Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide, depression

"I'm still mad at you."

Abigail hummed, said as Andy sat down, "What exactly are you mad about, Biersack?" 

"I don't know, but I am, alright?" 

"How was your first night home?" 

"Remington got in an argument with his brother, his brother made him cry, we had a bath together until he wasn't crying anymore, we went to bed." 

"And how did you sleep?" 

"Well enough." 

"And how are you feeling? Better than yesterday? Worse? More tired? Less?" 

"Worse. More." 

"As I expected," she said. "Returning to your quote on quote 'normal' life after a health scare like the one you had is difficult." 

"Yes. I'm discovering that. But stop being right, I'm trying to be mad at you." He folded his arms. "I feel like I'm somehow more, uh - unwell? Sick? Unstable? - than I was before the fucking stroke. Is that a thing? Post-hospital depression? Because I have it." 

"It's good you can realise your mental state, Andy. What we need to work on is finding ways to cope, would you agree?" 

"To cope? With what?" 

"How have things been with your parents recently?" 

Andy groaned. "They hate me, everyone hates me, my interns think I'm a fucking joke, my husband's own brother wants me dead-" 

"To cope with that, Andy. That and everything else that makes you turn to unhealthy coping strategies. One of those of course being suicide." 

"So you want to find ways to cope with every single thing that I ever think and feel? Because honey, I love you and all, but you're out of your how-does-that-make-you-feel mind." He took his phone from his pocket. "And you know, because I'm not allowed into work, like, at all, I have to rely on fucking text updates from Sean. Hey boss. All good here. xx . As if that's supposed to settle my mind. Goddamn fucking stroke ruining everything. Oh. One sec. He's ringing. What, Sean? I'm kinda busy. Yes. Okay. Well tell her to change it, then. And-no. No. Put me on speaker. Oi! Oi, fuckers, stop messing about! I'll fire you all if you don't do some work!" Hanging up, he looked at Abigail, smiled. "See. Ruining everything." 

"You're quite the boss." 

"Why, thank you. God, why is it ringing again. Oh, never mind, it's Remington. Hello, darling. Yes, I am right now. Oh, you are? No, don't be sorry. Okay. Alright. Stop saying sorry. Yes. Give me ten minutes and I'll be right there." 

"You're leaving?" 

"Husband duties, you understand. Wait, no you don't. You're not a gay man. Sucks for you. I'll pay you for the full hour, see you day after tomorrow." 

* * * 
Remington was, as he said on the phone, sitting in a downtown coffee shop with a half-empty glass mug and his head in his hands.

Pulling a chair up beside him, Andy said, "You know, your family can love you to the ends of the world and still make terrible mistakes. Doesn't mean they don't still love you."

Remington didn't look at him. "I don't know what to do," he mumbled. "I can't lose him, but I can't lose you, either. How am I supposed to choose between you? That's not fair."

"No, it isn't."

"And-and Sebastian said I should choose whoever isn't making me choose, but then I'll lose Emerson forever. But if I choose Emerson, what will they do to me and our marriage? And I don't want to not choose you, but l don't want to not choose him, and-and... "

"What did Emerson say when he was here?"

"He said - he said 'I can't love you if you love him', and then a bunch of other stuff, but I stopped listening." 

"Hon, no one can stop loving someone like that. He can say it as much as he wants, there's no way he's suddenly going to not love you." 

"No, I...I know. But how can he say something like that? How..." Remington lifted his head now, looked at Andy. "Do you wanna get a drink or something?" 

"Where is he now?" 

"Don't know. I'm getting another coffee." He stood, grabbed his wallet, left the table for the counter. He returned with two drinks, sat back down, and took a sip. 

Andy wrapped his hand around his mug. "Here's what I think," he began. "You can do what you like with my opinion, he's your brother and it's your life, above anything, but I think it can help to hear someone else's thoughts on a difficult situation." 

Remington waited for him to continue. 

"I think that Emerson isn't mad with you, I think he's mad with me and he's taking it out on you because it's easier. Because he knows you and he knows he can really hurt you, like he has done. You two are so close that him telling you he doesn't love you is much more painful for you than him telling me he doesn't like me, or whatever. Because I'm not and never have been at all close with him. You know what I mean?" 

Remington nodded. 

"What I'm trying to say is that he's not mad at you, but at me, and that it's not that he doesn't love you, but that, at least, this is what I'm thinking, is that he loves you so much that he's worried you being with me, someone he doesn't know, is going to threaten your relationship. To put it shortly, I think he's trying to take control of the situation by claiming he doesn't love you in order to save himself the distress of potentially losing you to me. Which I don't believe he ever will, because it's not my intention to pull you apart, and I hate that this is happening. But I think he's scared and he's trying to take control." 

"I didn't think of it that way," Remington said. "That actually makes me feel a lot better." 

"I'm glad." 

"Sorry for making you leave therapy." 

"Don't be silly." 

"I'll talk to Emerson tomorrow. Thanks, Andy. You're always so calm." 

"You're welcome, but what about me makes you think 'he's so calm'?" 

Remington shook his head, smiled, leaned into Andy.