The T.V. was up too loud, it filled the silence. Angie was with Joey's mother, he'd wanted Craig to have some time home without her, her ceaseless energy and questions. He thought Craig needed a break from that, but maybe it was him who needed the break. The whole time of Craig's hospitalization Angie kept at him. 'Where's Craig?' 'Why'd he leave?' 'Why'd he hurt you?' 'Will he hurt me?' 'When's he coming back?' He couldn't take it any more.

Craig watched T.V., his expression sullen. Joey couldn't tell anymore if this was normal teenage angst-y sullenness or part of his mood disorder or the bipolar "acting up" as he thought of it. He had thought he had known, before…before. He had thought that Craig was fine. A little rebellious, maybe. A kid who could push the limits, yeah. But still normal. Still okay. Nothing like his father, Albert.

And then it all crashed down on him. He realized that he had been wrong, that things were far more serious than he wanted to admit. Craig had tried to commit suicide in ninth grade after he ran away, after he had nearly kidnapped his sister. After his father beat him and would have beat him much worse had he stayed there. He hadn't thought what those experiences had done to him. Beneath the smiling and joking and cheerful exterior what had that abuse and fear and hopelessness and despair done to him? He'd never bothered to get him to see so much as a counselor, never bothered to try to see if he needed to work some of these issues out.

And in 10th grade when he was having all those issues with girls, was it just a popular kid, too young to understand how he could hurt people in relationships? Or was it more? Was Craig's inability to commit and to admit love indicative of deeper problems where relationships were concerned? After all, his first relationships, where he was supposed to learn about love and trust had ended disastrously. His mother abandoned him and his father had twisted love up with fear and hate. Deep in his cells he reacted to the threat of love, maybe.

And here they were, Craig shifting in silence on the couch, and when Joey looked at him he looked so sad.

"What's the matter?" Joey said, peering at him. Craig glanced at him and then looked away.

"Nothing," It was a loaded nothing. Joey looked critically at him, intending to press further but starting to feel out of his element. If what was wrong was sort of deeply related to his mental illness or his history of trauma and abuse he didn't know how much help he could actually be. Craig's experiences were outside of his own.

"C'mon, this is the dad you're talking to here. I know something's wrong. What is it?" He always referred to himself as dad with caution, knowing that that's how he felt. In his heart he had two children. But he also knew it wasn't so simple for Craig. That it was easy for Craig to keep him at a distance with the word "step"-father. And that was okay, because he knew that Craig needed the distance. He just wanted Craig to know that he didn't.

Craig shifted again, glanced at him again, his gaze resting on him longer this time. Joey felt such a welling up of pity for him. He didn't hold the violent episode against him. He could take the punches. And he'd seen the sorrow in Craig's eyes, saw the love that he never spoke. What he wanted, more than anything, was for Craig to be okay. It was just that he wasn't quite sure what that meant anymore.

"It's, I don't want to take the meds," Craig looked and sounded so vulnerable. 'Don't let anything be wrong with me,' seemed to be the subtext here. The medication represented it to him, being sick, being broken and damaged.

"You need to take them," Joey said softly, still trying to connect his gaze to Craig's. But Craig was looking down.

"Maybe I don't. I'm okay, Joey,"

"Yeah, because you're taking the medication,"

Shifting his position, the scowl. Poor kid.