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‘I believe that is what they call a complete clusterfuck.’
From the back of the ambulance, Ben grunts his agreement. There’s a morphine drip plugged into his IV, as well as blood to replace what’s now soaking into the sawdust on the floor of the warehouse they’re parked outside. The needle itches where it’s been stuck into the back of his hand.
As the medic steps up into the back of the vehicle and pulls the door closed, he calls out to Norman, ‘Call Christian!’
And Norman yells back, ‘Not a fucking chance.’
. . .
He tries, in his defence. He calls the number he has for Christian, and when there’s no answer, he calls the number that’s listed for Prometheus Innovation, asking to be put through to Dr King. He’s in his car by then, following in the wake of the ambulance.
‘Hello?’
‘Christian? It’s Norman.’
He can hear the pause, the breath he’s taken to stem the sudden flood of panic, but he sounds calm enough when he asks, ’What’s happened?’
‘The op didn’t go to plan. Ben’s been hurt. He’s okay, he’s not going to die or anything, it’s not life changing. One of the guys we didn’t know would be there stabbed him in the thigh with a screw driver. He’s on his way to the infirmary to get stitches and a tetanus injection.’
He’s not offended when the line goes dead.
. . .
Rebecca’s the last to arrive, after debriefing Bower at the scene. There’ll be a lot more questions to answer, but luckily it wasn’t her operation and if it had been, she would have done her research. Someone’s in a whole world of trouble, given a policeman was injured.
A nurse directs her to a small room off A&E, tells her DS Holt is just waiting for a doctor to check him over before he’s discharged. It’s not exactly a surprise to see Christian squeezed into the space between Ben and the edge of the mattress, feet up on the metal workings of the hospital bed, Ben’s good hand tucked between his knees. It’s a relief to see her sergeant - ex-lover- sitting up, one leg of his jeans cut away, large white dressing wrapped around his thigh. He’s pale but animated, very much alive.
She can’t help but reach out to touch his socked foot, a brief moment of contact, to feel him warm under her hand. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘They gave him a shot of morphine,’ Norman tells her from the chair in the corner. ‘He’s high as a kite.’
‘I am not high.’
She watches Christian nudge Ben’s head gently with his cheek, and it strikes her as a lovely, intimate little gesture. ‘You said the spiders up there in the corner were line dancing,’ he murmurs softly.
‘They were! Line dancing or mating.’
‘You’re fine,’ she’s reassured. ‘Just a heads up; Bower’s curious as to why - and I’m quoting here - the stuck-up scientist who caused half her department to implode is now listed as your emergency contact.’
‘Half and implode are exaggerations,’ Ben retaliates. ‘And the three of us work well together.’
‘I’m not sure I’d call what happened this morning ‘working well together’,’ Norman points out.
Rebecca ignores him. ‘Do you think they’ll let you out today?’
‘It’s a hospital, not a prison. But I certainly hope so, the food in here’s awful.’
Norman frowns. ‘How do you know?’
‘From when he was in here.’
He glances at Christian. ‘When were you in here?’
‘I was shot following a set of images. Just as the countdown hit zero.’
‘Shot?’
‘It was touch and go for a bit,’ Ben recalls, hand tightening on Christian’s leg.
‘Jesus…. So… I’m assuming there was an image of you…?’
‘No. No warning. But it’s why we stopped the download. It was getting too dangerous. Too personal.’
‘You don’t think that was the point?’
Rebecca looks at him. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, obviously the images are meant for him. So it makes sense that they’re going to be personal, or… why bother?’
‘You think there’s a point - a connection?’
He frowns at her, incredulous. ‘You can’t think they’re random?’
‘The last set helped us stop a man from taking a dive off a tower block. None of us knew him.’
‘And yet, he wound up confronting a life-long fear of heights to talk him down.’
‘Anyone would have done the same,’ Christian says.
’No. Believe me, they wouldn’t. In my experience, people tend to stand and watch while the poor sod up top decides whether or not to go through with it. They don’t race to the roof to help. You were the right person, in the right place, at the right time.’ He’s looking around the room, before settling on Christian. ‘I presume when the first set came down, you thought it was a warning of something to come and called the police, asked for a detective. Not by name, just for a detective.’
He nods. ‘I asked for someone with an imagination and a degree of intelligence.’
He laughs. ‘Of course you did. I guess one out of two isn’t bad. My point is, they could have sent one of… maybe ten people. And that person had their pick of another twenty to take along with them. No one could have predicted who would walk into your lab that morning. But you are the only person who was going to see the images as they were downloaded. There are what? Five hundred satellites floating around up there? You’re good at maths, what are the odds that someone randomly selected yours to transmit the images to, or at, or from, or whatever?’
‘One in nine hundred and eighty six.’
‘Clever clogs. My point being-‘
‘They’re meant for me.’
‘Whatever… this is, it’s for you. Surely, rather than pretending it isn’t happening, a better thing to do would be to figure out what the hell is going on.’
. . .
Ben pops a couple of the codeine tablets from the packet prescribed to Christian before he left hospital. There’s a few left because once the most acute pain from the gunshot wound had subsided, he’d stopped taking them, preferring to be in some discomfort and to be able to think straight, rather than being free of pain with a head full of fluff, as he’d put it.
‘Why is your sofa so comfortable?’
Christian rubs his toes through his socks. ‘That’s the drugs talking.’
The touch is making him smile. He might not be thinking straight, and he might have imagined it, but when Rebecca had touched his foot in the hospital, he could have sworn he felt Christian tense at his side. The way he’s touching him now might be his lover staking a claim, might just be him rubbing his feet.
‘Must be. I can’t feel my leg anymore, which is a bonus. I’m just going to close my eyes for a second….’
Next time he opens them, it’s dark outside and the low-level lighting in the room is easy on the eyes. Christian’s in the armchair, legs hooked over the side, headphones on, watching something or other on his laptop. It’s peaceful, relaxed, and Ben just watches him for a time, snoozing off and on, so that when he finally sits up, the chair is empty and he can hear muffled sounds coming from the kitchen.
He gets gingerly up from the sofa, testing his weight on his leg, wincing at the pain that slices up his thigh, but relieved it doesn’t give out from under him. After managing to get to the loo, he limps into the kitchen and sits himself on one of the barstools at the counter. Whatever’s in the pot on the hob smells incredible, and there’s something in the oven which is steaming up the glass in the door.
Christian comes to lean on the counter opposite him. ‘I hope I didn’t disturb you, I thought you might be hungry. How are you feeling?’
‘You didn’t, I am, and… better for the sleep. Thanks for letting me use your place like a hotel.’
‘You’re not using….’ He trails off. ‘Actually… I’ve been thinking.’
‘Obviously. I mean, you’re you.’
Leaning forward, lowering his head, Christian kisses the back of Ben’s hand. ‘Feel free to tell me this is a terrible idea. I promise I won’t take offence.’
‘Okay….’
‘You are, more or less, living here already….’
Ben can’t help the smile making its way across his face. ‘Are you… going to ask me to move in?’
‘If I did…?’
It’s a slightly bittersweet moment. ‘I’d love to wake up with you every morning, come home to you, or you come home to me. But I need you to be sure, because you know I don’t come completely free of responsibilities. I have Leah and Charlie to think about.’ Even as Christian opens his mouth, Ben shakes his head. ‘I know you want to say they’re welcome here, and I love you for it, but we both know you’d end up resenting it. This place is your sanctuary, out of the world. You’ve let me in, and that means everything, but they’re still kids-‘
‘What about the Bowdon house?’ It’s so out of left-field, it derails his train of thought. ‘The three of you can spend however much time you want there, as often as you want, for as long as you want. There’s a huge garden, space for them, they can… choose their rooms, decorate them the way they want, make them their own.’
Ben’s not sure he’s hearing him right. ‘That’s too much.’
‘Why? It’s a big house that stands empty three hundred and sixty three days of every year.’
‘But-’
‘That night we spent there, after I left hospital, was the first time I’d been back in at least a year. Other than that, I go over once in a while just to check everything’s okay. You’d be doing me a favour.’
‘And when I’m not there?’
‘Move in with me? I want to be with you. I want to share life with you.’ His eyes, dancing with happiness, look away suddenly. ‘Of course, it’s your decision, and only when you’re ready… obviously there’s no rush.’
Reaching out, Ben lifts his head with one finger under his chin, teasing the soft stubble with his fingernail. ‘Do you think the answer’s going to be anything but yes?’ Christian’s face lights up, and this time when he leans across it’s to kiss Ben on the mouth, tongue sliding over his.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’ The oven timer starts to beep, with a soft sigh and a wide smile, Christian picks up the mitts and goes to check on whatever’s in there. ‘Would you come to Bowden when we’re there? Spend some time with us?’ Even with his back to him, Ben can see him tense. ‘Hey, no pressure.’
‘Can I… think about it?’
‘Of course.’ He watches as a glass dish of dumplings - actual, honest to God dumplings - comes out of the oven. ‘Maybe you could teach me to cook?’
Christian pauses. ’I’m a scientist, not a miracle worker.’
‘Cheeky fucking scientist.’ Seeing him worry at his bottom lip, Ben stretches over and touches his wrist. ‘I mean it, there’s no pressure.’
‘They’re your children. I know how significant it is that you’ve asked.’
‘You’ll meet them when you’re ready. I’m not trying to… build a new family here. Selfishly, there’s a part of me that would happily keep this just for me. But Leah’s curious about you, and sooner or later Charlie’s going to start asking questions, especially when they see the house.’
Christian nods, he understands, he just needs time to get used to the idea, and Ben’s willing to give him all the time in the world. He watches him take a couple of bowls from the cupboard, spoon the stew from the pot into each one and drop in a couple of dumplings.
‘Did you make all this from scratch?’
‘It’s just beef stroganoff.’
‘Just. I haven’t had dumplings since my Mother-in-Law passed away.’
‘This was my Gran’s recipe. My Mum never cooked, not really, but she kept her mother’s cookbooks, gave them to me when I asked for them.’ He picks up both bowls. ‘Come on, you’ll be more comfortable in the lounge.’
. . .
Christian goes in to work following day, with reassurances from Ben that he’ll stay put and the furthest place he’ll venture to is the kitchen.
Coffee in hand, he opens the downlink from Prometheus 2 and lets several days’ worth of images download, checking only the previous morning’s set, not recognising a single thing. He doesn’t know what they’re of, but he’s fairly sure they’re not of Ben getting stabbed in the leg with a screwdriver.
‘Why didn’t you show us that?’ he murmurs, as if his satellite will hear him, understand and respond. ‘Why didn’t you warn us?’ He wonders if they’ll ever get any answers, or if they’re going to have to live with the mystery.