The stairs creaked terribly as he ran up them. The dust was thick and swirled around him as his heavy steps dislodged great clouds of it.
What if he was too late? The fear was gnawing at him, forcing him to move faster and faster. His legs and arms burned as he threw himself across the landing towards the room.
And there he was, sitting in the bath tub removing the safety catch from a gun. Moving it towards his mouth.
Sixsmith acted without thinking - he rushed forwards and snatched the gun. Frobisher was too shocked to put up a fight as Sixsmith flung the window open and tossed the gun out.
Then he started shouting.
"Robert bloody Frobisher you are a goddamn bloody idiot and I hate you!"
Frobisher calmly got out of the bath.
"Give me back my gun, Rufus."
"Never!"
They stood, frowning at each other, until it sunk in how close they had come to losing each other.
"What were you thinking, you madman?" Sixsmith asked, feeling tears in his eyes.
Frobisher's scowl melted too, and he seemed to crumple.
"I don't know," he whispered quietly, "I just..."
Then he flung his arms around his lover and they cried together for a long time.
Finally Frobisher pulled out of the embrace and looked quietly at Sixsmith.
"I finished the Sextet," he told him, and Rufus gave him a proud smile.
"I knew you would," he said happily, "you never were one to leave things unfinished."
