A/N: This isn't supposed to be shippy, but if you wanna read it like that, I definitely have no objections.

This is the most self-indulgent crap I've ever written, but it's about five-thousand words and two days wasted, so might as well post it.

"Ben?" Rook's voice is barely more than a murmur, but it's still loud enough to make Ben wince as he's gently shaken and roused from his sleep.

He doesn't want to open his eyes. It hurts to move and breathe and focus on Rook's voice, and he wishes that he could just go to sleep without being bothered. His mouth and throat are dry all the way to his stomach and it feels like someone stuffed his head full of cotton balls. Every bit of his body feels like it's bruised, aching with every slight shift.

Opening his eyes is an extraordinary effort, but Ben manages. There aren't any lights on, but his eyes still sting from the sun rays gleaming through the windows. He groans, digging his palms into his eyes. It still hurts, but it's better than making his headache worse by looking at his blurry surroundings. Had he been a little bit more aware of himself, Ben might have cared that his vision was distorted and fuzzy, but he really, really doesn't care. Really.

"What is it, Rook?" Ben mumbles. Speaking does nothing to make his throat feel any better. He grimaces at the disgusting taste in his mouth and the unpleasant way his dry lips feel when he talks. Licking his lips doesn't really help, but it gives him something to focus on that isn't the pounding headache threatening to make his head split open.

"Ben." Rook is a little louder this time, a touch more concern in his voice. Nonetheless, Ben ignores him. "Ben, what are you doing asleep on the couch? You have a bedroom for this express purpose."

Couch? Ben tries to open his eyes and look around to confirm Rook's story, but that falls through. It doesn't matter. He can tell just by paying attention to the plush surface that he's laying on that Rook is right. He's in the living room, which is odd. He remembers Rook dropped him off at home last night and making his way to the kitchen, and then…

Abruptly, Ben shoots up into a sitting position. His head is aching with protest, blood rushing up and making him extremely dizzy. He covers a wince by forcing himself to his feet, putting a hand on the arm of the couch to avoid latching onto Rook for support.

The living room looks about as well as he expected, even factoring in that everything is kind of spinning right now.

He can't remember what he did last night, but the evidence laying around certainly speaks for itself. His shoes and hoodie are on the floor, stained a deep red from the wine dripping from a discarded bottle. There are several of them, though none are emptied. At this, Ben can't help but wince. He's never let himself get that far before.

"Ben," Rook says his name for the third time, deep sympathy etched onto his face, "you look pale and exhausted. What happened? Were you attacked?"

Ignoring the fretting, Ben shakes his head. Bad choice. He mutters a curse to keep from wincing at the sharp flash of pain and the ringing in his ears grows louder. "Jeez, be a little quieter..." he mutters. "Look, Rook, it's nothing. It's a, uh, human pastime. It's usually pretty harmless, but I let myself get carried away last night. Don't worry about it. I'm not gonna let it happen again." Great. His parents have only been gone on their anniversary cruise for one day and he's already waking up to the worst hangover he's ever had. Does he really have so little self-control?

He bends down and grabs his hoodie, ignoring the headrush as he slips his shoes on. With any luck, Ben doesn't look too pale, his clothes aren't noticeably wrinkled, and his hair isn't a tangled bird's nest the way it usually is in the morning. He wants to get out on patrol and not spend a second longer in the house than he has to. Clean up can come later.

Rook is frowning, reading the label on the wine bottle in his hand. When had he grabbed that? "Ben, this is an intoxicant," he states, his worried frown only deepening. "These are illegal in this state for humans younger than 21. I doubt that I have managed to miss four of your birthdays, seeing as how I vividly remember the press and media coverage that the last one brought you. Why are you partaking in illegal substances? Surely, you have perfectly legal and safe," he stresses that word, "options in your refrigerator?"

Forcing a smile, Ben waves his hand dismissively. "Psh, you worry too much, Rook! Look at me, I'm fine," he insists. "Now, c'mon. We don't wanna be late for patrol."

He makes a move towards the door, only for Rook's arm to suddenly shoot out, the wine bottle still clutched in his hand. Although Ben sees what's happening, his brain and body don't make the connection. He doesn't stop walking or duck easily around the obstacle. Rather, he blunders right into it. The only thing bruised is his ego, but it still takes Ben a moment to process what just happened. He reaches up, rubbing the bridge of his nose gingerly, and blinks hard.

"Yes, I can certainly see that you are "fine"," Rook remarks flatly. "As your partner and friend, I cannot allow you to go on patrol while you are still suffering from the effects of intoxication. Should you get into a battle, you would only injure yourself and represent a liability."

The lecturing tone doesn't help wake Ben up any. He's about to tell Rook as much, but two firm hands on his shoulders make him choke on his words. "Hey! Rook, what are you—?"

"I am going to assist taking care of you, as it seems you are incapable of doing so properly," Rook says unhappily. His words are cross, but Ben notices that he's more exasperated than angry. Then again, he could be wrong. It's hard to tell when the world is still dark and fuzzy around the edges.

His partner doesn't remove his hands from Ben's shoulders, marching him down the hallway to his bedroom. Privately, Ben is a little unnerved that Rook knows the layout of his house and is also comfortable enough with their friendship to take this mother-hen approach. He had wanted their relationship to be casual, but certainly not personal. Then again, he probably lost all hope of preventing that as soon as he met Rook's family.

In his room, Rook steers him over to the bed. It's not exactly clean, but Rook doesn't chew him out for his lack of organization that way he usually does. Instead, he merely pushes the dirty clothes on the bed onto the floor and gently applies pressure on Ben's shoulders until he takes the hint and sits down on his mattress.

At least his room is dark. Ben has the shades drawn over the large window on the far wall and the lights are blissfully off. Still, determined not to look relieved, Ben crosses his arms and gives Rook the best glare he can muster. Which, now that he thinks about it, probably isn't that good. "Dude, you can stop treating me like a baby," he states, annoyed. "I don't need to lay in my bed! Look," he rubs his temples in a faint attempt to ward off an upcoming migraine, "it's just a hangover, okay? It'll pass. We're wasting time doing this. There are criminals out there right now, and—"

"—and the Plumbers are perfectly capable of handling it," Rook finishes firmly. "Ben, you must relax. It will not hurt you to take a few hours of rest to ward off this sickness."

And that's a nice enough sentiment, except that Rook is completely missing the point. Ben isn't worried about himself. He's done his best to keep his casualties as low as possible in the years he's been a hero. What if the Plumbers aren't fast enough and someone gets hurt? Then it's his fault, for not being there when he should have been. And all because he let himself get too indulgent. Even the sweet releases are bitter, it seems.

Rather than saying all of that, Ben only bites his lip. Despite himself, he nods. "Fine, Rook. I'll stay in bed for…" his eyes travel over to the alarm clock on his nightstand, "three hours. But that's it. I mean it." He gives Rook a pointed look as he grudgingly kicks his shoes off and leans back to sink into his mattress. It's disgusting, how nice it feels. He should be doing his job, not resting from something as inconsequential as a hangover, for Christ's sake! The Hero of the Universe can't be bedridden.

Still, Rook looks pleased that he's given in. "If you are upset about this, good. Perhaps you will remember that the next time you find yourself searching for the bottom of a wine bottle." He pulls out his tablet, opening it to do a quick search on the Extranet. "I am going to search for ways to help alleviate the pain of this "hangover." In the meantime, I would like you to please rest. Moving around clearly did not help you feel any better."

Ben doesn't bother to argue. He knows better than anyone how stubborn Rook can get when he really digs his heels in. He only nods, closing his eyes and doing his best to relax. Thankfully, it's easy to ignore his churning thoughts. The sharp pain just behind his forehead makes it difficult to focus on little else. Still, sleep comes easier than Ben thought. He can't tell if lying here is actually helping anything, but his hangovers aren't usually so bad. Certainly not enough to keep him from work. Ben tries not to drink, he really does, but he's yet to find something nearly as therapeutic as the relief he feels when the second or third full glass of wine makes his heavy thoughts feel as light as air.

He's not sure how long he lays there, but he's almost fallen into a fitful sleep when a cold rag is abruptly placed on his forehead. Ben's eyes snap open, alarmed, but he relaxes when he sees that it's just Rook standing above him. When had he left the room?

Faintly amused, Ben reaches up to hold the rag against his forehead as he props himself up against his pillows. He's not sitting up properly, but it helps his damaged pride to not be laying down flat with Rook towering over him. "Aw, don't tell me you're worried about me?" Ben teases. He's trying to make a joke about it, though it's obvious that Rook doesn't see the humor. The tentative smile on Ben's face is replaced with a grimace.

The Revonnahgander doesn't reply for a moment. Then, ignoring that Ben spoke, he looks down at the tablet still clutched in his hand. "I could not find many scientifically proven ways to ward off a hangover, other than "waiting it out," but for the obvious headaches, a cold rag will usually help," Rook informs him very matter-of-factly, his expression not softening in the slightest even as he sits down on the edge of Ben's bed. "I have also taken the liberty of checking several websites for advice on healthy alcohol moderation. However, as far as I can tell, you did not eat before or while drinking, did not take care to select a drink with few congeners, you did not sip water between drinks, drink in moderation, or take it slowly." As he spoke, Rook had grown more and more agitated, and as he finishes, he's visibly furious. "So, Ben, why did you deem it necessary to not only break a law but to put your own health at risk for the sake of a simple drink?"

If Ben weren't already dehydrated, his mouth would have gone dry upon hearing that. "I don't…" he trails off, then suddenly steels himself. "Rook, it's really not any of your business. I didn't mean to get so carried away. Usually, I—"

"You are admitting that you engage in this unhealthy behavior regularly?" Rook asks, though the accusation in his glare tells Ben that it's really not a question. "Ben, do you have any idea what sorts of long-term health risks are involved with—"

He should just stay quiet and listen to Rook's lecture, he knows that he should, but Ben just can't keep quiet. "You think I don't know?" He snaps, effectively silencing Rook. "Actually, you probably don't! "Ben doesn't know anything," right? "He never takes anything seriously!" I'm just an over-confident, smug jackass that everyone tolerates because I saved the universe or something, and if it wasn't for the Omnitrix, I wouldn't even be that!"

If his head didn't hurt before, it sure as hell does now. Ben is panting when he finishes his little rant. His face pales further than it already was as what he said sinks in. He looks away from his partner, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Instead, he sinks down back against the bed and puts the rag over his face. He's never been so humiliated in his life, and that's definitely saying something. He opens his mouth to tell Rook that he can go, but the words don't come. They get stuck in his throat and Ben lets them, swallowing thickly.

Apparently, he doesn't need to say anything. Rook takes the hint, still for only a few seconds longer before he gets to his feet and leaves Ben's bedroom. The door shuts gently behind him, muffling the sound of Rook's receding footsteps.

Ben tries and fails to squash his disappointment. That's what he gets for lashing out at someone who was only trying to show concern. Did he just ruin their friendship? If he wasn't dehydrated and worn out from his pity party the night before, Ben might have had tears in his eyes.

As it is though, he only opens his eyes to stare up at the plain white rag on his face. It isn't helping his headache any, but he can't bring himself to remove it. How is his partnership with Rook going to go now? The Revonnahgander didn't even speak to him. Rook is never that dismissive unless he's seriously upset. He would have preferred Rook yelling at him and using contractions than saying nothing at all.

His bedroom door creaks as it opens and Ben shoots up in bed. Again, bad move on his part, but the way his vision is blurring is worth the wave of relief he feels when he recognizes that it's Rook walking towards him.

"Rook?" He asks, even though it's fairly obvious that it's his partner and not a stranger. "What are you—? But I thought you—"

He's cut off when a glass is pressed into his hands. "Water," Rook answers, his face blank. The bed dips with his added weight as he sits. "It will help with your dehydration. Another common symptom of hangovers. Although, I am worried about your complexion. Paleness can be a sign of alcohol poisoning."

As easy as it is for him to fall back into the mother hen routine, Ben can't keep the frown off of his face. "Rook, what are you doing? I thought that I— that when I— I snapped at you—" he fumbles for the right words, unable to articulate correctly. Though, he's not sure if that's from the hangover or the way his mind is still whirling to catch up with what just happened.

The look on Rook's face is quietly amused, though not enough to lighten the intensity in his gaze. "Ben, if it was really that easy to get rid of me, we would not have made it past our first day as partners."

Ben starts to say something, only to quickly snap his jaw shut and purse his lips. Ultimately, he decides not to reply to that. He brings the cup of water up to his lips, leaning against his headboard and staring straight ahead of him while he idly sips on it. He doesn't want to look too excited, but the water is actually really refreshing. Earlier, he hadn't noticed how thirsty he really was. It doesn't take long at all for Ben to finish the entire glass, setting the empty cup down on his nightstand with a careless clatter.

"Thanks," he says after a moment, albeit hesitantly. He sneaks a glance at Rook out of the corner of his eye, but his partner isn't looking at him. Rather, Rook seems to have his gaze fixed on the view outside of Ben's window. Or maybe he's just looking at everything except Ben.

For a long moment, only silence stretches between them. Despite Rook's gesture, it's clear that he doesn't know what to say any better than Ben does. And considering that Ben never knows what to say, that's saying a lot.

Finally, Ben can't take the awkward silence anymore. He takes a deep breath. "Can we just pretend this never happened?" He asks, at the same time that Rook says, "Did you mean what you said?"

Again, neither of them is speaking, but at least they're making eye contact. That's something.

Ben's expression twists into one of disgust. "What? Dude, why would you even—? Look, no, I didn't mean it, okay. Now can we please just pretend this never happened? Our partnership was just fine the way it was yesterday. Can't we just reset it or something?"

Despite the heavy atmosphere between them, Rook looks genuinely confused. "I was not aware that human relationships came with a "reset button," as you put it," he replies matter-of-factly.

"Rook," he sighs, "no, it doesn't mean an actual reset button, it just means that— ...and you're just joking, aren't you?"

For his part, Rook looks exceptionally pleased. "Yes. I am starting to understand your sense of humor. I thought that a joke would lighten the mood." But, seeing the look on Ben's face, his smile falls. "However, I am gathering that it did not work, did it?"

"Not really," Ben agrees humorlessly, "but it was a good effort."

Silence settles between them again, just as awkward as before. Neither of them speaks, partly because neither of them knows what to say. Ben is still beating himself up for snapping at Rook like that in the first place. He usually has a much better handle on his emotions than that. Maybe the hangover is just messing with him. He's never had one this strong before, and with it, comes difficulty thinking clearly. But isn't it just like him to refuse taking responsibility for his own actions?

"You have gotten much better at lying," Rook says quietly, making Ben turn to him with surprise on his face. "Kevin told me that your left eye twitches when you lie, but you have been lying our entire partnership and I have not seen any visible sign of you doing so. You have grown to be very good at it."

Ben opens his mouth, but no words come out. He makes a small choking noise, staring at Rook with bewilderment. "I'm— I don't—" he scowls, crossing his arms. "What've I been lying about?" He asks.

Rook turns away from him, looking out over the bedroom. "I believe that you meant what you said when you snapped at me," he says instead of answering Ben's question. "Is that how you really feel? That you do not know anything? That all of us only tolerate you?" Like before, he seems to be getting angrier as he continues. Ben doesn't blame him. He would probably be angry too if the roles were reversed.

"I don't want to talk about it." Ben sinks down lower in the bed, looking up at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the plaster to avoid looking at Rook.

"Not talking about it does not help anything!" Rook snaps impatiently, startling Ben. "Is this also the reason why you were drinking last night? Several online resources about underaged drinking listed that youths will drink as a coping mechanism or to avoid dealing with extreme emotions. Drinking until you pass out on your mother's couch is not a healthy way of dealing with whatever is troubling you."

Ben clenches his jaw in frustration. He tilts his head away from Rook. "I said that I don't want to talk about it." He tries to stress it this time. The last thing Ben wants to do is spill everything he's been holding in to his partner. They have a good relationship — it's just going to be ruined if Rook realizes that he's not actually the confident hero everyone sees him as. He's pathetic.

"How long have you been turning to intoxicants like wine?" Rook asks after a tense pause. When Ben doesn't immediately reply, he scowls. "How long, Ben?"

Biting his bottom lip nervously, Ben sighs. He wants to sink down further, but if he does that, he might as well be laying down. "Um, for about two years now…?" He says it more like a question than an answer. Rook doesn't reply and, doing what he does best, Ben keeps talking. "Yeah, it was— it was when the Highbreed were still invading. Grandpa had just sacrificed himself by setting off an explosion. I mean, we found out later that it just launched him into the Null Void, but—" Ben winces at the memory, "but back then, to me, he was still… gone. I didn't know what to do. Mom and dad were out, and Gwen was crying, and I wasn't about to ask Kevin for comfort, so… so forgetting about it was just easier." He shrugs dismissively. "And after that, whenever I was… stressed or upset about anything, it was just easier to forget about it." There's more to say — so much more — but Ben leaves it like that. He's never told anyone the truth about this before. It's an entirely unfamiliar territory to him.

After a long minute of silence, Ben risks a glance at Rook. He looks like he's struggling not to hit something, which stuns Ben. He's always been the hot-headed and compulsive one, not Rook. The worst he's ever seen Rook lash out was when he found out that his father had been hurt and used a contraction. Even then, he was much calmer than Ben would have been in the same situation.

He's hesitant to do so, but Ben sits back up properly and reaches a hand out, placing it gently on Rook's shoulder. The touch probably doesn't register through the thick Proto-Armor, but he's trying to be comforting. "Uh, Rook? Are you okay, buddy? You look like Fistina is flirting with you again." He tries to make a joke out of it, but Rook doesn't even acknowledge him. "...Rook?"

Finally, his partner sighs. He runs a hand over his face, some of the anger fading away as he coaxes his body into relaxing. "I am a failure as a partner," he says, with such conviction that it actually makes Ben freeze. "I cannot believe you have been doing this to yourself for two years and I never noticed."

The simple idea that any of this could be Rook's fault as Ben fumbling for words. "W-Well, hey, I didn't do it every day! And you've only been my partner for one of those years! Dude, how the hell can you possibly convince yourself that it's your fault? It's no one's fault but mine!" He wants to continue, but Rook shakes his head, brushing Ben's hand off of his shoulder.

"Partnership is not just about covering each other during fights," Rook says stiffly. "We are supposed to help maintain and care for the mental, emotional, and physical well-being of our partner. I have not. I did not even consider that your overconfident attitude could be something more than a— than a facade." He spits out the word like it's poison.

Ben gives a weak smile. "Well, I don't want to brag or anything, but I've always been a pretty good actor."

That is apparently the wrong thing to say. Rook's anger returns full-force as he turns to Ben and grabs him roughly by the shoulders. "This is not a joke, Ben!" He snaps. "This is a serious problem that you have been dealing with entirely alone, and in one of the most unhealthy ways possible! I should have been able to tell! I should have known that— that your attitude was nothing more than a front to hide how you really are!" For a second, Ben thinks that Rook is going to pull him into a crushing hug. He looks like he wants to, but he only holds Ben there for another moment before abruptly letting him go.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he admits quietly. The shouting isn't helping much. His headache is becoming more bearable, but it seems to pound harder to match the volume of his surroundings. At least his vision isn't blurry anymore.

Rook takes a deep breath. "It is obvious," he says in a much more subdued voice, "that you need someone to talk to. You are not throwing parties or going out drinking for fun. If you will not talk to me, I would like you to see a therapist of your choosing. It can be a normal one or one who works with the Plumbers, but I think it goes without saying that things cannot continue the way they have been."

That isn't a very appealing option to Ben. He's avoided seeing a therapist for seven years. At this point, he's kind of scared to tell anyone. He's never done that before. It's always just been himself, alone with his thoughts. He never told Julie anything he was feeling, and he's never told Gwen or Kevin. Considering their current relationship, Ben thinks that Kevin will be understanding if he ever wanted to talk, but he can't help but feel… ridiculous about all of it.

"I just…" He sighs, looking away. "It all just seems like I'm overreacting, you know?" If he acknowledges Rook, he's going to lose the will to keep speaking. So Ben ignores his partner and forces himself to continue. "I mean, yeah, I've seen some… um, messed up things, but so what? Plenty of heroes see messed up things. Gwen hasn't had it easier either and neither has Kevin, and they don't go to a therapist. They pretty much live in the shadow of "The Great Ben Tennyson," anyway. They don't get half the credit I do, and I'd be dead countless times over without them, and I still have the nerve to drink myself into a happy-coma every time I can't deal with my own thoughts." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "How sad is that, right? I can face Vilgax without blinking, but as soon as I start thinking, I need something to make it stop."

As soon as Ben stops speaking, he's flooded with an overwhelming sense of shame. He just spilled a huge part of his problem to Rook. Rook, of all people, his socially clueless partner who used to idolize him. Well, if actually meeting him hadn't ruined that already, then Ben just sealed the deal. He wishes that he can take it all back. After this, there's no way Rook will respect him or want to be his partner. Someone else is going to leave, and it's his fault for not swallowing his words when common sense told him to.

The negative thoughts come to a screeching halt as a warm weight presses against him from behind.

Ben has a moment to think, "what the hell," before two arms go around his waist to match. If he wasn't confused and thrown off before, then he sure as hell is now. It takes him a moment to process, but then Ben realizes that Rook is hugging him. Have they ever hugged before? He doesn't think so. Hugging isn't really something that guys are supposed to do with each other, but he can't bring himself to care right now. Rook is easily a good head taller than he is, and being held by someone bigger than him is more comforting than Ben wants to admit.

"You're not mad at me?" Ben blurts out without thinking. He should have learned his lesson the first time, except that Rook holding him actually feels really nice, and his head is pounding and short-circuiting all over again and he has no idea what's happening.

"Mad?" Rook sounds bewildered. "Ben, you have been building up years of emotional trauma without ever telling anyone or letting yourself work through it. I am only mad at myself for never noticing, as well as yourself for turning to intoxicants." It's not very comfortable being pressed against Rook's Proto-Armor, but Ben is struck by the sudden thought that he wouldn't mind doing this more often. "But to answer your question properly, no. I am not mad at you."

He gives a huff of laughter. "You're not… disappointed? Heroes aren't underaged alcoholics…" he mutters.

Rook pauses. "I… am disappointed that you were drinking, Ben, but not because it tarnishes your heroic image. I am disappointed and frustrated because I care about you, all heroics aside. Not everyone can be a hero all the time. It is okay to take breaks and allow yourself to just be human. Saving the universe "almost a billion times" does not make you immune to having emotions."

One of the arms around his waist leaves. Ben starts to protest, only for Rook to place his hand on top of his head instead. He's never had his hair pet before, and it's definitely kind of weird, but not in a bad way. It's like using bandaids on a bullet wound, but it's a start, and it's been so long since Ben had even that.

He closes his eyes and, for the first time in a long time, Ben lets himself cry.

A/N: Partly based on the song "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum and "Ghost" by Jamie-Lee Kriewitz.

Also, this really isn't a story about drinking. Sorry if it seemed preachy, I just figured that Rook would be the kind of mother hen to be absolutely appalled to find someone drinking.