Vincent, rather than requiring Hyacinth to go to the hospital again, went visiting. He wanted to see where she lived to see if she lived in castle as she seemed to suggest. He also didn't feel like dealing with the nurses, either. He got to the house and scoffed at its appearance, it was kept up. He rang Hyacinth's doorbell and it chimed as usual. Vincent rolled his eyes as he did with anything needlessly posh. Tarquin stifled a chuckle, now knowing that he owed Sheridan ten pounds. Sheridan had said that his father would hate the doorbell. Elizabeth answered the door.

"Oh, doctor, you're here, and Tarq—"

Vincent spoke in a whisper, "Shhh, I don't want her to know who this is until the very end." She let him in.

"Oh," she was whispering too, "I see."

"Mrs. Bucket," Vincent called into the house.

"IT IS BOUQUET." She did a false singsong. Elizabeth physically shuddered. She could swear Emmet did too. In fact, she was right. He was sitting at the piano at his job and got a cramp in his hand.

Tarquin whispered to his dad, "Just placate her, dad."

Tarquin wasn't surprised with the answer. His father was always severe, and never tolerated nonsense. "B-U-C-K-E-T spells 'bucket', not bouquet." He said, while muttering an expletive in his head. He walked into the dining room we she sat in the chair that was facing the window. He made his voice light and happy. It sounded strange to him and to his son who entered the room behind him. "How are you Mrs. BOOOKAAYY?" His voice was almost down to a mischievous tone and his smile was rebarbative in its phoniness. Of course, Hyacinth didn't see or hear it.

"Who's this young man?" She asked.

"He's my intern. I mentor him in the ways of life," Vincent said, grabbing chair nearest to Hyacinth. Tarquin sat down across from Hyacinth and looked at her. He confirmed for himself that Sheridan looked nothing like his mother. The only thing they shared was the hair color.

Hyacinth looked at Tarquin, "Young man, the only advice I have for you is to have a better bedside manner."

"I need to listen to your heart." Vincent said, saccharine smile failing.

"Fine," she said, watching him put on the stethoscope.

He listened to her chest. "All seems fine. Have you been feeling well?"

"Yes, I feel fine."

"No discomfort?" He asked trying to make sure.

"I feel fine." She repeated a little annoyed.

"Well not anymore," he said. The next few words came in quick succession, as he marched out of the room triumphantly, "He's not my intern, he's your son's boyfriend."

The door shut with a quiet, but forceful thud. He went out into the corridor where he and Elizabeth chuckled with their hands over their mouths as to not alert the pair who were now trapped. There was a silence that could hardly be comprehended between them, Tarquin and Hyacinth. She, thankfully, had those sparkling social skills and spoke, "How about a coffee, dear?"

"Um… yeah… that'll… yeah, that's fine." He didn't remember the last time he stammered so much. It was probably while he was on his first date with Sheridan.

She stood up and went to put the put the coffee on. "At least he's not that bad looking," she muttered to herself.

"What's that?" He asked, feigning not hearing.

"Nothing, dear."

"How about we go into your living room and we hear some of your vocal talent," Tarquin suggested. He was trying his best to stay civil. Something was eating away at his heart.

"So, Sheridan told you of my talents." It didn't occur to her that she was in mortal danger.

"He tells me everything." Tarquin said, thinking back to all of the things they used to talk about.

The features of her face fell. "What else has he said about me?"

"He remembers very fondly that donkey ride at Dawlish. He remembers how—"

"I mean what does he say about me now?" It came out a lot terser than she meant.

"He doesn't talk so much now. He cries and sleeps and—" Something in his voice changed. He, in a sudden and ineffable wroth, chopped up the words and spat them at her, "Every time I think I about it, I get angrier and angrier. He is not himself anymore. I want my Sheridan back. Now listen and listen good. Tomorrow night, I'm going to come here with my boyfriend and we are going I am going to put you are going to talk to him. You are not just going to offer him damn cup of coffee and play nice." His face was as red as his hair.

"I—"

"Be quiet! You have said enough, and now I'm about to tell you something that I still don't understand about you. You take and take and take and give nothing but crap in return. You fu—you fouled up! You messed up big time and took something huge from him. You took his mother. You took her away and replaced her with this shell of a human that can only focus on what ails it. And do you know what the sad thing is?"

"What?" Her usually booming voice was meek.

"He loves you anyway." His voice had come back to a volume suitable for indoors. "Not one fiber in his being can hate you, and I can't figure out why."

"He loves his mummy."

"Now it's time his mother to love him for what he is."

He, a quite red Tarquin, walked out of the room and out of the house. His father followed him. Elizabeth shut the door behind them and went back into the kitchen. There she found a sobbing Hyacinth.

"He's right," Hyacinth screeches, "I know he's right."

"But, you can fix this tomorrow night and have him back for Easter. Today's the seventh and Easter is the twelfth."

"I will try my best, but what if he rejects me?"

Elizabeth didn't like being so blunt, but she said this: "I don't think he'll reject anyone the way you did. He's been hurt enough by what you said. He won't do it again. He won't let himself. We're at a fork in the road, right here. You have got to know what you're going to say, because if you choose wrong. No more Sheridan, and no more Richard. Be smart. Just stop thinking about his being gay and just love your son. That should be easy enough."