"Tell him to fuck off then."

"Angus, he's doin' everything in his damned ability to help you, you're the one bein' an arse," Malcolm yelled, defending George standing beside them. 

"An' why don't you tell me to fuck off, Ang?" George asked, heated as well. "Don't get Mal to do your dirty work for you." Angus didn't respond, instead choosing to pluck a few strings on his guitar, keeping his back to everyone. 

Cliff and Peter were in the sound room talking, Mutt in there as well with a pair of headphones on. Phil hadn't shown up yet, and Malcolm and George were in the main room holding an intervention for their brother's hostile behavior. The idea of moving locations didn't sit quite well with Mutt, who thought keeping the tracks together would be the best way to keep them from getting ruined. Malcolm, who knew there were hardly any tracks made yet, figured it was alright. George stepped in noticing Angus keeping to himself, and made the mistake of trying to be a brother. 

"He's been actin' this way ever since I called him in last," Malcolm said. "Ever since he ran out the door he's been in a mood."

"I'm not in a mood," Angus muttered. 

"We're all in a mood," George said. "We're all stressed, you don't think we all want the next guy strangled?" He gave a small kick to the leg of Angus' chair, Angus only pausing a moment to sigh. "So what's the deal then, eh? Somethin' goin' on at home?"

"Nothin'."

"Havin' a fight or somethin'?"

"If ya' don't mind George, I'd like it if you kept your mouth shut an' let me work on this riff, yeah? Thanks," he muttered over his shoulder. 

"I'm gettin' pretty fuckin' sick of your attitude lately, Ang. You're never this bad, you've never grabbed me by the throat with two hands," George said. "C'mon, I'm your brother, mate. Is it something about Hannah? Are you fighting, is there a money problem? What is it?"

Angus almost answered, almost, but something stole the words right from his mouth. Perhaps it was the lump in his throat, choking him up. Clearing his throat and blinking rapidly, he shrugged. "I dunno what's goin' on."

"I call your bullshit," George said quietly, Malcolm having left the room to check on the rest of the guys. Angus eyed the window, hoping Phil would show up and put an end to this discussion. No sign of his car. "Look, if somethin's goin' on bad an' all I would understand, ya' know? But if there's nothin' at all--an' everything is runnin' on water then there's no reason to be actin' like a childish prick."

Angus was in no mood to fight. Energy drained out of him and he felt deflated. Exhausted. George stayed for maybe a minute longer before standing up and heading for the sound room. Good. Maybe he'd get a bit of work done. 

Every note he plucked carved a deeper etch into his fingers, his skin tingling under the callouses. They had healed from his last assault, and were now protected against another lashing. Something bright shone right through the window he faced, and he squinted for a second before it left. It was the first sunny day in a while. The English sun was much more welcomed, and accepted with a few thankful sighs. 

He paused in his playing to rub the back of his neck. He hadn't slept at all well the past few days. Tossing and turning with rogue thoughts as his lullaby. Hardly any words were exchanged that morning before he left for the studio, Hannah either still asleep or pretending to be. Angus left without a goodbye, closing the door rather harshly behind him. He could admit he was being childish, but it was difficult to be the bigger man when a woman so stubborn as Hannah shared the blame. Something she never grew out of.

A car door slammed. Angus barely heard it. He began playing again, a tune from the early days of the band when cover songs filled their gigs. When Bon would yell into the microphone, giving the performance every last ounce of energy he had, and in return getting bottle after bottle thrown at him. Rioters shaking the barriers they had so neatly set up, only a select few enjoying the music. 

Bon getting into more than a few rows afterwards, stumbling backstage with a paper bag practically sewn to his lips. Everyone getting so worked up over his choice of actions, scolding him for giving in to a fight. Bon always replying with a smile, that he'd been through worse. Going back to the house or hotel after a show, and having a quiet chat to wind down with. Even when the aftermath had the band on their arses in exhaustion, Bon could always keep their spirits up, and his glass full. 

Bon...

"Angus...?"

Bon? The tall blonde woman standing at the door of the studio with her short hair under a headband was certainly not Bon. "...Susan?"

She let the door close by itself behind her. "Hi," she said. She seemed cautious to approach him. 

"Hi," he replied as he furrowed his brow. Placing his guitar on the stand next to his chair he stood up to meet her, feeling smaller than normal. Wiping his palms on his jeans and straightening his watch, he forced a smile. "What are you doin' here?"

"You don't beat around the bush, do you?" she asked with a mere smile of her own. A couple bracelets on her wrist rattled as she reached a hand up to move her bangs aside. "I came to apologize." Angus shoved his sweaty hands into his pockets.

"It's uh...it's been a while since that little...incident," he said. "I jus' thought we had put it behind us."

"I would have liked to," Susan said. "But I wanted to say it again, you left in such a hurry when...it happened." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, Angus thinking it was more than just her uncomfortable looking shoes. "I really never should have done that, it was stupid of me and I should have known you'd never feel the same...I see the way you look at her, and..."

Whatever Susan said next, Angus didn't quite hear. Frankly, he didn't listen as closely as he should have. His mind immediately reverted back to their quiet dinner in the bedroom, soup and tea filling their mouths instead of words. After she was finished Hannah had taken her bowl to the kitchen sink and returned with a few baby carrots in her hand. Hermione kicked up some shavings in joy and nibbled on them happily. Angus watched her over his meal, seeing her disappear around the bed, and feeling the weight shift as she settled back down. Feeling her hair brush against his arm when she leaned on him, hearing her sigh in frustration. 

Hearing her get up in the middle of the night to change her bandages, feeling the painful absence of the deserted bed, falling asleep in content only when she returned. 

"I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Oh, oh no, you're fine, I was jus'...thinkin'." Susan's expression turned to one of concern. 

"Something's wrong, isn't it?"

"No! No, everything's fine."

"You know something, Angus Young?" Susan asked as he turned to sit down again. "You're a bad liar." He stared at her a minute before smiling, taking his guitar onto his lap again. "It may not be my business to know but you can't tell me there's nothing wrong."

"It's jus' a little issue back home, nothin' we can't settle."

"It's not because of me, is it?" Susan asked. 

"No! Of course not."

"If it's because of me, I-"

"It ain't you, I never even once brought it up since it happened," Angus explained, willing to calm the woman down. "There's a lot of shit goin' on at home, ya' know? We're both stressed out an' we haven't found the balls to talk to each other about it yet, but we will, we will." Susan stood in such a way by the window that her hair looked like a halo. "What about you an' Viktor, are you goin' alright?"

"To be honest..." Susan looked up at him through her lashes with a sheepish smile. "I think he wants to have another baby."

"Another one?"

"Another one." Before Angus had time to understand what she said, he pointed to a chair sitting across from him.

"You can have a seat if you want." She gladly took it. "Another one?" She nodded. "How old is your youngest?"

"Not even four months," she answered. "I think Viktor is hoping for another boy, after having two daughters in a row...but I'm exhausted. Still as in love as the day I met him, but I need a break from the parenting." She looked up at his playing with a sly smile. "And what about you?"

"Me?"

"What's your status then?" Angus' smile left as he processed the question.

"Oh...we've decided not to have kids," he explained. "We've decided one rabbit is enough for us." He looked down at his playing, hoping this not exact lie would be enough to deflect her. 

"I'm surprised." He shrugged. "I would think you would have loved to have a child of your own."

Another lump formed in his throat and he made a poor attempt at coughing it out. "Eh, well...circumstances change, ya' know?" Avoiding any expression Susan might have had, he kept his eyes glued to his instrument. Susan watched him, observing every finger with keen interest. 

"You're very good," she said. Angus glanced up as quick as lightning, then back down.

"Eh. Thanks."

"No, I'm serious, you're really good," Susan insisted. "I knew you liked guitar back when we were in school but I never would have guessed you'd be sitting here right now." Angus' cheeks burned.

"You knew I liked guitar?"

"Everyone did. You and your brother, chomping at the bit to get the hell out of there and get your lives going."

"Mm, that, and we both had the shits from listenin' to the teachers drone all day." He laughed at his own joke, and felt more at ease when Susan did too. "Except Miss Jackson. Now she was a babe."

"Don't think I don't remember your crush on her," Susan replied. "Or on me, or on the girl with the red pigtails, or the librarian's assistant, or on Hannah." Angus cut his finger on the chord. "Everyone knew about that too."

Examining his finger and seeing no blood, he continued to play. "Aw, even Miss Jackson?"

"Even Miss Jackson."

"I hope she wasn't too jealous," he muttered with a half smile. "But she never did make me laugh the way Hannah did. The way she still does..." Angus began blinking again and swallowed. "No, she jus' wasn't the same."

"Are you alright?"

"Perfect," he choked out. Relieving his guitar from his possession he stood from the chair and held his hand out to Susan. "Come on, I'll walk you outside."

Phil showed up later than expected. After receiving a lashing from George, Malcolm, Peter, and Malcolm again, the band got to work recording new wordless songs. Angus knew, had Bon been there, he would have been scratching on a piece of paper or pacing the floor, tapping his foot to the song as he listened, or climbing out the bathroom window. Maybe dropping a pencil down Peter's shirt to loosen him up. Then getting in trouble for it. 

His feet ached as he took the long way home, passing through the darker side of town. Intervals of sprinkling fell on him making the early spring night colder. Cars were rare in a street with no lamps and the ones that did come by were parked in front of a small bar. Loud voices came from inside, the lights bright against the black night. Putting his hands in his pockets, Angus stood on the sidewalk, observing the place.

Cigarette butts lying three to a parking space with various groups of people spread around a few cars, smoking to add to the collection. An upstairs window had its lights on, the curtain quickly pulled shut. Crushed beer cans sat in a pile by a back door collecting flies along with the garbage cans right next to it. The smell alone made Angus take another step home before someone called out to him. "You goin' inside?"

Through the dark Angus could just barely make out a wide face. "Nah, I gotta get home."

"Plenty of room inside, especially someone your size," the man continued. "Gettin' kind of dark, you could stay here till the sun comes up."

Stress pressed heavy against Angus' shoulders but he knew better than to mess the likes of this place. Besides. Hannah needed him more than a pint of beer. Offering the best smile he could, Angus shook his head. "Nah, I'd rather sleep in me own bed."

"Does your own bed have a Moatie innit?" the man asked with a sort of hoarse laugh. Angus wasn't sure he heard him correctly.

"Sorry?"

"That's what this place is called, innit? The Moat? Them birds upstairs, the Moaties, they'll give you a place to stay," the gruff man said. "For a few hundred pounds, of course."

"No," Angus said taking a few more steps back. "No, I've got my wife at home to get to."

"Oh, gotta wife, have ya'?" the man said nodding his head. "Does she know you're out here?"

"She doesn't need to know everything I'm doin'," Angus said without thinking. "An' I was jus' goin' home anyway."

"Alright," the man said with a shrug. "Suit yourself." Angus walked away from the bar, hearing the man laughing behind him. His friends were laughing too, drunkenly. If Angus were in better spirits and the night wasn't so late, he might have stopped for a look inside. Maybe paid full price for half a drink then went home. Got into his nice warm bed after having a long, hot shower, ready for a good sleep. 

A cup of tea was sounding better and better, in fact.

Pushing the door open he was met with darkness. One lamp was on in the corner of the room where a young woman sat under it. Their eyes met. "He's home," she said quickly. Angus closed the door and saw the phone chord dropping from the side table and rising to meet her in the chair. Dropping his jacket on the couch he caught Hannah after she nearly jumped into him after replacing the phone. Her mint bathrobe covered the bandages on her arms. 

"Who was that?"

"Malcolm. I called him when you didn't come home." Loosening his hold, Angus looked up at her. 

"Since when are any of you my mum?" he asked. "I don't have a curfew, ya' know."

"No," Hannah agreed following him to the kitchen. He brought the kettle to the sink and Hannah removed two cups from the cupboard. "But you've never come home that late before."

"Have a lot on me mind." He set the kettle on the stove. "Took a walk."

Pouring a bit of milk into each cup, Hannah sighed. Angus opened the fridge and squinted from the light, pulling out a container of old spaghetti. He accepted the plate Hannah gave him with hardly a thank you. "I was worried about you, that's all."

Their eyes met again. Any coldness in her expression from yesterday was gone and replaced with a sad, almost empty resemblance of her. A shell of who she was a few weeks ago. Suddenly spaghetti didn't seem to sit well with him, but he knew he needed dinner so she wouldn't worry herself sick about him. She had enough on her plate. "I'm fine, sweetheart." He saw her eyes light up at the name and he smiled. "What did Mal have to say about me?" he asked putting the plate in the microwave. He had to concentrate to see the numbers. "Did he call me every name in the book?"

"No," Hannah said taking a seat at the table. "I think he wanted to, but he refrained because there was a lady on the phone."

"Mal knows you just as well as I do," Angus said. "We both know you can be a right sailor."

Their smiles met. 

"He was worried when I called him." Hannah played with the salt shaker. "He said he and Linda would keep an eye out for you."

"He doesn't need to worry about me, he's got shit himself." The microwave was done but his food wasn't. "We all do, don't go worryin' about me now."

"We care about you, that's why we're worried." Thinking quick, Angus changed the subject. 

"What did you do while I was gone?"

She shrugged. "Cleaned Hermione's cage, mopped the floors, fixed a light bulb in the bathroom."

"Thank you," he said taking his hot food to the table. "That flickering was givin' me a headache whenever I pissed at midnight." Rolling some spaghetti onto his fork he reached across the table. "Here." Hannah opened her mouth and accepted the food. 

"I took my medicine."

"What did you take it with?"

"Coco-Puffs." Angus grinned.

"Of course you did. Here." Hannah accepted another bite of spaghetti. "How are your arms?"

Hannah's mouth was full, so she rolled up the sleeves of her bathrobe. 

"They look better. Did you change them?"

"Once," she swallowed. "They're red, but the skin wasn't broken." Hannah stood up to take the kettle off the stove. Now that her back was turned, Angus took a good look at her. Messy hair stuck out in all directions while her bathrobe had a small case of pilling. The tiny bit of face he could see was full of color, but her shining eyes were red from crying. Setting a cup of tea in front of him, Hannah took her own cup and sat down. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" He took a bite of dinner to give him time to come up with an answer. "Stressed. A flagpole up my arse from Malcolm an' George drillin' into me. An' a hole in my stomach," he said taking an extra large bite. "Tired as all hell an' anxious to get back to bed."

"Do you want a shower first?"

"Absolutely."

"You're scarin' us, Ang."

"I scare myself every mornin' in the mirror, what's your point?"

"You've got bags without groceries under your eyes, you won't talk a word to anyone besides me, you've been accepted to the Navy with that tongue of yours when you do talk to me..." Malcolm said. They were in the sound room where no one would hear them. "The point is you've woken up as Mr. Hyde and you won't change back." Angus took a drink of his soda. 

"Am I affectin' the music in any way?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean is my playin' no good anymore?" Malcolm stared down at him. Angus took to spinning around in the swivel chair that usually belonged to Peter. 

"No."

"Is the band breakin' down on account of me?" he asked emotionless.

"Angus, shut up an' listen for once."

"If nothin's wrong, I don't want to be troubled about it, alright?"

"Angus! Get outta my chair!" According to Peter's presence it was time to start the day. 

Taking the long way home may or may not have been a mistake that night. Had Angus went straight home he would have greeted his love like he usually did and they would have made dinner together, dined together, made love together, and slept for the remainder of the night together. But since fate had him take the road leading to the small bar with the overflowing rubbish bins and Moaties in the upstairs, he had an experience waiting for him. 

The man with the wide face was there, drinking with his friends just the same as the night before. Though it took Angus but a minute to find him. Exchanging a raised glass and a congratulatory smile for a weak one, he sent his friends and himself over to his corner of the barroom. They were all just as wide as he was. "So, you've come here after all, eh?"

"Jus' to have a look around," Angus shrugged. "I don't mean to stay long."

"Lad, if men weren't made to stay the night here, they wouldn't have built a second floor," one of the men said. His pals laughed at the truth of his statement. 

"Here, we'll buy you a drink."

"Uh, nothin' too strong, ya' know, I'm not much of a drinker."

"That's what they all say," the first man said.

"They?"

"First timers. Look, lad. Any bloke who comes in this pub stays for a while an' gets treated to the strongest liquor in the place. We'll buy a few rounds, yeah?" Angus wanted suddenly to be out of the bar and on his way home, but how could he refuse such large company? A collection of chairs were brought to a round table in the corner and one man raised his hand to call for a bartender. Another man pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Angus. 

"You smoke?"

"Are Moaties aplenty?"

Angus, having hardly any idea what he just said, smiled as he was offered his pick of the cigarettes with a celebrated laugh around the table. 

"Alright, who brought cards?" 

"I did."

Angus, feeling a little light on finance, stood from the table. "I shouldn't play tonight, fellas, I don't have much to play with."

"That's alright then, we'll play for drinks. You got enough for a few drinks?" Angus assented that he had. "Alright, laddie, sit down then, like." Angus resumed his place at the table and took the cards dealt to him. "We're playin' gin tonight. Gin for gin, eh, lads?"

A first round of drinks, free from Angus' charge, were passed around the table. They were strong, just as Angus had declined, and he choked it down. "Alright, lad?"

"Yeah," he coughed. "Jus' not used to this."

Downing several ounces of the amber liquid in under a minute and slamming the stein down, the man patted him on the back. "You'll have your fill by the mornin', won't he?" The men around the table agreed and took their turns. Unfortunately for Angus, the men were correct. After a few rounds of cards and several rounds of drinks passed, Angus had drank enough where the bitter burn didn't bother him anymore. One sip at a time he had enabled himself to overcome it. The men around the table began to look like old friends. 

"Where are ya' from then, lad," the first man said. "if ya' ain't got the blood of an Irishmen?"

"Or a Londoner?" another asked. 

"I'm an Aussie, born in Scotland," Angus answered taking a few finishing sips from his second drink. 

"Ah, we've got a Scotsmen in our ranks!" One of the large men with a very red face tussled his hair, and Angus secretly fixed it. "'Ere ya' are, lad, another one on me. I've only drink half. If I take anymore it's no Moaties for me tonight."

Angus accepted the pint and turned it over in his hands. The liquid was dark brown and had a burnt like smell about it. He took one drink, and his tight mind didn't once tell him to stop. Before he knew it the drink was gone and it began to seem like his mind had gone with it. "Look at the lad, he's lookin' paler than a snowman..."

The lilt of the Irishman had faded into the background noise of the pub. Angus didn't want to leave so abruptly, but he was afraid his next set of actions would send him flying out without any hope of dignity. "Where are you goin'?"

A couple of the men had noticed Angus standing from the table. He turned to face them, or at least, what he thought was them. His eyes cast their presence on the napkin holder rather than his inquirer. "Jus'...goin' home," he mumbled. 

"Ya' haven't even lost a round!"

"Don't listen to him, lad, ya' want to leave with that pride of knowledge, it's fine by us." Angus couldn't tell who was saying what. Everyone began to look like the same large, burly man; even one of the Moaties floating around upstairs took on a likeness, though Angus wondered whether he really imagined that or not. 

"I think the lad's cheated."

"Nonsense, can't you see the little thing's pissed to hell? Let him go, he'll keel if he stays with us."

The drone of the bar filled Angus' head to bursting as he stumbled his way to the door. A few women looked his way, some smirked, some gave him a look of pity, others just watched in amusement as he tripped over a bar stool. As if the room wasn't spinning enough already, the unequivocal vertigo sent him straight for the floor, hitting his head against the counter. Stars grew on the ceiling and his ribs ached. 

A force pulled him off the ground and set him down on his seemingly non-existent feet. "Watch out laddie, you'll sink the ship!" 

"Throw him out, we don't want any trouble in here," a man at a table said. In his surprise at the crash a bit of his drink had stained his shirt. 

"Easy on him, lad, this boy's had quite enough!"

"Throw him out! Your lot can join him!"

"Our lot?" The Irishman didn't like the look of this small man with his upturned nose and bad haircut. "If anybody should leave it should be those not enjoyin' themselves! This is a place for fun, an' leisure, not pie crusts like yourself!"

The word he was looking for was of course, upper crust. 

Rather than correct him, the puny man stood up and threw what remained of his drink on the Irishman. Pushing Angus closer to the door and away from harm, the Irishman stood his ground. Begging to keep the peace the bartender rushed up to the scene while most patrons cleared away as quick as they could. One table was knocked over in the stampede and Angus tripped over that as well, running straight into the puny man. With one punch he was down and a woman screamed as the Irishman came to his defense and jumped the puny man. A tangle of limbs was just about it, kicks and punches going nowhere. 

"Get yourself outta here, lad, this is no place for you now! Go on!"

Angus barely heard him. Someone else pulled Angus to his knees and dragged him out, scraping against the floor of the bar and finally the parking lot. It was freezing outside compared to the rising heat of the pub. Much quieter as well save for the ringing in his ears and the blood pounding in his head. Even while drunk he knew that punch had left a mark on his eye, one that could only be compared to the mark left by Jonathon Cass.   

He dropped to the ground in a heap while the savior leaned him up against the wall. He was a blond man of good height and a kind face. "Heavens son, how old are you?"

Angus didn't answer. He was cold, dizzy, and his ribs still ached. Blinking as best he could, he looked up at the man. One could almost mistake him for a woman being as pissed as he was. "Thank you," Angus muttered, putting a hand to his eye. 

"You've got some real friends in there, mate. Anybody could have taken Bob Tucker down if they wanted, the man's a real prick. But to get in a bar fight defending a man you just met, that's something to be thankful for."

Angus only hung his head.

"Got to...get home..."

"Where do you live, son?"

Angus didn't love being called 'son' at the best of times, but he let it pass. He merely lifted up his hand and pointed in a vague direction. Finally gaining feeling in his legs, he stood up and waved off the kind man's hand. "Thank you, I...I have to go now, me head's about to break."

"I can walk ya', call a cab?"

"No, no, I can walk." And surprisingly, he could. He made it halfway home before he had to stop, his head spinning wildly. The stress at home and work had finally gone away, only to be replaced by the stress of getting home in one piece, resisting the urge to be sick, and making up some excuse as to why he had another black eye. A few cars slowed down to get a good look at this drunk in the middle of the street, Angus waiting for one of them to be a policeman who would book him for something. Or perhaps the police were looking for a missing man who didn't come home on time. 

Again.

Reaching the stairs to the apartment he wavered. Gripping the railing as hard as he could he made his way up the mountain, momentarily forgetting which room was his. Regrets of not taking the elevator were haunting him, but it would elevate nothing but his dizziness.  

His key was still in his pocket. He dropped it a few times before crunching the lock open and stumbling through the door. The entire flat was dark. There weren't copies of everything anymore, but his eye hurt worse as well as his head. If he could just grab an ice pack from the freezer...

His foot grazed a chair and scraped across the floor. Angus caught himself on the table, hitting his hip against the corner. He thought he was imagining things when a figure rose from the couch, a blanket falling from it. 

Suddenly the light was on, and the figure was yawning and rubbing her eyes. 

"...Angus?" 

He scurried his way to the kitchen, hiding his face. "Go back to sleep," he said, opening the freezer for an ice pack. The only one they had fell to the floor when he tried to grab it and the dizziness returned. Hannah had slipped off the bed and met him on the floor, getting a good look at him. 

"Angus where have you---what happened?"

"Nothin'." Hannah couldn't stop to stare at him, she looked pretty awful herself. Her hair was a mess, her eyes had circles under them, her bottom lip was chapped again, not to mention the trail of drool on her chin. But he didn't go around calling her out, did he?

"This can't be the work of nothing." She used a warm hand to brush away the hair from his face. Angus yanked himself away from her and stood up with the ice pack over his eye. 

"Jus' picked a fight with the wrong guy is all," he muttered. Looking back on it, he couldn't remember all that went down. Was he in a fight? Did he win? It didn't feel like it. The ice accelerated the pain in his eye and he winced, Hannah responding with a whimper. Her bandages were red again. 

"You got in a fight?"

Angus sighed. "Look, why don't you just mind your own business, alright? My headache's bad enough as it is." He tried leaving the kitchen before Hannah stopped him.

"You certainly didn't mind your own business picking a fight."

"I didn't pick it, I was practically jumped by a guy." At least, that's what he decided was closest to the truth. 

"What's gotten into you?" Noticing the black eye was bad enough but she stepped close enough to him to get a whiff of his breath. She stepped back. "...you've been drinking." 

"It was just a few, I can handle a few." Tripping over his own feet as he pushed past her, he fell into Hannah, who caught him. "Come on, get off. Jus' go back to sleep, we'll talk in the morning."

"No, Angus, we're gonna talk right now." Hannah set him upright and cornered him. Angus had never before seen her so unappealing. Why couldn't they talk when they both had clear heads and weren't pissed off at the other? Hannah spoke, almost reading his mind. "What happened to talking to the other when there was something they couldn't handle?"

"Who said I couldn't handle anything?" Angus changed the hand that was holding the ice. 

"No one! But trying to get yourself killed isn't handling anything it's just being stupid."

"I wasn't trying to do anything, I jus' went for one fuckin' walk, is all! Now get out of my damn way and let me off to bed! I didn't come home to get yelled at, I jus' came home to put ice on this thing." He moved his hand aside to show the black eye. It was only then Angus realized Hannah was still in her clothes with a pink hair bow slightly askew on her head. 

"That's it?" Hannah asked. "That's why you came home? I've been worried sick about you, I stayed up hours waiting for you!"

"Gee, what can I say?" Angus didn't want to say anything. The urge to be sick was compelling. With one hand on the ice and the other on the counter he elbowed his way past her and made for the bedroom. 

"You could start by explaining what's wrong." Angus sighed and turned around. Why couldn't she see how ridiculous she was being? "This came out of nowhere," she said putting a hand on his shoulder. Angus shrugged it off. He could see her hands moving back and forth as a sort of stimming behavior. How childish, he thought. "Getting into trouble at complete strangers just because you don't want to talk about your feelings--"

"Maybe I don't want to talk about them!" he yelled, grabbing her hand to keep her from moving it again. She whimpered again as he set the ice pack down and she could see it took a bit of blood with it. "Maybe there's nothin' to talk about! Maybe everyone ought to leave a man alone when he's got a headache the size of Rome and an eye bleedin' all over the fuckin' floor!" Ignoring the tears spilling from her eyes or any forming in his own, he shoved her away.

"I care about you!" she cried. "That's why I'm here! That's why I stayed with you when you were sick, that's why I married you, and that's why I'm asking what's wrong, because I care!" Her face was very wet now.

"I care too!" Angus yelled back. "You think I enjoy havin' you sick, enjoy seein' you hurt?" By now the ice pack had been picked up again and slammed to the floor, leaving a cold, wet puddle. Hannah put her hands to her ears and kept her head down. Angus kept on. "It's stressin' me out too, puttin' me through hell an' back!"

"I'm the one who's sick, you think I'm happy?" Hannah's voice broke. Angus tried so hard to maintain the glare on his face. Only now had he truly noticed the tears erupting from her eyes. "You think I like this any more than you do? You think I like seeing all of you hurting all because of me? That I like putting any of you, or Bon through this?" 

At the mention of that name, something inside Angus snapped. Perhaps it was the rope he so stubbornly clung on to. Perhaps it was the last heart string in his chest that still strummed. Angus had finally started to cry too. 

"Hannah--"

"Now you're off drinking and fighting, I'm worried maybe next time you won't even come home!" 

"Hannah--"

"What happened to talking about everything with each other, things we couldn't handle? What happened to helping each other when we needed it, or being there? What happened to all that, what happened to us?" Angus gripped the counter again to keep himself standing. Hannah's hands were in fists, glued to her sides. "What happened to us?"

Angus didn't answer. He wasn't sure if he could. Hannah kept hiccuping and his damn feet wouldn't move to reach her. His eye stung more than ever from the cascade of tears. It throbbed as well as his head and ribs, but he ignored everything. None of it mattered more than the ache in his heart. 

"I miss y-you." 

In an instant he was by her side, enveloping her in a hug. She returned it, dropping to the floor in a crying mess. He came down with her resting his forehead against hers before she buried herself in his shoulder. Kissing her hair and comforting her, careful not to hurt her arms, and she was careful not to hurt his eye. Every argument. Every silent treatment dealt out by both of them. Every feeling hurt. All of it came rushing to the fronts of their minds and out of their eyes. Nothing mattered more than being as close as possible to the other. Hannah begun shaking and hiccuping, her body becoming warmer. 

"Shh...I'm right here," Angus sniffed, running a hand over her hair, smoothing it out. He wish he could take back every mean thought that had sprung up, and little did he know Hannah wished the same thing. "I'm still here." He gently rocked her back and forth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry."

I'm sorry too--"

"You don't have to be sorry, you didn't fuck anything up," Angus said, in an attempt to calm her down. It seemed talking only worked her up. 

"I haven't been--v-very nice to you, either," she said, his shoulder muffling her words. 

"We're both problem children, alright?" he said, pulling her to sit on his lap. "We both screwed up."

It was quiet for a few minutes.

"I love you." Her voice was so small. Weak.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Angus mumbled. She smelled like Valentine's Day. "An' I always will." He pulled away to kiss her forehead when-- "You feel a little warm."

"M-might be from getting m-mad."

"No, I don't think so..." He pushed his lips against hers for a second before kissing her forehead again. Something was wrong. "How long have you been feeling this way?" Hannah's eyes were closed as she mumbled a response. 

"I dunno..." 

"We should get you to bed." Using both arms to stand her up, Angus suddenly felt deja vu when she fell to the floor again. "Can you stand?"

Hannah didn't answer. Her eyes were still closed. Any color her face had was gone, still wet with tears. It was late, and she was exhausted, but this was different. 

"Hannah?" She hummed in response. Angus, in a sudden bout of fear, adjusted her position so she was leaning against the table. "Stay right here, sweetheart, okay? Don't move till I get back." Standing from the floor, Angus wiped his eyes with his hands, careful not to put pressure on the bad one. Stumbling over every piece of furniture in the flat he reached the phone and struggled to dial the number. 

"Hello?"

"Mal, can you meet me at the hospital? Whenever you can?"

"Hospital...what are you doing there?" Malcolm has obviously just been sleeping. 

"I'm not there yet, I'm just about to leave." Angus looked down at Hannah who was slumped over. "Somethin's wrong with Hannah."

"What is it, what happened?" He was on the alert. 

"I don't know, we had a fight an' now she's sick an' I gotta get goin', jus' meet me there, alright?" Angus' head was pounding by the time he hung up the phone and returned to Hannah. Her skin by now had turned sickeningly pale and her forehead was burning a high fever. Angus decided they would have it checked at the hospital and waited no more time gathering her in his arms and leaving. 

The apartment door was still open, Angus feeling slightly embarrassed their quarrel could be heard all the way down the hall. Hannah hung limp in his arms, and he adjusted her so she had her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Fixing her hair bow, he left the apartment complex and arrived in the cold dark street, still a tad drunk. Everything looked the same from his state of mind. "Angus...?"

Angus stopped walking and looked at her. "Yeah?"

"I love you," she mumbled. 

"I love you too," he said, happy she was still conscious. He took off again, searching his brain for each turn he had to make to get where he was going. The neighborhood traffic was scarce, but as soon as he got to town there were cars everywhere. None of them slowed down to watch him this time, but they never got out of his way either. 

He crossed a few streets as quick as he could, trying not to fall with her still in his arms. That would certainly cause a traffic jam. As luck would have it, it began to rain, a light sprinkle hiding any evidence that the pair had been crying.  It didn't help Angus to see, and it only stung when it hit his bad eye. He stepped in a puddle and his socks got wet when Hannah stirred. "Angus?"

"Yes?"

"I love you," she mumbled again. 

Angus adjusted his grip on her and continued down the sidewalk. Only a few stores were still open, most of them being drug stores or gas stations. The bright city lights of London burned his vision and he started crying again. "I love you too," he answered. 

A car honked at him as he was crossing a busy intersection. Ignoring any shouting as best as he could, he made it to the other side of town where the hospital stood waiting for them. By now the pair were both soaked and shivering. Hannah's skin had cooled down some, but her shivering had gotten worse, and her interactions were sparse. It was a good ten minutes before she had spoken again, and it had been the same thing. 

"I love you."

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Pushing open the hospital doors, the light rendered him blind for a moment. The ringing in his ears had returned and the weight of the sick girl had been removed. Voices from all sides circled him and he couldn't understand a single one. Dizzy, cold, and scared to death, he stumbled his way down the hall, leaving a pink hair bow on the floor behind him.