(A/N): The battle is only half the story, isn't it?

In the last chapter, after a bit of exposition that didn't really go anywhere we saw the fateful fight that sits at the centre of the backstories of Stradlater and Silent-He-Wonders: A big badass battle against a dragon! Said battle ended with the former of the pair being burnt to a crisp, and finding himself on death's door from the sheer pain!

How on Tamriel can someone recover from that? And how rocky of a process would it be to cope with such a traumatic and live changing occurrence? I doubt it'll be as easy as in the films…

WARNING: Spelling errors, mildly inappropriate language, bad dialogue, a story set entirely in flashback form, me trying to write a complex psychological relationship despite having the brain capacity of one third of a pea pod, rusty writing, some unintentional homoerotic connotations and an attempt at conveying an angsty and depressing phase of character development without coming across like a fourteen year old.

Chapter Three: The Brink

It can be quite jarring to be woken up by a voice, moreso if it's one you've never heard before. There'd been an endless veil of black over his eyes and ears, his senses on complete lockdown as they basked in the cold tranquillity of nothingness. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been drifting through the void, but for some reason he was reluctant to pull away.

The voice, if you could even call it that, wasn't saying anything particularly legible. It was murmuring and whimpering, its throat dry and its tongue feebly trying to wet its cracked lips. The noise was getting increasingly aggravating, but it was everywhere. It was in the blackness, and in his mind.

He wanted to sleep.

"No?" it questioned, or at the very least it sounded like that. The mewling rose in strength and desperation, like a panicked man sinking in quicksand and screaming for relief. "What did…" the voice definitely said, the words becoming increasingly defined. It was subtle, but the veil almost seemed to lighten its hold.

A second voice suddenly introduced itself, not from inside the void but from beyond. It cursed in a peculiar language beyond his understanding, before letting loose a relieved sigh. "A-About time." it said accusingly, moving closer. "I imagined you'd be the snoring type."

From grey to white the veil was suddenly foisted from him, his eyes and ears released from their bindings without so much as a warning. He was overwhelmed by the sudden burst of colours, his pupils dilating in confusion.

"Where… When was…" that voice still sat in his mind, deafening his thoughts. It was dark and gravelly, coarse and devoid of hope. The voice that wasn't his asked "Where am I…?"

"Somewhere safe." the second voice said. He came to realise that it belonged to an Argonian clad in the robes of a magician, who crooned over him like a doting parent. "Just… Stay where you are, Stradlater. It'll all make sense soon, I promise."

His name was Stradlater.

And that alien voice was his.

The Redguard lay flat on his back, his arms and legs weightless and refusing to obey his commands. He felt trapped in his body – somehow more trapped than in the blackness he'd been ripped away from. He took in a lung full of air, tasting a mix of medicinal herb and open flames. There must have been a torch affixed to a nearby wall, illuminating the way.

Before he could gauge where he was, the mage decided to actually answer his initial question. "You're in one of those Nord temples, the ones with healers and them lot? This one's called the Temple of Kinawrath or something." he explained, resting his hands against the side of the dais the Redguard rest upon. "This is Morthal. We were coming this way, yes?"

Stradlater continued to stare upwards, the rafters of the temple hanging low. It was beginning to come back to him now, like blood rapidly racing back into a numb limb. He and Silent-He-Wonders, which was the name of the Argonian at his bedside, had been returning with a bounty to the capital of the Hjaalmarch.

But something had gone wrong.

Not just something, everything was wrong. "What happened." he growled rather than asked, his throat full of bile or phlegm or something of the sort. Try as he might he couldn't clear it, his weak coughs being met by stabbing pains throughout his body.

After a little while Wonders sat back in his seat, the pine legs scraping across the floor obnoxiously much to the chagrin of other patrons to the temple. He held his hands together on his lap, rolling his tongue. He was thinking about how he'd deliver his response.

He was reluctant.

He was hiding something.

"I… I won't dance around the issue, Redguard." the Argonian announced more to himself than the prostrate man, "I'll be blunt with you. It doesn't need sugar coating." he declared. There was a pause as his chair whined once more, the magician rising to his feet and leaning over the warrior a second time. "We fought a dragon, or wyvern, or whatever you call them."

He could remember that now. It had been a long and clumsy battle, for he had been trained in fighting sword on sword rather than sword on mythological fire breathing lizard beast. Unfortunately the two proved to not be interchangeable, something which he'd learned the hard way. The void clung to the corners of his vision, his mind still hazy and confused.

"You had a heart attack, Stradlater. At least that's what they told me." Wonders huffed, his orange or maybe red eyes scanning over the Redguard's body with something akin to pity. The Redguard replied with a phlegmy sputter, almost cold and emotionless in his reaction. A wad of spittle sat on his lower lip.

Wonders sighed, "You were… You got…" he struggled to find the correct way to phrase it, and settled on "You were set on fire, Stradlater. From head to toe." his hairless brow furrowed. "The pain must've been so great that your… Y-Your body couldn't take it all at once. Sensory overload, they said that a few times. That's the phrase for it I think."

Fire.

Just the word on its own was enough to conjure memories of battle. He'd clambered atop the beast's lumbering neck almost on a whim as it swung back and forth amidst throes of pain, its body filled to the brim with arcane lightning. He'd hacked and he'd slashed with his curved sword like a butcher at a carcass, bathing himself in flame and thunder as he went. A shudder of realisation hit his spine, his senses returning.

There were no torches in this room.

Yet he could still smell the burning.

"You were wearing armour, weren't you?" Wonders reminded him, dancing around the very issue he'd promised that he wouldn't dance around. "Big plate, fancy visor, boots and…" his green hand gestured over his snout once or twice, crudely indicating a visor. "… O-Orichalcum wasn't it?" he continued to delay. "Well… The dragonfire superheated it, made it glow orange and…" he visibly winced, pained by merely imagining it. "… Your armour was welded to your skin. Directly."

That set off the trembling jaw, realisation racing throughout his body as reality began to kick in. The weight of his breaths continued to rise as he tried to crane his neck down towards his wounded body. He had to see. He needed to see.

Wonders swallowed quietly, trying to reassure himself that this was the right way to do it. "They got you out of it in the end, but…" he shook his head grimly, staring into the Redguard's eyes hopelessly.

The Argonian crooned a bit closer, reaching out towards Stradlater's face. Instinctively he reared back ever so slightly, yet as the magician's scaled palm hovered over his left eye it disappeared from view. "They didn't salvage much." Wonders murmured. The Redguard couldn't see a thing, his depth perception seemingly gone. "… T-They couldn't save your eye."

With a grand effort Stradlater finally managed to sit himself up on his elbows, frantically looking at his ruined body with some fool's hope that none of what had been said was true. Wonders made no effort to stop him, pulling back to give him some room. "No." his hoarse voice slurred, denial forcing that single word down his throat again and again. "No, n-nuh… No!"

The entirety of his body had been claimed by the dragon's flames, scarred and torn asunder. A once pristine set of skin had been blackened and charred with imperfection and corruption, rugged clumps of flesh covering it in layers of almost cancerous looking bumps. The muscle and sinew of his arms and legs - once large and powerful - were worn and withered like fat in a frying pan, refusing to obey his commands and encumbered by a newfound weight.

Where was the man he once was?

What abomination had he become?

He keeled over to lean on one side, his hands desperately patting at his face as if searching for lost change. He felt the features that he knew and recognised on his right side, covered in a film of dank sweat but there nonetheless. Stradlater moved on the right, foreign grooves and lines confirming the worse. Lastly he felt for his eye, feeling burnt skin from his crusty brow yet seeing nothing. His eye was still there, yet for some forsaken reason he couldn't see – it had turned white, milky and blind. He was a complete and total wreck.

He began to panic.

Rising bolt upright the Redguard tried to swing himself to his feet, Silent-He-Wonders stumbling back in surprise and sending his stool backwards onto the floor with a crash. Suddenly the temple was filled with commotion, the priestesses and worshippers who had been minding their own business turning towards the pair in alarm.

"Stradlater!" Wonders hissed, raising a pair of placating hands and feebly trying to diffuse the situation without actually touching him. "Calm down, damn it! Before you-"

With almost comedic timing the wounded warrior overpowered his voice with a howl of pain, his scabby body screaming at him in protest at this sudden movement. His limbs and what was left of his muscle refusing to go any further, he collapsed in a crumpled heap back onto his bed gasping for air.

Still he continued to flail in terror and disbelief, as if his paralysed body thought it could escape from this place and somehow it would all be better. His bedding, black with soot and dead skin, screwed up under his throes as his feet tried to find some sort of purchase. Wonders glanced back at the worried temple goers, leaning over the bed to try and hold the Redguard down – a difficult feat, for even in this condition he was a large man fuelled by fear and adrenaline.

Eventually a pair of priestesses in their fancy robes emerged from who knows where, joining the Argonian's effort and awkwardly proving themselves to be much more adept at this sort of work. The taller of the two urged Wonders to back off, not wanting any more complications in this already frantic situation.

Stradlater's wounds had been – poorly – salved by the women that occupied this cloister after days of bone numbing and back breaking effort, and for all their efforts to be thrown away after they'd finally stabilised him would be disastrous. Still he struggled, like a little boy desperate to avoid his bath time.

Soon the Redguard began to calm, either coming to his senses or being overwhelmed by fatigue. His breathing remained rugged and dog like, his single eye wide and darting to and fro as if compensating for the one that he had lost. Amidst the two priestesses who uniformly tended to him, Stradlater's eye caught Wonders'.

For a few moment they stared at one-another, as if the rest of Tamriel had fallen silent. Yet soon what had been a meeting of eyes turned into a vicious glare, as Stradlater's expression contorted with hate and despair. His voice croaked with vile venom, aimed directly at his companion.

"You should have let me die."

For some reason that chilling statement hit him hard. Silent-He-Wonders had never really seen himself as the sort to take words to heart, but he'd done his part to pull the Redguard out from the brink. He didn't understand what was wrong – the man had lived despite the hand he'd been played, and that was what mattered wasn't it?

He took a moment to reflect on this, stood alone at the far end of the temple. Stradlater was a soldier who had been raised from birth to wield a blade in battle. He was expected to live, and conversely die by the blade from the beginning of his life to the end. But that had been taken from him, hadn't it?

His bones and body were as broken as his heart. In no world would the Redguard be able to return to his former glory as a swordsman; it would be a miracle if he could even bear the weight of a suit of armour on his shoulders if he got through the next few months. Wonders realised then and there that his companion's very livelihood had just been taken away from him, for it seemed he would never battle again.

Stradlater was alive, true.

But could he truly live now?

Wonders watched on from the distance. The bedridden swordsman's state was nothing short of humiliating, his muscles strained and his brow glazed with sweat just from trying to move an inch. It didn't help that he was being held down effortlessly by a pair of Nordic priestesses – an old one with a rickety gait and the making of a furry upper lip, and a younger girl so thin that a soft breeze would probably send her drifting daintily through a window like a wave of dandelion seeds.

Once their patient was for the most part restrained, the older of the two priestesses pulled away and limped towards the Argonian. Opening her arms wide he feared for the briefest of moments that she was bringing him in for an embrace of some sort, only for her to nudge him towards the temple's large double door. "Don't touch me." he muttered as she ushered him to leave, patting down the front of his robes "I don't know where you've been."

Stepping outside into the bitter chill of Morthal, he continued to dust himself off. The priestess hung by the door, staring expectantly at him without actually saying what it was she wanted. Hissing to himself irritably, he pointed at her chest and said two alliterative words.

"Help him."

With that sorted out he left the premises, sitting himself down in the rearmost corner of the Moorside and sipping at some of the local brew for the night as he often did. He was too caught up in thought to even complain about the watered down ale as he often did to avoid paying up, and ended up spending a fair bit of coin that day.

Capitalism One, Black Marsh Seventy-Two.

He was made to keep his distance from Stradlater by the old priestess with the gammy leg and hairy lip for the next few days, being forced to hang around the porch and see him from a distance like an expectant father. The Redguard had stopped talking by the first day, and by the third he'd ceased resisting entirely – as if he'd completely given up and resigned himself to his fate. It was either the fifth or the sixth day that the younger of the pair of priestesses approached him by the eaves, seemingly secretively.

At first she tried to speak to him casually, but that was a tall order when you're talking to a complete stranger and have spent most of your life on your knees either reading holy texts or performing certain sacrileges. It was nothing of particular interest; how's the weather? Been here long? Tried the market?

The topic eventually came to Stradlater, as it was destined to.

He was refusing to eat, or so she said. The Redguard merely lay there, his expression blank and empty and his world at a standstill. They were becoming desperate, and she had taken the initiative and gone against her superior's advice by asking the Argonian to help. Surely an acquaintance would have better luck getting through to him? Or so that is what she said.

He agreed faster than he thought he would.

She gestured towards the motionless man unnecessarily, the sight and the smell being more than enough to lead him the right way. It took twenty-one arduous steps across the cracked tiles of the temple to reach him, each slower than the last. Maybe it was a tad bit odd to count your footfalls, but to be honest it gave the magician something else to think about.

This was a place where people came to die. Houses for the dead and dying had always given him the jitters, probably even back when he was a boy – not that he remembered much of that these days. Like a school teacher in the eyes of their pupils as far as he was concerned he had always been an adult.

Or at least some close approximation.

Stradlater was right in front of him, flat on his back and staring at the poorly maintained thatch that lined the ceiling for insulation. He didn't think that the Redguard could look any worse at this point, but lo and behold he'd proved him wrong.

The best word to describe what he was seeing was 'gaunt'. A once calm and wholesome face had become haggard and weak, his skin – or whatever you'd call it now – clinging onto the features of his skull in a way that would make even a draugr wince. While freshly clothed in a beige tabard adorned with some sort of holy symbol, the lines and grooves of his ribs and collar were clear for all to see. Even his arms seemed peculiar, almost alien in their appearance. Once large and bulky they seemed to have deflated like a pin pricked balloon, sagging flesh hanging from under his twiggy biceps.

Wonders' stool from the week before was back upright by the side of the dais, one of its four legs crudely nailed back on by someone who clearly didn't understand which end of the hammer was which. He pulled the chair across the floor with a loud squeak as he frequently did, not at all concerned with the shuddering of the temple's occupants.

Sitting with a worrying creak, Wonders exhaled in a way you wouldn't want your mother to exhale after she'd caught you binging. He could smell ash, minty herbs, and the distinct stench of rotten meat. It bothered him that it all came from the silent Redguard before him.

He was awful at this sort of thing, and the awkward silence that surrounded them confirmed this fact. "Look at it this way, Redguard." he eventually said, his hands clenched together as if in worship. "You survived. I don't think anyone on the whole of Tamriel today could say the same."

Barring the fact that dragons didn't actually exist until recently.

Small details.

Stradlater remained unresponsive, occasionally blinking his one eye but otherwise motionless. "I would be proud. I would be smug, smugger than usual in fact." Wonders leant forward in a way that was meant to be jovial, but looked more like he'd dropped something and was fumbling to find it. "Don't the women around here love the whole scarred warrior look? You'd be a lethal weapon." he reared back, arms spread. "Think of all the free booze you could get out of this. 'Stradlater the Dragonslayer'…" after a moment he wryly added "I'll say it was all you. You're welcome."

He could've sworn that the Redguard rolled his eye in disdain to that comment. Regardless of that, he turned his head away from the Argonian as if trying to ignore the bollocks he was spouting. That was a sign that his words were being heard at least, which was enough. Wonders shrugged his shoulders, "So you've been injured, Redguard." he dared, "So what?"

"So what." Stradlater suddenly spoke out loud, his voice so bitter and grey that the dais practically rumbled. "So what?" he repeated with poorly contained hatred, his patience ripped in half like a damp piece of parchment. "I'm a swordsman, lizard. Your life hasn't been taken from you." he snarled angrily, "So don't you bloody dare talk to me like that." he turned back to face him, his upper lip twitching with rage. "I'm trapped in a bed by old women, being spoon fed watery porridge like a damned invalid, and pissing in bottles."

Wonders raised his chin in acceptance, bracing for the storm that he'd unwittingly unleashed.

"Damn it." the Redguard spat, "I never asked for this, did I? I should've died there and then. Anything would be better than… Than this." his broken body contorted with effort as he feebly tried to prop himself up, barely managing to move an inch. "It takes every fibre of my being just to raise my arm." said arm unsteadily rose from the bedding, the wounded warrior grunting and straining with visible effort as he pointed at the mage. It was shaky and blotchy, with hues of black and red dominating its flesh. "So don't preach to me like you know me, you piece of filth. Get out of my sight."

The Argonian made the juvenile mistake of muttering "It was your idea to get involved." under his breath. He had said it quietly, but not quietly enough for a man primed to rant about his problems for as long as he could.

"What did you just say?" Stradlater hissed, set to boil.

The magician spoke up, surging with defiance. "It was your idea to get involved, Redguard." he hissed in return, having the reptilian tongue to pull it off. His chair whined, as did he. "You were the one who decided to play the hero, weren't you? And it went wrong, yes? Well woopy bloody doo."

"What did you expect me to do?" the warrior retorted, as if his condition had been completely forgotten. "Run off, tail between my legs? Li-"

"I don't know." Wonders interrupted decisively, rising from his seat without even realising it. "And I'm not going to say there was a better choice." he leant forward, undaunted by his companion's words "But what's done is done, Redguard. We did what we did, and you're now like this." he muttered quietly, "Live with it."

"It's easy for you-"

"You're a Redguard, you bastard!" Wonders suddenly exclaimed, pointing this out as if it were the solution to all of his problems. "Where's that pride of yours gone?" he challenged the bladesman, who had gone on and on about his skill and life as a warrior. Why didn't he prove it? "You're yelling at me right now, aren't you? And you know why?"

"Enlighten me." Stradlater dared, his brow furrowed in derision.

"Because the fire inside you burnt brighter than the fire around you." he announced, working it all out. He extended a finger, shaking it at the Redguard knowingly. "You're talking like this, but I know you're still fighting."

Stradlater looked at him with his brow knitted, as if trying to process what in Oblivion the strange reptilian man thing before him was getting at. To be fair it was possibly one of the cringiest things he'd ever said to someone in public, outside that time he wrote a collection of poems to that one girl in college.

But regardless, he'd meant what he'd said. Behind this thick veil of pain and despair Stradlater was trying to hang on and find something to cling to. He wasn't out for the count yet in spite of all of this – he just needed someone to give him a boost over the wall.

The burned man's gaze faltered, falling to the magician's hands. One was wrapped in dangerously worn bandages, sullied a faint brown by blood and in desperate need of changing. Wonders followed his stare, and raised his hand matter-of-factly. "You've got a vicious bite you know, Redguard." he snickered dryly. Amidst the warrior's throes of agony on ground zero he'd bitten it so hard that the Argonian lost all feeling in his palm and fingers. He'd kept it out of sight from the priestesses up to this point – he wasn't eager for some weird Nordic mumbo jumbo to cure his ailments. "I was with you for three terrible hours out there. Every second was… It was touch and go."

Turning his head to look away, Stradlater remained silent. Wonders awkwardly tugged at the poorly made knot of his bandage, trying to fasten it tightly. They always talked about pressure in the novels, so he assumed that was what you were supposed to do. Keep up the pressure, and it'll all get better in time. "I'm sorry." a hoarse voice suddenly mumbled, and it took a moment to remember who it belonged to. "I… I didn't mean what I said."

To be fair there was an entire list of things he didn't mean over the past few minutes, but Wonders knew exactly what he was referring to. He was talking about the comment he made a few days earlier, 'You should have let me die.'

He nodded once, and then twice after a brief delay. This conversation was making him incredibly uncomfortable. He wasn't quite used to speaking to other people outside of business, and all this touchy-feely stuff was getting a tad too personal for his tastes. "Yes, yes…" he said in a vague manner, "Still… You were justified, Redguard. Strange how your entire life can be thrown upside-down in an instant, isn't it?"

The Redguard turned back to face him, his single eye still adjusting to its lack of depth perception and staring right through him. In spite of this there was something in his expression that even someone as socially inept as Silent-He-Wonders could pick up. It was subtle, but there.

He was glad.

"You're… You're a good man, Silent-He-Wonders." he said, his voice almost losing its gravel for that brief moment.

The magician pulled a goofy face, not quite sure how to react to something like that. Was he coming on to him? Was he expected to hug or kiss him now or something? His auntie had always told him that mer and men were into that sort of thing, and he couldn't help but wonder if the addled old tart was actually onto something. "D-Don't say that too loud. I have a reputation to uphold." he murmured quietly, fidgeting in his seat. Letting the fuzziness fade, he asked an important question. "… How much longer do you think you'll be here?"

Stradlater's expression darkened, and that was all he needed to know. Wonders hung his head, sighing lightly. "Still… Lucky you, surrounded by women at your beck and call." he reckoned, crossing his legs, "What I would give for that luxury."

"You haven't seen them up close." Stradlater warned quietly, uncomfortably breathing through his mouth. "They have hair in places I never thought possible."

Wonders forced a snicker that likely dislodged some of the harder chunks of snot stuck in the depths of his snout. It hadn't been a funny line at all, but it was a gesture all the same and a good omen; Stradlater would recover, and despite the Argonian's brain screaming at him to bail before he got dragged in too deep for some reason his cold heart wanted to stay behind and help the Redguard.

He had always been a loner. He'd been betrayed far too many times by people he had trusted to find any comfort in hanging around other people and getting involved in their lives. But for some reason he felt like a bond had been forged by dragonfire on that fateful day. They were two misfits in a strange and hostile world. They'd protected eachother against the dragon, and it seemed it was their destiny to keep at that from this point forwards.

Stradlater had a harsh reality to face, and no doubt had a journey torn between pain and misery before him. Wonders may have fished him out of the pits of despair, but it was up to him to keep tugging at the line and to make sure it didn't break.

"Thank you."

It took the Argonian a few moments to realise that he had said that. His eyes darted back and forth anxiously, clearly embarrassed "… Y-You saved me a few times out there. Thanks."

"Mmm." Stradlater murmured, thinking nothing of it. His eye went on a fateful voyage as it scanned the temple, until suddenly it stopped on a table by the side of the dais. On it there was a tray, with a bowl filled to the brim atop it. Something was inside it. Something… Gooey.

Wonders glanced at it too, reacting in horror in an instant. "By the Hist, what on Nirn…?" he scooted back on his chair, fearing a contagion. "What's that? Looks like something that crawled out of a Troll's nose."

"Porridge." the Redguard revealed, much to the magician's amazement. He sneered in distaste, even his starved gut having doubts about what lay ahead. He had no choice, did he? "You'll need a spoon."

"I'll need a pint to wash it down." Wonders shuddered, leaning back and cautiously nudging the tray with his foot. "And a quill and parchment to contact my next of kin."

"My condolences." Stradlater muttered, his elbows gradually shifting him to a more suitable position. He grunted as he rested on his palms, his bony elbows shaking with the weight. "… Go on then, get it over with before I lose my good mood."

Wonders glared at him not with hate but with a hint of comical despair. Was he really about to do this? The tray clattered like a nanny with her tea set, the warm muck heating his lap as he put it down. He snatched the crudely carved excuse for a spoon that had been left buried in the mass like some sort of ancient weapon awaiting its king, "This never happened. Not a word."

He took up some gloop on the clumsy spoon, weighing it reluctantly as globules with the consistency of a children's novel dribbled back down into the bowl messily. Stradlater's expression said it all, visibly retching before the spoon had even reached his tongue. "Not a word."

This procedure continued for several months. It was a strenuous process, often filled with heated arguments as the Redguard tussled with his debilitating depression, but every time he backed down the Argonian would grab him by the collar and pull him back up to shore with snark and dry wit. Soon he could walk again, although to glance over that would be an insult to the blood and sweat spent on achieving that feat.

Eventually the pair left the temple behind them, ready to explore Skyrim and its holds once again in hope of coin and glory, although for the most part coin. Not that they actually made much between them, being a bumbling bigot and a crippled old soldier with a shared IQ barely teasing triple digits. Regardless they kept at it, their debts to eachother keeping them together through thick and thin.

It was up to Stradlater to keep his smug and racist Argonian companion from getting himself killed by the drunks and bandits of Skyrim, and it was up to Silent-He-Wonders to maintain the uncertain balance that the Redguard had struck between the glory of his old days and the crippling angst that forever clung to him as he gradually rehabilitated himself.

And that, as they say, was that.

Although they never did get the money they were owed for Orotheim.

X

(A/N): Talk about subtle, am I right?

Eh, there was no way I could really make this work in a text format. That's often been the issue with the TES series – I imagine it all in my head like a film or TV show, and it doesn't quite translate into fic form too well more often than not :P

Regardless, there you have it! At long last the backstory of Stradlater and Silent-He-Wonders in its fullest! Maybe you can read back over the old fics with this new information in mind and consider stuff about it, eh? *Shameless plug*

Now all that's left for this fic is the brief epilogue, which I'll eventually get around to… But I suppose the important stuff is all finished here! Seen you then, hopefully…