treasure_geeks | Fic: Elephant 2/3 (Reply)

Title: Elephant
Author:

roxierocks
Pairing(s): Ian/Riley, Riley/Ben, Ben/Abigail
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con (non explicit), sex, swearing, lots of lovely angst, spoilers for National Treasure and very vaguely for Book of Secrets
Word Count: 12,434 in three parts (completed)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in this story and I am not making any profit

Summary: Ian and Riley are playing a dangerous game, but Riley doesn't realise just how dangerous until it's too late...

previous: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=roxierocks&keyword=Elephant&filter=all

a/n: yes, it's the tired 'Ian rapes Riley' senario YET again. Hopefully I've done it some justice...

“This has got to die. This has got to stop.” –Elephant, Damien Rice.

Part Two

Riley doesn’t remember getting out of the ship.

There’s the faint impression of flames, of Ben dragging him across icy floors, of blood, but it all seems trapped behind a haze of dipping consciousness.

He comes to on the freezing snow, The Charlotte a smoky mass behind them, Ben’s hands pressed against his face.

“You’re okay,” he’s saying. “The bullet only grazed your cheek. You’re going to be fine.”

Riley nods, dazed, and when Ben pulls his hands away there’s blood on his palms.

“What happened?” he croaks.

Ben looks slightly sheepish.

“I may have accidentally set fire to The Charlotte,” he admits. “Not my best idea.”

Riley’s face hurts. He lifts a hesitant hand to the wetness sliding down his cheek.

“You might have scars,” Ben is saying, watching him with careful eyes. “Or a gunpowder mark. I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Riley murmurs. He couldn’t care less about any scarring right now. Not when he can remember the events leading up to Ian shooting him quite so vividly.

“Did they get away?” he asks.

Ben nods, a stormy expression flitting across his face.

“They took the transports. We’ll have to walk. Can you stand?”

Riley nods and Ben reaches down to slip an arm around his waist, supporting him on the snow. Riley tries not to stiffen at the touch, and hates himself for not being able to manage it.

“The nearest village is about nine miles away. From there we should be able to hitch a ride to Murmansk. Think you can make it?”

“I’m fine, Ben,” he replies, feeling the vaguest stirring of annoyance.

Ben lets go of him, abruptly, as if he’d forgotten he still had his arm round Riley’s waist.

“Let’s go then.”

They trek in near silence, Ben correcting their course with his wrist compass every now and then. Riley desperately wants to explain everything but can’t quite bring himself to broach the subject of Ian.

Ben doesn’t say anything and it sits between them like the proverbial elephant in the snow as they trudge on.

They don’t get to Murmansk until late the next day, too late to get the last flight to Moscow, and Ben arranges somewhere for them to stay for the night.

Riley stands in front of the mirror in his room and regards his cheek through narrowed eyes. There is definitely a faint gunpowder mark that probably won’t come out. Great. His face looks pale and strained, eyes shadowed. He doesn’t look much like himself.

It’s one in the morning and he knows he should sleep, but he can’t get his tired mind to switch off. He keeps replaying those moments on the moment, remembering the way Ben looked. Remembering Ian’s words…

He steps back from the mirror, suddenly decisive.

Ben’s room is only next door. The hallway carpet is soft on his bare feet, his steps muffled. The knock is too loud in the stillness of the morning hours.

It seems to take Ben an age to get the door. Riley can’t tell if he was sleeping or not. His hair is mussed but his are eyes alert.

“Riley?” he asks, confused. “Is everything okay?”

“I said no,” Riley says. He doesn’t know why he has to do this now. It feels as if it’s burning him from the inside and that if he doesn’t get it out now, in this very moment, he never will. “When Ian choked me and fucked me on the carpet, as he so eloquently put it, I said no. He didn’t listen.”

He doesn’t know what he expected Ben to do. Ben does nothing but stare at him, as if the words don’t make sense. There’s a sharp pain in Riley’s chest that he tries to ignore. Ben doesn’t believe him. He thinks Riley’s lying. He doesn’t believe him.

“I just wanted you to know that.”

He turns away, goes back to his own room and gets into bed. He still doesn’t sleep, and lies awake listening for a knock that never comes.

The next morning they get the earliest flight they can.

Ben doesn’t talk to him about the night before. In fact, Ben doesn’t seem to be talking to him much at all. Riley takes the hint and doesn’t try and initiate conversation.

He sleeps for most of the two and half hours to Moscow, and hunches over coffee in the departures lounge at Sheremetyevo airport while they wait for their connection.

It’s a twelve hour flight back to Washington, including a changeover at Heathrow airport in London, and by the time they finally arrive at Dulles, Riley is exhausted and irritated and in no mood to talk about anything.

Ben drops him off at his apartment and murmurs something about picking him up in twelve hours.

Riley blinks at him, confused.

“For what?” he asks.

“Ian’s going to steal the Declaration. We have to stop him.”

Riley feels as if his brain’s not working properly.

“We have to…what?”

“Get some sleep. Then we’ll come up with a plan.”

He moves as if to clap Riley on the shoulder, then stops suddenly, pulling his hand back and looking awkward.

It’s the only indication he’s given so far that he actually remembers what Riley told him.

Riley swallows.

“Ben-” he begins.

“Sleep Riley,” Ben interrupts. He looks almost afraid of what Riley might try and say. “Then we’ll talk.”

“About the Declaration?” he asks, unable to keep a note of bitterness out of his voice.

Ben looks pained.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “About the Declaration.”

Riley nods and Ben avoids his eyes.

He closes the doors and leans against it, the light on his answer machine blinking insistently in the darkness. He ignores it, walks slowly across the kitchen/living room without turning on a light. He needs a shower. He needs to sleep. He needs to stop thinking about Ben.

A wave of sudden blackness seems to hit him, and he sinks onto the sagging couch.

Ben didn’t believe him.

After everything, after Ian fucking shot him, Ben still believed Ian over Riley.

And now he expects Riley to help him save the Declaration, to defeat the bad guys and then, no doubt, find a way to the treasure.

Riley isn’t sure he can do that anymore.

He just doesn’t know.

He wakes from a dead sleep sometime later, unsure of time, the door buzzer going off insistently.

Squinting at the clock, which tells him he’s only been asleep three hours, he stumbles out of bed, throwing an old sweater on over his boxers and heading a little warily to the door.

“Who is it?” he asks, voice groggy.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me. Ben.”

Riley frowns, but doesn’t move to open the door.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just…can I come in? Please?”

Riley hesitates, one hand pressed against the door. He isn’t sure he can deal with this right now.

“Ben, I’m tired.”

“Please,” Ben says. His voice is quiet and he sounds a little desperate.

Riley bites his lip.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Ben doesn’t look at him when he comes in. He stands by Riley’s breakfast bar and drums his fingers on the counter top.

Riley yawns and pads to the coffee maker. He has a feeling he’s not going to get anymore sleep this morning. Great.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks around another yawn.

Ben doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Riley feels the weight of the answer hanging around them. His hand stills on the handle of the coffeepot.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ben asks finally.

“Tell you what?” Riley says, although he knows perfectly well.

“Why didn’t you tell me what Ian did?”

Riley busies himself with making the coffee, clattering mugs onto the counter.

“I didn’t want you to know,” he says finally.

“Why the fuck not?” Ben demands, and Riley flinches at the tone.

“Because it’s none of your business,” he replies, trying to keep his own tone even as he feels Ben bristle behind him.

“None of my business?” he repeats, disbelievingly.

“Riley, the man…he…he-”

“He didn’t do anything,” Riley interrupts. Suddenly he can’t bear to listen to Ben paint him as a victim. It happened months ago now anyway. It doesn’t even matter anymore.

“That’s not what you said.” Ben’s voice is shaking.

“Riley-”

“Shut up, Ben,” Riley snaps, more harshly than he means to. “What I said it…it just doesn’t matter, okay? Just forget about it.”

“I can’t forget about it.”

“Ben-”

“No!”

The sudden shout makes Riley jump, and guilt flashes across Ben’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tone deliberately soft and measured. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

Riley says nothing. He feels trapped, and hugs his mug against his chest. He doesn’t want to do this. He shouldn’t have said anything.

He watches Ben swallow. He can’t believe that Ben’s nervous right now.

“You told me you said no. In Murmansk that’s what you said. ‘I said no and he didn’t listen.’. Remember that?”

Riley still says nothing.

“I need to know, Riley. When?”

Riley shakes his head, just once.

Ben sighs. It’s tinged with exasperation.

“Riley.”

“You need to forget about Murmansk,” Riley says. It takes an effort to keep his voice steady.

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Abruptly, Riley turns away.

“That’s not my problem.”

“Yes it is, because you made it my problem. You made it my problem when you told me.”

“No,” Riley snaps, unable to help himself, whirling around in indignation. “Ian made it your problem when he decided to spill my entire personal life to you. That had nothing to do with me. And what was all that crap about him getting there first anyway? What was that about, Ben?”

“This isn’t about me,” Ben says in a measured tone, but Riley notes the guilty flush that stains the base of his neck.

“Well maybe it should be. Why did he say that, Ben? What did he mean?”

“He was just talking crap. You know Ian.”

“Yeah,” Riley spits. “I do. Intimately.”

Something flashes through Ben’s eyes that makes Riley take a sudden step back. He isn’t sure what it is, but the intensity scares him.

There’s a prolonged moment of silence, and when he speaks Ben’s voice is low and strained.

“I would have killed him,” he says. “I would have fucking killed him for laying a finger on you.”

His hands are shaking.

Riley reaches for him, in a blind moment of decision, and Ben comes to him willingly. His hands wind in Ben’s hair, attempting to pull him closer as Ben devours his mouth, his back pressed against the hard edge of the counter top.

They’re stumbling towards the bedroom before Riley has the chance to change his mind, to process just how bad an idea this is, and then he’s lying on the bed, sweater thrown aside, Ben’s hand working him in a rhythm that makes him gasp, hips thrusting off the mattress. The friction of skin on skin, his legs round Ben’s waist as Ben cradles his head and kisses him and kisses him and Riley is crying out into his mouth as he comes, Ben only moments behind.

He lies there with his eyes closed, only vaguely aware of Ben using his discarded boxers to clean them both, and then Ben is tugging the quilt over them, pulling Riley against him with gentle hands, as if he’s afraid Riley will break.

Riley breathes, slow and deep, and listens to the vague pounding of Ben’s heart.

“Riley?” Ben murmurs softly into the stillness.

Riley can barely bring himself to speak. He feels as if someone dropped a sedative into the coffee he never drank. He can feel himself being pulled into sleep.

“Yeah?”

“When, Riley?” Ben asks. “I need to know.”

Riley doesn’t think Ben needs to know. He thinks Ben needs to forget it ever happened. The way Riley doesn’t think he can himself.

“Remember that night I was working late on the land mass programme?” His voice sounds drowsy and far away. “You brought some Chinese and I got sick and had to go home?”

“I remember,” Ben whispers.

“It was then. While you were getting the food. It was so long ago now. Seems stupid…” His voice drifts off. He’s so tired. He just wants to forget it all.

He feels Ben’s arms tighten around him, momentarily.

“You’re okay now,” he says.

“I know,” Riley replies, but he’s not sure Ben hears it.

When he wakes up, he’s alone.

It’s evening, he can tell by the darkness in the room. He squints at his clock. 19.30.

There’s a slight tang in the air. Of sex and sweat and masculinity. He allows the tiniest smile to curl his lips as he sits up.

“Ben?” he calls.

There’s no reply.

He gets up, flinging on a pair of sweats lying on the floor, and shuffles down the hall into the rest of the apartment.

It’s dark and empty.

He frowns, switches on the light in the kitchenette. The coffee he made earlier is still there, cold now.

The light on his answering machine is no longer flashing.

Feeling something cold in the pit of his stomach he reaches across to press the play button. There’s only one message on there now. He doesn’t know if there was any more before Ben listened to them.

It’s from Ian.

“Riley, if you’re listening to this then you’ve obviously made it out of there alive. Congratulations. I’m sorry I had to shoot you to get my point across.” A dry laugh. “I would hate to think I’d never get to fuck you again. We did have some fun, didn’t we? By the way, I meant what I said back there. Gates will never be able to even look at you again without knowing that I’ve had you first. I think that ship has sailed without you, my friend.” Another laugh. “Never mind. I can always pick up the pieces. See you soon, Riley.”

He listens to it three times then deletes it.

Ben heard that. Ben listened to that message. Ben, who will only ever see him as Ian’s seconds.

There’s a yellow post it stuck to the refrigerator. He can already recognise Ben’s messy scrawl –not as bad as his own, but still.

Riley, it says, sorry I left before you woke, had a few things I needed to take care of. It’s probably better if we forget this ever happened, we’ve both got enough on our minds at the moment. Will pick you tomorrow morning re: The Declaration. Ben.

Riley reads it until his bare feet are numb and he realises he’s been standing in the kitchen for half an hour.

He goes into the bathroom, fumbles out the bottle of sleeping pills the doctor prescribed for him, months ago now, and shakes a few too many into his palm. He gulps them down with some water and then stumbles back into bed.

He doesn’t dream.

True to his post it, Ben never mentions what happened between them.

He never mentions Ian and Riley either, and Riley is left in a constant emotional struggle with the knowledge of what Ian did to him all that time ago, and what he did with Ben not long enough ago. What worries him most is that the more he thinks about it, and he can’t stop thinking about it, the more the lines seem to blur. He’s no longer sure that what Ben did is any different from Ian, in a way. He’s pretty sure Ben may have taken advantage of him that night, but then all that means is he was a willing participant in his own sexual assault.

Which is ridiculous, because Ben didn’t assault him. He wanted it that day. He wanted Ben.

But he wanted Ian too. Not that night in the office, but other nights. Does that mean he was a willing participant in what Ian did to him?

Did Ben care that he’d stripped Riley raw, seen him at his most vulnerable and then just decided not to acknowledge it? To forget it ever happened. Did Ben even have an inkling of what he did that night?

Riley still has the post it note. It’s still stuck to his fridge, not that he needs it because he knows every word by heart.

It’s probably better we forget this ever happened.

The very thing he swore earlier that evening he couldn’t do, he wouldn’t do.

Turns out he could after all.

Riley knows he’s lost Ben, not that Ben was ever really his to begin with. Only for those few, brief jet lagged hours of an afternoon.

He can’t compete with Abigail.

He doesn’t even want to, because she’s beautiful and smart and absolutely perfect for Ben.

Plus she probably hasn’t had sex with Ian.

He knows he’s lost him when they linger in that tunnel a little longer than everyone else, and come out looking flushed and happy, despite the fact that they are all facing imminent death.

Ian knows it too. He presses up against Riley, a little too close for Riley’s comfort, and breathes into his ear “Looks like he’s moved on. I told you that ship had sailed.”

Riley wants to say I hate you and you’ve ruined my life. He wants to push Ian over the side of the staircase and watch him fall into the seemingly endless black hole.

He doesn’t do anything.

Because Ian is painfully right.

Riley’s lost.

He goes and visits Ian in prison.

He doesn’t know why he does it. The first time was merely for closure. Now, when it’s become an almost weekly occurrence, he doesn’t have a reason or excuse.

Somehow, twistedly, he feels slightly less lonely when he talks to Ian, even if all Ian does is spit curses at him and call him every name under the sun (which he does if he’s having a bad week).

This week is a good week.

He regards Riley through the glass with a cool gaze, the telephone receiver cradled casually against his ear.

“So, they moved in together?”

Riley nods, and Ian whistles down the phone.

“You have to hand it to Benjamin, he’s a fast mover.”

Riley remembers a desperate afternoon, days after Ben found out Riley had been raped. Yeah, he’s a fast mover.

“Yeah,” he says. Ian doesn’t know about that afternoon. Riley will never tell him. It will only prove him right. And Riley wants to preserve it, as pathetic as that sounds.

He is a willing victim in his own destruction.

Ian never initiates the conversation. He waits for Riley to speak. Riley sometimes feels as if Ian’s playing a game with him, only Riley doesn’t know any of the rules.

He fiddles with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Ian watches him in silence.

“I need to ask you something,” he says finally.

“Ah.” Ian smiles slowly. “And now we come to it.”

Riley looks up at him, frowning.

“Come to what?”

“The reason behind all these little chats of ours.”

Riley stares at him and Ian lets out a barking laugh.

“I wasn’t under the impression you came to visit me out of good will, Riley. I always knew you wanted something from me. It’s amused me to watch you try and gain the courage, over all these weeks.”

Riley feels a flush work its way over his face, due partly to anger and partly to the knowledge that Ian is right.

Ian’s smile turns a little mocking, and Riley forces himself to ignore it. He can do this.

“Go on,” Ian says. “Ask me then.”

He has to do this.

“Why?” he asks.

Ian affects an air of non comprehension.

“Why? Why what?”

“You know what,” he hisses, teeth gritted.

“Ask me, Riley,” Ian taunts. “Ask me.”

“Stop it! You know what I’m taking about! I just want to know why you did it!”

Ian leans back in his chair. Riley knows he’s enjoying this.

“Nothing I say will change what happened. It won’t make you understand,” he says.

“It’ll help me,” Riley insists.

Ian raises his eyebrows.

“Will it?”

It has to help. He has to understand. He has to separate Ian and Ben in his mind, otherwise it may well end up killing him.

“Please,” Riley whispers. He knows he sounds pathetic, but he’s past caring. “Just tell me.”

Ian shrugs.

“Because I could? Because I wanted you? Because I was angry? What do you want me to say, Riley?”

Riley shakes his head.

“No. There’s a reason. There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe I’m just a bastard. After all, I tried to shoot you as well. Or have you forgotten that?”

Riley reaches a hand to the faint gunpowder mark that still stains his cheek, unable to resist the impulse. Ian tracks the movement with his eyes.

“You did shoot me,” Riley says softly.

“I could have killed you,” Ian says offhand, as if they are discussing the weather.

“Your aim sucks.”

Ian’s lips curve in a strange smile.

“My aim’s excellent.”

Riley looks away, tries not to analyse the comment too much.

“I can’t help you. I can’t tell you what you need to know.” Ian’s tone is almost gentle, and that only makes Riley angry.

“You have to! I can’t live like this anymore!”

“Like what?” Ian asks, quick as a flash, and Riley forces himself to focus, to remember who he’s talking to. Ian isn’t a friend.

“I just need to bury this,” he says, as firmly as he can.

“And you need me to help you."

"You did this to me! You at least owe me that.”

Ian shakes his head in disbelief.

“I don’t owe you anything.” He leans forward, face twisted in an ugly expression that takes Riley right back to that night in the office. “You want to know why I did it? Because you’re weak, Riley. Because you’re weak and pathetic and I knew you would roll over and take it.”

“No.” Riley shakes his head. His voice is faint.

“I knew you would not only take it, but enjoy it. And you did, Riley, didn’t you?”

“No,” he says again. “That’s not what happened.”

“Yes Riley. I fucked you on that floor and you loved every second.”

“No! I said no, Ian. I fucking said no!”

His hands are shaking, desperately. Ian’s eyes are boring into his own. He can’t look away.

“Yes,” Ian agrees. “You did. And I still made you come. And you can’t forget that, can you?”

Riley stands up. His legs are shaking too. For a minute he doesn’t think they’ll support him.

“You’re a sick fuck.”

Ian waves a hand, as if Riley’s paying him a compliment.

“How’s Ben, Riley?” he asks.

Riley feels any remaining colour drain from his face.

“He’s fine,” he says, but it’s stilted. Ian’s got a knowing smirk on his face.

“He never touched you again, did he? Only once and he could never bear to touch you again.”

The shaking returns, worse now. Ian knows. He knows.

“I told you that would happen, didn’t I? I told you he would never even be able to look at you without seeing me. Without seeing what I’d done to you.”

“Shut up.”

“I always knew how he felt about you. Right from the start I knew. And I knew he would never do anything about it if I got there first.”

“I said shut up!”

“Just think, if you hadn’t been so eager to crawl into bed with me in the first place you and Ben could be playing happy families right now.”

Riley lets the phone drop from his hand. It clatters against the screen. Ian watches him stumble back from the partition. He calmly replaces his phone receiver, then raises his hand in a wave. He knows Riley won’t be back. He’s finished playing his game now, finished and won.

Riley turns and walks away. He can feel Ian’s eyes on him as he waits for the officer to open the door to the visiting partitions.

Hesitating on the threshold, he makes the mistake of looking back.

That smile will haunt him for a long time.