Relationships: Not Always What They're Cracked Up to Be
by Nelson
Vic stood on the mound and wiped the sweat from his brow before it could trickle once again into his eyes in the August heat. His right arm was starting to ache from pitching seven innings in the neighborhood ballgame, but he was dedicated to keeping the other side from breaking the tie, and to doing his part to help his team win the game.
Jim Stevens from the Forest Glen portion of the development tapped the bat against home plate before slicing it through the strike zone for a practice swing, equally determined to win the game for his team. It was his chance to break the tie. Vic could see it in his eyes, but it was going to take a bit more practice than a few swings at the air. He was up against two strikes and two balls with two outs and no one on base. Given his earlier at-bats, odds were looking to be in Vic's favor, and hopefully a win was in store for the Wandering Woods section of the neighborhood.
Vic heard Ben's voice distinctly in the distance, passing on moral support from third base. "Get him, Vic. You can do it!"
Vic zeroed in on the glove behind home plate as the catcher pounded the center of the leather mitt with his fist.
"Right here, Vic. Put her in there," he called.
Vic wound up and sent the pitch straight into the strike zone, just a tad on the high side right where he wanted. Hoping for a swing and a miss, he was greeted instead by a resounding crack when the bat unexpectedly kissed the ball. It rebounded with a line drive headed directly for him before he could brace himself.
He managed to stop the ball, but it bounced hard out of his glove, unrestrained and on the loose. Vic cursed himself as he fumbled the ball then frantically looked for it before Stevens could get to first base. Where was it?! He was vaguely aware of his infield teammates rushing forward to assist as his hand finally landed on the renegade ball.
He had to hurry! He zinged the ball hastily, his aim dead-on at the first baseman while Stevens' feet pounded the ground in a dead heat to reach the base safely. There was time! Vic watched as the ball he had expertly sent to the first baseman's glove took an unexpected, and definitely unplanned, course past the waiting glove, over the six-foot metal fence and into the side street.
A thump, followed by an annoyingly reverberating car alarm, echoed in the summer air as Stevens recognized his good fortune and used the wild throw to his advantage, turning an infield base hit into a home run.
"Damn it," Ben uttered beside Vic. "What were you aiming at?"
"Not whatever I hit."
"Sounds like you hit one of the cars parked at the curb." Ben cut a glance at Vic and added, "I hope you didn't *break* anything."
Vic sighed and turned his attention to the first baseman who had just returned from chasing down the escaped ball.
Scott offered Vic the ball. "Here you go."
"Did it hurt anything?"
"Cracked a window." Scott grinned and pushed back his cap. "It was Stevens' car."
Vic huffed. "Great."
He looked over to the other team and saw a gaggle of the opposing team members gathered around Stevens. The high-fives had ceased as they consoled him, clearly onto the fact that it was his car screeching on the side street.
"Kind of ironic, don't you think?" Scott slapped the ball into Vic's hand.
"I suppose," Vic said as Scott clapped him on the back with a laugh before he headed back to his spot at first.
Ben clicked his tongue. "Almost as ironic as you breaking a car window after throwing something."
Vic rolled his eyes and drilled a look at his partner. "Don't start. It's not the same thing."
"I'm just saying." Ben commented with a shrug as he turned from the mound and walked away.
Fabulous. Vic would never live it down. He knew deep in his gut that, without a doubt, no matter how different the circumstances were, Ben would never let it go. This incident and the one that happened three weeks ago were nothing alike: they were night and day, black and white, east from west, yet he knew Ben would see only the end result, which was uncannily the same. Vic could point out the differences until the cows decided they should come home, but Ben would refuse to see them, willing only to see two broken car windows.
He shook his head and tried to get back in the game. He had some face to save as well as a neighborhood ballgame. He couldn't be distracted by the glare coming from Stevens, now resting on the bench, or by the crow he was going to be fed by his partner when the game was over.
He'd much prefer a steak.
Three Weeks Ago…
"Vic, it's too hot to work in the yard!" Ben complained. He continued to change into an old pair of shorts though opting to go shirtless.
Vic tamped down his own aggravation at having Ben gripe at him about yet something else and resisted the urge to recommend a t-shirt. "The flowerbeds are in the shade and we need to get the weeds pulled."
"So? Do they have to be pulled today?" Ben demanded.
Vic's jaw tightened and he fought to keep his tone under control as well as his temper. He had fully anticipated the arguments he was getting from his partner. And why wouldn't he? Ben had been argumentative all day long – for the last three days, in fact – which was the main reason Vic wanted him to get his hands dirty. He hoped some physical work would burn off some of the foul temper Ben had been nursing for three days, each sunrise resurrecting a lesser pleasant Benjamin.
"I told you if you snapped at me one more time today, I would find something constructive for you to do. We're working in the flowerbeds and I don't want to hear any more arguments about it." Vic pulled his t-shirt on dismissively, hoping his warning tone would do the trick and staunch any further whining. It didn't work.
"How much do you expect me to be able to do with an injured thumb?" Ben held up his left hand, showcasing the tightly bandaged yet stabilized thumb.
The thumb that was the root of Ben's problem. The thumb that had tangled with a broken bottle in the garbage bag and lost, hands down. That was a night to remember, Vic thought grimly. A memory he'd just as soon forget. He almost shuddered, remembering Ben holding up his gushing thumb. Somewhere amid Ben's panicked ramblings, Vic had pieced together that Ben had fallen on his way to the curb, causing him to land square on the trash bag, his hand lined up unfortunately with a bottle that broke in the fall. Vic had to swallow down the bubbling bile at the thought that it could have collided with something worse than Ben's thumb. It could have been much more serious.
The worst of the incident was enduring World War IV to get Ben to have the needed treatment for the wound, which included stitches. That had certainly seemed bad enough, but worse still was Ben's growing frustration over what he was unable to do in the days that followed. The bandage and splint were bulky, making it difficult for him to handle the most rudimentary tasks, and that had made him edgy and cranky to the point Vic contemplated adding a wrung neck to the injury list.
The nastier Ben's attitude got, the more Vic's sympathy eroded. It was hard to be understanding when he was constantly getting his head handed to him. Vic had sent Ben to the corner once or twice, and issued no less than half a dozen swats since the injury happened, but nothing was getting through. Vic meant the gardening to be as much a punishment as a method of burning off steam.
"Well?" Ben demanded, his thumb raised high.
"You're right-hand dominant the last time I checked," Vic pointed out. He pulled on an old pair of sneakers and tied them. "You don't need your left hand to pull weeds. Besides, the fresh air will do you good."
"Fresh *hot* air. You're just pissed at me for snapping at you and you're making me pull weeds to retaliate."
The arguments never ceased. Vic made light of the dramatic accusation and said, "Yep, I am. I'm tired of it, and maybe a little work will do something about that foul mood of yours. It will give you something to take it out on that isn't me. The way you've been acting, you're lucky you don't have an injured behind to go with that thumb."
Not to mention a wrung neck. Vic's eyes dared Ben to sass him and Ben eventually folded under the glare. Partially folded.
"Fine," Ben ground out bitterly, nearly sharp enough to cut through Vic's thinly managed control.
He resisted the urge to respond, graciously allowing Ben the last word, not realizing that Ben's intent was for it to be the *very* last word, and the beginning of a deafeningly loud silent treatment. It became painfully obvious soon enough after any comment Vic made was met with a grunt or a look while they tugged at the weeds.
Vic realized with growing dismay that his plan of physical labor wasn't working at all as he'd planned. In fact, Ben had continued to expertly target him as an outlet for his bad mood, using the yard work as not only an obvious excuse but a growing rationale for doing so.
He kept one eye on Ben, watching him yank angrily at the unwanted greenery. Vic sighed in annoyance. He was determined not to let Ben get to him, no matter how hard he was pushing the buttons. No, he absolutely was *not* going to let Ben win and get to him.
Vic asked, "Can you hand me the little shovel?"
Ben huffed and then slung it indifferently in Vic's direction with not enough oomph to carry it close enough for him to reach. Vic's eyes narrowed as the last straw broke with a crisp and resounding snap. There was no excuse for that and Vic willingly let go of his vow made just seconds ago not to let Ben win. He was fed up. Finally more fed up than Ben after a day of being snapped and snarled at for no fault of his own.
Vic straightened up, and sat back on his heels with a hard look at Ben. Ben's scowl withered, and Vic knew from the sudden shift in his countenance that Ben knew he had crossed a line. He apparently hadn't crossed it far enough to feel he needed to do anything to rectify the situation because he still said nothing. The silent treatment continued.
Vic's tone was crisp and commanding. "Come over here and pick it up."
Vic watched Ben carefully for signs of repentance or fueled fire, sincerely hoping for the former, but it wasn't meant to be. His back stiffened when he saw the undeniable flames burning in Ben's eyes. It was time to get this under control, one way or the other.
There were times when Ben needed a firm hand to get him over a bad mood, a nasty attitude or general unpleasantness, and Vic had a growing suspicion, based on past experience, that this was going to be one of those times. He knew Ben sometimes needed an outlet for his emotions that he could not seem to find on his own. He was like a human pressure cooker, his emotions boiling and building but without a steam release. Vic hoped Ben could find an outlet without him having to be the release valve, but he would be just that if Ben insisted. It seemed to Vic that he was not only insisting, but demanding it.
Ben got up and started toward Vic with purpose. He said nothing but bent over, and snatched the hand-sized tool from the ground and loosely held it out to Vic. His posture was screaming his displeasure even with the absence of any verbal conversation.
Vic looked at the small shovel then up at Ben. The scowl was back, ineffectively masking the attitude behind it. Vic wasn't having it, not anymore. "No. Go back where you were and do it the right way, which includes canning the attitude *and* the silent treatment."
Ben's eyes flashed and he broke the silence. "It's right here!"
Vic didn't divert his gaze. "I know where it is."
"And I'm not giving you the silent treatment," Ben barked. "I had nothing to say."
Ben continued to hold out the tool to Vic, but did it more purposely rather than with indifference. It wasn't going to work. Vic was not about to be distracted by Ben's arguments over whether or not he had been intentionally shunning Vic. The issue at hand immediately was disrespect, and Vic was determined Ben would rectify his actions. His understanding of Ben's frustration had met its limit.
"Go back and do it right." Vic stood his ground.
"But it's right here! I'm handing it to you right."
Vic measured his words carefully as he repeated the instruction. "And I said to go back and do it right."
Ben all but growled. "You're being a jerk, Vic."
Vic sent a heated glare directly at Ben that was hotter than the pavement on that August day. Ben's eyes darted away, guiltily. "You're being disrespectful," Vic said after giving his pointed look time to wear down Ben's position.
"I'm just hot and aggravated," Ben finally replied.
A likely story. Whatever excuse Ben wanted to use, Vic didn't care. It didn't give him an out to act like he had been. "The shovel," Vic repeated.
Ben took it back to where he had been then walked it over to Vic appropriately.
"Thank you." Vic took the shovel from Ben. "Water the geraniums, please. You can spray yourself to cool off if you need to."
The scowl was back instantly and Ben stomped off as Vic watched him retreat. Vic shook his head. There was going to be a wrung neck yet.
"Where's the sprayer?" Ben shot over the shrubs.
"It's not over there?"
"I guess not or I wouldn't be asking," Ben replied icily, despite his claim of being hot.
Vic expelled an exasperated sighed. "Benjamin!"
"Well, why would I ask if it were over here?"
It was hard to argue that. "Check the backyard if you don't see it over there."
With a huff of frustration, Ben turned on his heel and headed around the house. Vic shook his head and wondered how much more he could take. He turned his attention back to the last of the weeds, and shortly, Ben returned, sprayer in hand.
"Damn it!"
"What is wrong now?!" Vic demanded.
"I *can't* get this stupid thing on!"
If it wasn't one thing it was a thousand! "You have to have it even –" Vic started before being cut off by Ben.
"It doesn't fit!" he exclaimed, wrenching the sprayer away from the garden hose threads in annoyance. . "It does fit," Vic told him through gritted teeth.
"No, it *doesn't*!"
His last word was written in bold with a punctuated snap of his wrist that sent the metal sprayer sailing just past Vic, only to be stopped with a crack by the closed window of the SUV.
The point of impact bled into spidery fingers before Vic's stunned eyes as he stared at the window, disbelieving. That was *it*. Enough was by all means enough! Vic looked from the broken window to his partner's shocked countenance, his mouth slack from surprise at his own actions. Ben was stunned into silence as his wide eyes went from the window to Vic.
Vic was on his feet immediately. "Inside," he barked with a finger jabbed in the direction of the house.
"Vic, I didn't mean to throw it," Ben uttered quickly, backing up as Vic neared. "I don't know what happened."
"*I* know what happened. Inside," Vic repeated.
"Wait, Vic!"
Vic clamped a hand onto Ben's wrist as he passed by, and hauled him up the porch steps.
"I was just mad!" Ben protested. "I've been frustrated and upset!"
'Upset' was no where near being a good reason for throwing things, much less breaking a car window! Vic's jaw tightened as he continued to ignore his partner's pleadings; none of them were good excuses for what had just happened. Vic pushed the front door open and flung it back, ignoring the growing panic in Ben's voice. He had gone too far and he knew it; it just happened to be too late to make a difference.
"Vic! Wait!"
Vic continued on a path up the stairs and to their room then proceeded to lower Ben's shorts and underwear, despite Ben's anxious protests. There was nothing to discuss, no reason to prolong it. Vic berated himself, all the while committed to doing what he needed to do. Maybe he should have come down harder before Ben had erupted. Maybe they could have avoided this. But maybe it would have ended here, anyway, no matter what he did to keep it from going this far.
Regardless, Vic would be in a pine box before he would ignore temper tantrums and throwing things. He sat on the bed and anchored Ben across his lap, hooking one hand around Ben's bare torso, and landing the other against his bare butt.
"You've been pushing for this all day," Vic scolded his squirming partner as he solidly swatted Ben's backside.
"I just got mad!" he pleaded. "Vic! I didn't mean to break the window!"
"You shouldn't have thrown the nozzle in the first place." Vic brought his hand down firmly, continuing to smack the ever-reddening cheeks.
It had finally come to this. He knew Ben was frustrated, knew he was aggravated, but that wasn't a reason to lash out. And he wasn't about to end the punishment too early, no matter how much Ben begged him to. He needed this to be done once and for all, give Ben the release he had been asking for; release that kept slipping through his fingers like smoke.
Vic listened as the sobs built until they overflowed the angry barrier Ben had carefully constructed over the last few days, only getting to slap the final touches on the stony structure that afternoon. Vic felt the loosening grip of Ben's hand on his ankle as Ben collapsed in tearful relief over his lap. He stopped swatting the scarlet rump over his right knee and rested his hand on Ben's butt.
Ben's cries flooded from him as he expended days' worth of pent up frustration and anger, and Vic waited out the tide patiently. Vic was relieved to have the eruption over and pretty much dealt with, even if they still had to deal with the broken window.
The window. He wished it hadn't been in the path of Hurricane Benjamin. Couldn't he have thrown the sprayer the other way if he had to throw something? Granted, the end result would have been the same but without the added cost of a window repair.
He stroked his hand up the length of Ben's back, and squeezed his shoulder, tight with tension. He shook his head as he listened for the tears to subside. Why Ben wound himself up so tightly, he'd never know, but he knew how to handle it, and Ben could always depend on him for that.
Ben started to push himself from Vic's lap finally, and Vic helped him up then hugged him tightly, feeling Ben's hot, tearful breath against his neck.
He kissed Ben's head firmly. "You don't throw things in a temper. Got it?"
Ben's head nodded against him. "I understand you've been frustrated," Vic continued, "but that doesn't give you a free pass to throw a tantrum, much less throw an object."
Ben's muffled voice filled Vic's ear. "I'm sorry."
"I know." Vic peeled Ben away from him and clasped his face in his hands. "What am I going to do with you and that temper?"
Ben's eyes dropped and he sniffed. "I don't know."
"I'll just keep doing what I've been doing. I can handle it." Vic hugged him again. "About the window, you're going to have to get an estimate, and you'll be paying for the repair."
"I figured," Ben commented sadly.
"You can do that tomorrow. Right now you need to get your clothes on because we need to finish the weeding and watering."
Ben pulled back and looked at Vic pitifully. Vic bit back a smile at the incredulous look in Ben's eyes. He didn't expect vehement arguing like he'd gotten before, but he did expect to hear something on the subject. Something along the lines of injustices, or cruel and unusual punishment.
"Vic! I've just been spanked!"
Injustices it was. "You won't be pulling weeds or watering with your –"
"Vic!"
Vic looked at Ben seriously. "You honestly didn't think you'd get out of finishing the job after pitching a fit, did you?"
"I didn't pitch a fit," he disagreed with a mulish expression. "I pitched the sprayer nozzle."
"In the midst of pitching a fit." Ben reserved any further arguments on the subject. "Go wash your face then put your shorts back on. Let's get it finished."
Vic moved Ben along, hopeful they could finally get back to some sort of normalcy at long last.
Three weeks later, Vic stared at the second broken car window he had to deal with in less than a month. "Again, I'm sorry about the window," he apologized.
Stevens' grudgingly shook Vic's hand. "I'm glad I got a homerun out of it at least."
"Even if it didn't win you the game," Ben interjected with a sly grin. "Nice try though."
Vic pursed his lips and did his best to give Ben a cease and desist look before he made matters worse. Poking at a ticked off neighbor wasn't the best means of getting him to accept an apology.
"Let me know how much it is. I'll pay you for it," Vic interjected a promise.
"I have an idea how much it will be," Ben grumbled under his breath.
"You do?" Stevens asked.
Vic groaned to himself. "We just had to replace one of ours. Long story. I'll write you a check as soon as you let me know the cost."
"All right."
Stevens looked sadly at his window, a poor casualty of an innocent neighborhood baseball game.
"See you later," he said, getting into his car.
Left alone with his partner, Vic steeled himself for what he knew was coming, barely prepared before the first blow landed.
"So, what happens to you for breaking a car window?" Ben wanted to know.
"Here we go," Vic sighed as they headed across the street toward their house. "I knew this was coming."
"Well? You blew a gasket when I broke our window."
"That was totally different and you know it." Vic shook his head.
"It was not different," Ben countered.
There were no parallels in Vic's mind, other than a broken window. "How do you figure?"
"You provoked me and made me mad so I threw the sprayer."
"Nice try. I agree, you threw that sprayer out of anger, but not because I provoked you."
"Whatever," Ben dismissed him. "I was mad and threw the sprayer, you were mad and threw the ball. Same difference."
"I was *not* mad when I threw the ball."
"You were mad because you dropped it."
Vic glanced incredulously at Ben. He was really reaching. "It's a ballgame! I was supposed to throw the ball."
"You weren't supposed to drop it," Ben pointed out. "Not supposed to throw it at cars, either."
"I missed my target because I dropped the ball. The dropped ball didn't make me angry to the point I couldn't throw. Yes, it got me all flustered and I rushed, but that was it. Plain and simple."
"Well, I think it's sort of poetic justice that you have to pay for a car window that you broke after you made me pay for the one I broke."
"'Justice' would imply I did something wrong intentionally," Vic said.
"I didn't intentionally break the window."
"Ben, we could go round and round about this," Vic told him tiredly. "I'm beat. All I want is a cool shower to wash this layer of dirt and sweat off, and then have steak on the grill."
"Way to change the subject," Ben said. "Since I'm hungry, I'll let you slide."
For the moment, Vic realized. He knew the story would be embellished as the years went by, and in the more immediate future with a call to Zach when they got home. If Vic was a betting man, he'd be looking for someone to wager with on how long it would take for Ben to make that call. His money was on about five minutes.
They walked the short mile to their house and Vic relished the rush of cool air conditioning that greeted him; it was almost more welcoming than that of the happy pouncing "hello" from Maggie.
"Do you want to shower first?" Vic asked as he tossed his glove in the closet.
"Nope. I need to make a call," Ben said, petting the dog. "You go ahead."
Vic would have lost the bet. It was faster than even he had anticipated. Vic eyed Ben suspiciously. "A call about what?"
"Nothing," Ben innocently singsonged. "Go ahead." Ben kissed his cheek and went into the living room.
Vic had barely mounted the fifth riser before he heard the expected. "Hey, Zach. You're never going to believe this…"
Vic couldn't help but laugh to himself. Yes, his partner was predictable. This story would go down in their family history as the time Vic pulled a Ben and got away with it.
End