I"m sorry for the long wait, but this is the big chapter i promised, and it just wouldn't come. i had quite a few scenes that i wanted to put in here, but wouldn't fit :( and then i got reeeeally busy all at once, i had yr 12 weirdathon (a funraiser) that we had to organise, then perform, day after i had my valedictory assembly (2 major awards WIN!!) then my formal, then my friends 18th excetera excetera, i could go on, but i wont. So here is chapter seven - the revealer. This is no where near the end chapter. i have about at least four to go, i think. something like that. This chappie is for all the people who knew Vince was ill before hand, good work! :) Anyway, i'm not happy with this chapter. it just doesn't seem right to me, but i think thats just the pressure from you guys!! i hope you 'enjoy' it and that it's up to scratch. I wont say anymore, except its painfully obvious Naboo is AU now - i just can't write him and i dont think he'd react like this in the same situation - but my mind requires it. SO GET IN LINE SHAMAN!

The situation in this story is not something i have experienced, so i hope i dont offend anyone or romanticise it in any way - i'm not trying to. I commend everyone on your strength to survive this. It's probably not something i could do.

Disclaimer: it's chapters like these that make Noel adn Julian the real creators, because if you're going to make an entire universe then horrible events like this only happen on the sets of Neighbours or Home and Away. (can you tell im Aussie now?)

I watched as Naboo took his cup in both hands, clenching it tightly and making his way over to the table. My own cup, the old one I left here two years ago featuring a saxophone on the side was still by the kettle. Taking it I followed Naboo. The tiny shaman was seated at the table, eyes staring out into space, his mind a million miles away.

"Where's Bollo?" I ask, nervously taking my seat. His hands still haven't moved from clenching his cup.

"In the loft - he likes space these days."

I nod. It's difficult choosing what to say. I don't know whether he'll start talking on his own, or whether I should ask. He's still silent. I can't stand it. My skin is practically itching and the lump in my throat is getting painful again.

I clear my throat.

"You sure you want to hear this, Howard?" he asks all of a sudden. Peering up at me through an overgrown fringe he never had. It's only now I notice the lopsided turban and splattering of unshaven fuzz around his newly grown moustache. It's an odd look, not one I though Naboo would take on. It intrigues me a bit, but I'm not sure and I wouldn't dare admit it out loud. But it would almost seem as though he'd tried to look like me. I bat the thought away, it's probably something new, and surely he wouldn't have done it for Vince. Surely. But the state of the flat warns me of a continual state of decay. Things have been like this for a long while.

"Yeah." I reply, silently meeting his gaze for a moment.

"I need to."

"Fine." Naboo sighs, defeated. He takes a long drink out of his cup, before returning the hot china to his hands. They're red from the heat. I stare, all of a sudden I'm overly anxious and don't want to meet his eye.

"Just tell me, did he suffer?" I whisper. Carefully glancing up.

"Tell me he didn't."
Naboo's silent for a long while. The courage he's built up seems to have come to a stand still, the same as mine.

"I, I – no." Naboo replied back. "He didn't." but there's something there that tells me he's lying. All the same I thank him.

"What was it?"

"It wasn't something we all noticed." Naboo said, starting off small. His confidence building. Or maybe it wasn't confidence, but he was releasing his own pain. Letting the untold story free.

"It started small, little things that didn't make sense. He started getting tired easier. He'd forget things…"

"For your birthday, Howard."

"My birthday? Vince, my birthdays not till tomorrow."

Vince's face fell.

"Oh, well I guess I was so caught up in it all I got a little too excited."

Memories started to erupt inside me. Flashes I'd passed over. Things too trivial or too – Vince for me to take notice and do something. Tiny things.

"I think I forgot to put the sugar in -"

How could I have missed them? Why on earth would Vince of all people forget to put sugar in pancakes? Naboo continued, ignoring my gaze by now. I guess it's easier to focus when he doesn't have to look me in the face. Look at the person who could have saved Vince in the eye and tell him exactly how he killed a friend. My respect for the tiny shaman grew.

" He'd lose his balance and coordination. He was so damn good at hiding things. Took everything in his stride. If he wasn't like a damn peacock about everything all the time, it might have been more obvious."

"Vince what was that?"
"Sorry Howard, I dropped the cup."

"That's the third one this week!"

"Yeah? Well I'm practicing. Check this out, Howard!" he giggled weaving two fingers intricately through the handle of a cup off the drainer and tried to drink the air.

"Leroy showed me, its well genius …"

"…Small things. You know? It was only until the big things started that I noticed. By then it was too late. The changes in personality – yelling at you. But it was the head aches that did it. The headaches were what told me something was wrong. I was surprised at you, Howard. You didn't notice at all."

I look away, Vince's voice echoing in my head. I was so damn absorbed in my own worries I forgot to look at Vince for the problem. Instead I'd been looking in at myself and missed it completely. I'd let him blind me.

"What's wrong little man?"
"Nothing, just a headache."

"You've been having those a lot lately."
"Come off it Howard, it's just a headache."

"I – I asked him about them. He brushed me off." I whispered. The images flashing back. He'd been wearing his punk jacket again that day. He hadn't worn that in ages, but it seemed that by then the colours had drained away. Faded out.

"What happened to the colours, little man? Thought you weren't into Punk any more."
" I'm not – punk's long out. But oh, I dunno. I just like it. It feels like it suits – you know?"

"You never said anything."
"They seemed to stop." I replied. But that wasn't right – they hadn't stopped. They'd simply taken another form. I'd let them take another form, I'd let them fade out into unimportance.
"No, that's when, that's when he started going out every night." I mumble. I know Naboo's looking at me. Staring, taking everything in. I ignore him though. I let him. I'm too far off. That part of Vince's behaviour had always seemed to fit into my own warped jigsaw. I'd never thought it was a piece to a different puzzle. But then that had been my mistake; I'd been looking the wrong way.

"He used the hangover to hide the headache." Naboo whispered. "That's why he went out every night."

"This feels so good, Howr'd – so good, don' hurt 'nyore."

"Vince you're drunk!"

"Yup! – absolut'ly waaasted, an' its goood."

"What was it?" I ask again, this time Naboo answers.

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Perched in the corner of the room, Naboo sat hidden amongst the oversized couches and extreme colours. It had always been easy to blend in to the background Vince created to survive in. But it was harder these days - changing. Everything was changing, ever since Howard left.

But that wasn't completely right; things had been changing long before then. The screaming matches and sulking was testimony to that. Things had been wrong, he'd felt it. Like the air had taken on a taste to it. Something metallic that made you wince as you felt it cross your tongue. Feel it go down each time you breathed. It was the state of emotional decay that had made everything wilt along with it. Even the flat, and now, now when Howard was no longer here, the flat felt it too. It was an odd feeling, likening the flat to something alive. Something that could breathe and feel. But that was what it was. In his head, the flat had always been alive – a part of their lives. Setting the backdrop to wild adventures. Only now, when they changed the flat changed too. The walls groaned in the night, almost a sad song in its soft creaks, a backdrop to the small cries Vince never really managed to hide. Moments when he'd crawl into a ball, clutching his head to his hands and moan until whatever it was released its hold over him. Nothing worked to relieve it. Nothing but time. Bollo had taken to watching over the electro poof whenever it happened, leaving Naboo to listen to the house's lament. A song that continued long after Vince's cries of pain disappeared and Bollo returned. Naboo was sure that he was the only one who heard it. The only one who noticed the gradual state of decay that was taking over not only Vince - his appearance and effort diminishing daily – but the flat as well. The paint fading, the artworks plain against their backdrops and the cushions fraying. Howard was a berk, but even still – he was vital to their life. An important part of the ecosystem. Vince was the decoration – the flowers and birds, and it was impossible for the flowers to exist without the base foliage. It was proving impossible for Vince to properly function without Howard, and all the while Naboo watched on. Getting more and more nervous as the days progressed and Vince and the flat continued to degrade.

"Cup of tea, Naboo?" Vince grinned, the fake smile plastered over his pale face. He thought no one noticed how fake it was, and no one really did – except him, Naboo. The light in Vince's eyes fading, as though the coal had finally run out and it was running on wood. Wood that only made everything smoke and the world turned hazy. It was only half nine but already Vince's face shone as though he'd run a mile – when in truth the straighteners weren't even cool yet, not that it appeared they'd been used at all. It had happened before.

"Vince how many times do I have to tell you to turn the straighteners off! You'll burn the place to the ground!"
"I do turn em off, Naboo!"

"No you bloody didn't, they were sitting there bright as bloody day! And you haven't even used them!"

"Yes I have!"

"No, you haven't." Naboo sighed, glancing at Vince's hair, clearly unstraightened, but Vince remained adamant. He had straightened them. Straightened them and turned them off. On the outside Naboo looked angry. On the inside he was anxious. Vince glowered, stalking off and despite the fact it was obvious his hair was unstraightened, he left it as it was.

Five times now, five days when the straighteners weren't used, three times where they'd never been turned on at all. Each time with Vince adamant he'd used them. The times were mounting. The worry increasing, and no matter what he said Vince wouldn't agree to anything. Wouldn't agree to go to the hospital, wouldn't admit anything was wrong. Wouldn't admit anything.

"Yeah, that'd be great." He called to Vince's retreating back.

Vince wasn't going out anymore. Two weeks since Howard had disappeared, and Vince hadn't been out in almost four days – the drinking no longer doing what it used to. The headaches making the vodka immune. Things were getting worse, but nothing could be done. Not even Bollo or Leroy could get him to admit to anything. As far as Vince was concerned he wasn't ill – there wasn't anything wrong, even though there obviously was. For Naboo it was a matter of figuring out just how ill Vince was. In a way, his prayers were answered. But then again, when does one pray to find out how your friend is dying?

"Got anything on, today?" he called out to Vince. The crashes echoing from the kitchen announcing each step Vince made in making the tea.

"Nah – Leroy's gotta work, so I was just gonna go shopping. TopShop's got new stock in. What about you?"

"No." Naboo replied, listening as Vince replaced the sugar in the cupboard, heels clicking on the lino as he moved. There was a pause and then a crash echoed around the flat. Naboo sat bolt upright as a second crash bounced around the walls and the sound of something relatively large met the floor.

"Vince!?" Naboo called, running into the kitchen, any precedence he had went out the window upon seeing Vince splayed out on the ground amongst the remnants of the two tea cups. The carnage extending from the bench to halfway across the room.

"Vince?" Naboo lisped, rolling Vince over. A cut stretched from the left side of his forehead down just below his eye, blood seeping over the pale skin. His eyelids were drooping over an out of focus gaze. A bruise was already beginning to appear on his prominent cheekbone.

"Vince?" Naboo asked again, shaking him a little.

"H'wrd?" Vince slurred, eyes flickering

Naboo paused,

"N'boo." Vince muttered before he could answer. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Vince still wanted Howard. That was a relief in itself. But posed another problem. But one that could be answered later.

"Yeah, Vince." He muttered, trying to help Vince slightly vertical. Vince groaned as Naboo moved him. Naboo stopped.

"S'ry – wen' d'rk – all dark." Vince mumbled. "Fell,"

"It's alright, Vince. But we need to get you to hospital."
"No." Vince muttered, trying to push himself to his feet, failing and collapsing back against the floor utterly spent and even more limp than before. Naboo frowned, his eyes never leaving Vince's blank gaze. He kept trying to hide it. Naboo still wasn't sure who he was hiding it from, him? Bollo? – Surely not Howard, not anymore. He'd driven Howard away. No, Naboo mused. Vince was trying to hide it from himself. Nothing was wrong if you maintained the right attitude, right?

"Bollo get carpet." Bollo muttered, Naboo jumped at the sound of his familiar's voice.

"Hurry Bollo."

"No." Vince whispered, eyes half closed.

"Vince, you need stitches at the very least – otherwise it'll scar." He muttered, appeasing the vain side of Vince's personality. Manipulating him. But he had to, he couldn't afford to let Vince have his stubborn way anymore. It was painfully obvious something was wrong. He'd seen it for a while, getting Vince to admit it was another problem. But something had to be done. Vince was in trouble. That much was obvious.

He had to know, it was only then that they could set about fixing it. Fixing Vince, and then fixing Vince and Howard.

Then maybe the flat would stop its lament, and then, maybe, Naboo could get to sleep.

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"What was it?" Howard asks again, this time Naboo chose to answer.

"He was dying, and even when we knew what it was, he wouldn't do a thing."

"I'm sorry Mr Noir…"

Howard opened his mouth to speak again, Naboo sighed, cutting him off before he had the chance.

"It was a tumour." He said sourly. "Vince had a brain tumour."