Trigger Warning: Physical/emotional abuse, depression, suicide, anxiety

Leaving Andy safely in the staff kitchen at the back of the shop. Remington returned to his client, apologising as he pulled a clean pair of medical gloves from the box.

"Don't worry yourself," she said with ease. "It's important to help out people. Is he okay? He looked pretty hammered down there on the street."

Remington opened a new needle, fitted it into the machine. "Yeah, he's fine. You said you wanted some freehand leaves added to this?"

She nodded, showed him where she wanted the leaves, and he got to work drawing them on with a marker, checking she liked them before beginning with the tattoo ink.

After she had gone, Remington insisting on a discount for the disruption, the artist went to quickly check on Andy, washing his hands in the sink opposite the couch that the man was lying on, the alcohol making him too dizzy to sit up. "Home not feeling so much like home?" Remington asked, turning off the taps and drying his hands. He leaned against the counter.

Andy's face was sticky with drying tears. He looked up at Remington and expected the violence to begin at any moment. Finally, he shook his cloudy head. Even alcohol couldn't make him feel better, it seemed.

"How much have you had to drink?"

An unmissable flash of fear crossed Andy's face.

"I'm not mad," Remington said quickly. "Just want to know you've not had too much that you need to go to the hospital."

"I-I-I don't - I...I-sorry, I-I didn't-I-I didn't-didn't mean to, I..." At a loss as to what word should come next, he silenced himself, kept looking up at Remington as though there was a rule against looking away.

"It's okay. You're okay. You're okay. I'm not mad with you, it's okay. Can I get you some more water?"

Andy stared at him. "Sorry," he stuttered.

"I know you are, baby, I know. You're okay, it's okay. We all go through bad times when we try to make everything go away, I understand. It's okay. Water?"

"You...I...I..." Dragging his hand over his face, he finally dropped his eyes, then closed them. For an alarming moment, he seemed to be dead, and Remington let out a breath when he moved.

Filling a glass, he spoke again. "Once you're sober and I'm done with work for the day, I think you need to talk about this. Of course, you don't have to, but if there's even a small chance that you want to, I'm here, okay? I know talking always does me good." He put the water on the ground by the couch." Either way, I'm here and if you don't want to be at home, you're very welcome at my place." 

Andy kept his eyes closed.

Remington wasn't sure he'd ever been in the presence of a heavily drunk person who was so done with life that even litres of alcohol couldn't make him come alive. 

Hours later, after his last client had been and gone, Remington took Andy back to his apartment and made the sofa bed. It took him barely five minutes with all the times he'd used it recently. "Alright," he said finally, sitting on the bed. He could tell Andy was at least more sober. "What would you like to do? I can leave you to sleep, or we could order takeaway, or whatever you want." 

Andy was standing, swaying slightly, a few metres from the bed. His bottom lip was between his teeth. "I'm-I'm sorry," he mumbled in a barely-there voice. 

"I know, and it's okay. I'm not mad, I promise." 

Like a mouthful of vomit he had been trying desperately to swallow but couldn't, he blurted, "I'm not going to court." 

Remington observed him quietly, frowning. "Look how far you've come already," he started. "You managed to ask for help after nine years being told he was doing it for you. You've gotten through two suicide attempts, and I know you wish you had died, but you're still here, and that in itself is something to be proud of. He's made you so sad that you want to die, and after court, he'll be taken away and locked up, and don't you think he deserves that, after everything he's done?" 

"I don't deserve it." 

"You don't deserve what? To know he's been locked up? Oh baby, of course you do. No one deserves anything more." 

"It wasn't...abuse." 

Remington could have laughed at how insane that sounded, but coming out of Andy's mouth, it only made him want to cry. "I promise you, everything that man did to you was abuse. Everything." 

Andy shook his head and covered his face with his hands. He had already made up his mind, it didn't matter what anybody else told him; he wasn't going to court.