for a moment before moving into his bedroom, and picking up the bag the Baldric had left a little under two weeks earlier. His lover had left the bag with clothes and films, but nothing in the sack had been used. Hadn't been touched, even. But now he had a bit of an excuse. It wasn't sensible, considering the one who owned the things in that bag was down the hall, cooking or whatever he was up to by that point. But Ben pulled out a full outfit and a gray hoodie, pulling each piece on with a bit of hesitancy. Determination won out, though, in the end.

So by the time he moved out into the living room, he looked the very picture of one belonging to Baldric. He found the blond facing his sink, washing the dishes. How domestic. Ben would've said as much out loud, but he wasn't sure it would be taken well. So instead, he padded up behind quietly, and set the bag on the first dry patch of the counter he could find.

His hands pushed into the pocket on the front of the hoodie, and stepped back so there was a little ravine of space between them. Ben waited until Baldric turned around, but didn't give the man time to react. "Sorry. I just needed... something safe," he finished lamely, a vaguely puzzled expression crossing even his own features. "I'll give them back, honest."

Ducking his head, Ben shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I'm... I'm just really sorry. For all of it. I needed some time to be able to say it."

There was something rhythmic in the motion of washing the dishes. With frothing water up around his elbows, the warmth lapping against his skin, Baldric was left to think, his mind wandering amidst the hopes and dreams he’d long discarded. He treated each pot, pan, and plate with more kindness than he had upon first slamming them into the bowl. He circled bubbly lines across their surface and each one he set gently down onto the draining board, the anticipation of being able to wipe a tea towel over them and set them back into the cupboards they called him welling up within him. He wondered to himself whether he’d find fault in the cupboards or would discover he’d used all the milk which would require him to go out and purchase some more at such a late stage that by then Bridget would have closed up the house and locked the doors for the night. He wanted to stay. He wanted to find any excuse the world could grant to be able to curl around Ben that night and know that even though things were awry between them, the elder man was safe and home. Baldric thought to himself that he’d even be kind and offer to make tea for Rose if she happened to come home that night and they met in the morning. But of course, it would mean broaching it to Ben who truly seemed to want to be alone, despite Baldric’s meandering and probably as a consequence of his bad temper.

The sound of footsteps behind him brought Baldric from his reverie. Turning a little, Baldric’s eyes flicked across Ben’s weary form, noticing with a startling pang to his heart that the fabric that encased his lover belonged to himself, abandoned in his ire when they’d last met. A stab of guilt filtered through Baldric in the same breath and he wanted desperately to take his hands from the water and wrap his arms around Ben but, wet, he would have only served to breed a further chill into the elder man’s frame with his grasp so he stayed where he was, a faint bruise of colour creeping across his cheeks. He smiled a little and finished up the last plate, lifting it out to set it down with the other bits and pieces. It was then that Baldric removed his arms, grabbing after a tea towel to wipe his skin clear of excess water. He set the towel down once he was done and turned gradually so he was facing Ben.

“Don’t worry about it,” the blonde raised a half smile, standing a little more fully against the counter after leaning over to flick on the kettle. He swallowed heavily and pushed off again, leaning down to grab a steamer tower out of the cupboard which he put up onto the stove. It was then that Baldric went back after the broccoli and cauliflower he’d spotted in the fridge earlier and he quickly broke up enough florets for the two of them. It was as he was putting both away that it occurred to him that he’d not really replied to Ben and he hadn’t asked, either, if he could eat with him – but the kettle was boiling.

Baldric picked it up off of the hook and sloshed the contents into the water pot, turning on the hob up high. The water sizzled merrily at him and he dropped the pot of veggies on top before adding the lid. He turned, then, his hands curling around the oven handle as his gaze fell to his lover. He tried and failed to stay away from him, though. It didn’t matter how hurt he was. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to shake Ben to distraction for being so foolish. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to leave his father for dead. It didn’t matter. None of it did. He was just so overjoyed that the man he loved was safe from harm. So, without further preamble, Baldric threw his arms around Ben’s middle and buried his head into the elder man’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin and relishing the feel of him back in his arms.

“I love you,” Baldric whispered breathlessly, misery lilting in his tone. “And I’m so angry with you,” he gasped out, lifting his head from Ben’s neck. “You are such a twat, Bentley Dominic Pierson.” Despite himself, Baldric smiled, shaking his head at the man before him. “But I’ll forgive you for everything,” Baldric lifted his right hand off of Ben’s waist and smoothed his fingers through the front of the man’s hair, leaning close to press his lips briefly to the side of Ben’s mouth. “Can I have dinner with you?” He asked softly, vocalising, finally, his desire to stay.

Baldric pulled away and smoothed his hands across Ben’s shoulders briefly before turning and assigning his energies to their dinner. Much as it pained him, he reached for a packet sauce and began to whip that together, riddling it with butter that he hoped would give it more taste and Baldric didn’t forget, either, to dash in some cheddar in order to really make up for it. Soon, though, everything was coming together and he decided to throw one last thing into a skillet: some bacon he quickly sliced up with his scissors. He checked briefly on the brownies in between all this and after prodding at the potatoes and the other veggies he determined that now was about right to start dishing up.

Assigning his wand to direct the mashing process, Baldric worried after the greens which he dispersed between them before lavishing the creamy sauce over the top, a sprinkling of paprika following. Once the magic was finished with the potatoes, leaving it slightly textured with lumps and not altogether smooth, his wand tucked itself behind his ear and Baldric spooned out a healthy dollop onto both plates. He then abandoned the pots and quickly, roughly, chopped up some chives he took out of the windowsill herb pot and once that was sprinkled across the potato, with a start he realised he was done. So, without further ado, Baldric lifted the plates up and moved into the living room, deciding that it was better for them to be somewhere more comfortable.

The young man set the plates down on the table, utensils following him out, and he picked up a few of the pillows out of the arm chair and swung them around, a few landing on the floor, some sitting down on the sofa. He drew out a blanket or two as well and then semi-contentedly collapsed at his end of the seat, folding his legs up under the blanket. He then grabbed after his plate and dug in as involvedly as he dared, stealing a half glance in Ben’s direction, really still unsure whether or not he was welcome – so, really, Baldric only nibbled.

“I can, um,” he swallowed, wincing as the paprika bit at his tongue. “If you want some space,” he clarified, gathering up his words again. “I can go once I’ve finished up with the washing and stuff,” he prodded at the mash, sliding some of it onto his fork before stabbing a floret of cauliflower. “Let me, um… just get the brownies out of the oven and cut them and I’ll um… if you want chocolate and those little white chocolate morsels … the  … I mean, I’ll have to melt it off so I don’t…” Baldric blinked rapidly, trying to wipe the strained look off of his face.

Baldric, a little voice, probably his writer, muttered impatiently in the back of his head, why don’t you just ask him if you can stay properly, already?