Chloe had never witnessed such a catastrophic clusterfuck in her entire life.

She looked down at the bouquet of red roses in her hand. The flowers were shriveling slightly, the petals curling up in a fetal position. She imagined that — on stage — Jack probably felt very similar. Poor bloke.

"Do you think we still give these to him?" she asked.

Next to her, Logan shook his head.

He was terribly pale. Almost sheet white, in fact. If Chloe didn't know any better, she would have said that he had food poisoning. He certainly hadn't been able to eat very much for lunch.

"Logan?" She nudged him. "You okay?"

He nodded weakly.

He had pulled his knees into his chest, and he was rocking back and forth slightly, like children did when they were trying to self-soothe. Chloe glanced at where the audience was now filing out, presumably rushing to meet the contestants outside the studio.

"Should we go?" she suggested.

He shook his head violently.

"Okay." Chloe swallowed. "I guess we'll just sit here, then."

She glanced at him sideways. Maybe it was a twin thing. Maybe Jack and Logan could actually feel each other's pain, and Logan was experiencing a shut down of all of his internal organs right now.

She looked down at the empty stage.

What the hell had just happened?

Jack had prepared for months for this. No, years, really. He used to make Chloe quiz him on the tube together. He had dominated all of the early rounds, slamming on the buzzer so many times that even Victor had been grudgingly impressed.

Not today though, apparently.

Poor Jack. He must be devastated.

She glanced at the doors.

"I'm going to go check on Jack," she said, patting Logan's shoulder. "You stay here, okay? We'll come back for you."

Logan just stared at the stage.

Chloe raced up the stairs, the bouquet slapping her in the thigh. Guilt made her throat tight. She should have helped Jack practice more. Offered to watch more University Challenge re-runs with popcorn. She'd been so caught up with Logan that she'd completely neglected him recently.

Well, not anymore.

She burst through the doors, scanning the lobby. There was Priya, hugging a pretty woman in a bright pink suit. And Eddie, getting sick in a bin. But where was—?

Ah.

There he was.

She approached cautiously. Jack looked up from his cozy armchair by a fireplace, shifting a backpack in his hands.

"Oh," he said flatly. "It's you."

Chloe tried not to be offended.

"How are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Like I need a strong whisky," Jack muttered. "Or an IV drip filled with mulled wine." He glared at her. "You don't need to look at me like that, Cartwright. I'm not a wounded deer. Look, can you just go? I need some time."

Chloe stared at him. She had prepared herself for tears, or histrionics, or — most likely — Jack curling up like a potato bug and refusing to speak to anyone for days. What she hadn't prepared for was this.

Angry Jack.

She could see it in his eyes; they glittered like chipped blue sea glass. His knuckles were white on the arm chair.

"I'm not leaving," she said in a small voice.

"Chloe—"

"I'm not!"

There was a long, terrible pause. Jack nodded jerkily at the flowers.

"Those for me?"

"Yes." Chloe thrust them forward. "To congratulate you."

"On what?" He didn't take them. "Fucking up my career?"

Chloe winced. "It wasn't that bad. You got that last question, didn't you? Anyways, nobody watches University Challenge anymore."

"Just the entire United Kingdom."

"You might have made a mess of things, but—"

"Oh, that's rich," he drawled. "Coming from you."

"What do you mean?"

Chloe's voice came out sharp. She hugged the flowers to her chest, trying to slow her racing heart. Jack's eyes were fixed on the fireplace.

"Jack," she said. "What do—?"

"Well, you're a mess," he snapped. "I mean, look at you, Chloe." His blue eyes were blazing. "Always late for everything, always tripping over yourself — it's a god damn miracle people let you out of the house."

Chloe flinched. "Don't take this out on me."

"I'm just stating facts."

"Look, if you're worried that people won't think you're smart—"

"Oh, come off it," Jack said, smirking. "You're not exactly Einstein yourself. Christ, this month has proven it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Stop it, Jack," Chloe snapped. "Just stop, okay? You're acting like—"

"Like what?"

"Like..."

She blinked. Well, like Logan, actually. But she liked Logan. Didn't she?

"Look, I'm just trying to help," Chloe said, praying that her voice wouldn't wobble. "I'm on your side, okay? Always."

Jack stared at the fireplace, his jaw working. Oh, god. He must really be upset — Chloe hadn't seen him this angry since...

Well, ever, actually.

Not when Logan hid spiders in his bed as a child. Or when Jack failed his driver's test for the third time. Hell, Jack hadn't even lost his temper when Penelope Waters, his girlfriend in secondary school, cheated on him with the rugby captain.

"What can I do to help?" Chloe asked softly.

"Just go," he muttered.

"Jack..."

"Go," he roared.

Chloe didn't need to be told a third time.

Jack looked at the toaster oven and debated putting his head in it.

Oh, this was bad.

This was very bad.

He looked down at the pile of golden chocolate wrappers, half-eaten pint of Ben and Jerry's, and some questionable cheese that Logan had left in his fridge. Did he regret eating it? No. Was he beginning to feel slightly ill? Yes.

Screw Logan.

His brother had torpedoed his academic career on national television six hours ago, and he hadn't even had the decency to call. Who did that?

Jack had waited outside the studio for an hour, which was no mean feat, considering that he had to lie to Chloe and say that he was suffering from stomach issues. And Logan hadn't shown. Surely he wasn't that desperate for a good article. And Logan had promised to switch places before the show, hadn't he?

Jack ate another chocolate glumly.

He was going to kill his brother. Kill him.

A key clicked in the lock.

Logan stuck his head in, his cheeks red with cold. He was wearing a rather stupid-looking green bobble hat that was likely designer, and clutching a large envelope. Jack scowled. If he was planning to give him a written apology, then he could think again.

"Get out," Jack snarled.

"Wait." Logan held up a hand. "Let me explain."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Victor stopped me," Logan continued, ignoring this. "He—"

"Then you should have told him the truth!"

"I did!" Logan looked exasperated. "He didn't believe me. Clearly, you never mentioned the fact that you had a twin."

Jack paused. Oh, yeah. That was true, actually.

"Anyways," Logan said, chucking the letter in front of him, "this is for you."

"I don't want it."

Logan crossed to the counter, flicking on the kettle. "Yes, you do." He popped tea bags in two mugs. "Trust me."

Jack couldn't help it; curiosity got the better of him. He pulled out a sky blue form, stamped with a black swirl logo in the top corner. The front of the form read, "Practical Driving Test Pass Certificate."

"I don't understand," he said slowly.

"I did it." Logan shrugged. "I took your driver's test for you."

Logan poured water into their mugs, looking rather pleased with himself. Jack blinked. Hang on. Had he just said...?

"You can't just do that!" he sputtered.

"I can, in fact," Logan  said. "I just rocked up to the test centre and claimed to be  you; it was dead easy." He stirred the tea bag. "They should really get better  security."

"It's unethical!"

"Well, it's done," Logan said smugly. "And you can't exactly go back and demand to retake the test, now can you?"

That was, Jack reflected morosely, a rather good point.

"I can't believe this," he muttered, putting his head in his hands. "I'm a fraud. A criminal."

"I think the words you're searching for are thank-you, Logan."

Jack peered through his fingers. Logan shoved a cup of tea towards him, and it sloshed a little on to the counter. Logan's hands were shaking slightly. He was nervous, Jack realized with some surprise. Nervous what his reaction would be.

No wonder Logan took the bloody test.

It was an apology gift.

"Jack..." Logan trailed off, wrapping his hands around a mug. "I really am sorry about what happened at the studios. I never meant for things to get so out of hand."

"It's fine."

"It's not."

"Well, no, it's not," Jack agreed. "But it's done now." He took a sip of tea. "And anyways, you got that question on French literature right."

Logan's mouth quirked. "I did, didn't I?"

"Plus," Jack continued, perking up slightly, "it won't be long before everyone finds out the truth, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your article." Jack shrugged. "Everyone will know that it was actually you that took the quiz after it comes out."

"I hadn't thought of that."

Jack leaned over to slap his brother on the shoulder. "I wouldn't post your address anywhere that Victor can find it, mate; he has a black belt in taekwondo."

Logan went sheet white. And Jack — slightly more cheerful than he had been just a few minutes prior — chortled to himself as he finished his tea.

Victor didn't have a black belt, in fact.

But Jack wasn't about to tell Logan that.