Author's Ramblings: Right, here we are again. And I really am sorry that this has taken so long to update. The good news is, my exams are over now, so hopefully we can get back to regular(ish) updates.

I won't lie to you, I'm not particularly happy with how this chapter turned out, but as some of you may know, I've been going through a bit of a 'wobbly patch' recently and have only just rediscovered the inspiration to write. So I'm just sort of easing myself back into it.

This actually has very little to do with the episode, but oh well. The lyrics used are 'Call Me When You're Sober' by Evanescence, cause it seemed to fit, though I didn't use the whole song and it's in kind of a mixed up order.

Dedicated to Julia (northernbullet), Hattie (violence4) and Emily (Beechwood0708) for all the love and support over on LJ. Thanks, guys!

- - - - - X - - - - -

The Priest and The Beast' episode recap: Vince and Howard are working to further their music careers, but things aren't going as well as they'd hoped. In order to stop them from keeping him up at night, Naboo tells the pair a story of a band who had been in a similar position; 'The Bongo Brothers', otherwise known as Rudi Van DiSarnio and Spider Dijon.

Like Howard and Vince, they were best friends with very obvious differences between them - Rudi was a holy priest in the order of the psychedelic monks, while spider was a caveman-like being with nymphomaniac tendencies. When they found their success as musicians failing, they headed off into the wilderness to find the 'new sound'.

Though this made for an interesting story, it doesn't help Howard and Vince in anyway, and they go for their meeting with the record execs armed with only one of Naboo's shamanistic concoctions - which he later admits to Bollo is only Lucozade.

Splintering

You never call me when you're sober
You only want it cause it's over
It's over

Howard sighed and slumped down on the bed, cradling his weary head in his hands. What a day it had been. The record execs had been less than impressed by he and Vince, to put it mildly. Actually, they'd been laughed out of the building. And to make matters worse, Vince had pulled one of his famous disappearing acts as soon as they'd gotten home, muttering something about meeting Leroy and then vanishing with a flash of silver into the night, leaving Howard alone to dwell on his thoughts.

He let his gaze idly wander over to Vince's side of the small bedroom, the bright, colourful posters adorning the walls providing a stark contrast to his own blank corner. It was somewhat ironic that such a crowded living space was almost permanently empty. They'd been in the flat for long enough now that it seemed like a lifetime, and he could still count the number of time Vince had actually slept there on his fingers. Howard didn't really like to think of what the younger man was doing during those times the bed was empty, though the fact that he always returned with a bad head and a worse temper gave him a fair idea.

Over in the living room, the trilling of the phone started up faintly. Howard ignored it, not in the mood to speak to any double-glazing agents. After about the fiftieth ring, however, he got up with an irritated growl and stalked to the other room to see Naboo and Bollo sharing a hookah not five feet from the table with the phone on.

"I'll get that then, shall I?" He snapped sarcastically.

"Cheers, Howard." Naboo replied through the thick haze of smoke.

Howard simply rolled his eyes in response before wrenching the phone off the hook. "What?" He snarled into it.

"Heeeyyy, Howard!" A dopey, much-hated, and all-too-familiar voice shouted down the line. "What's up, man?"

"Hello, Leroy." Howard replied flatly, resisting the urge to hurl the receiver across the room. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, the thing is, yeah, you know Vince, well, he's like, totally out of it, so maybe you can come and, like, get him in your car or something?"

Howard winced at the shameful massacring of the English language, holding the phone out at arms' length so as not to have Leroy's ten-thousand decibel voice permanently damage his eardrums. Unfortunately, the sentence wasn't so mangled that he couldn't understand the gist of it.

"Look, I'm not Vince's personal chauffeur. Can't he get a taxi or something? It's the middle of the bloody night!" Okay, so it was half-nine, but that was beside the point.

"Cool, see you in ten minutes then, yeah?" Leroy hollered, clearly choosing to ignore that last remark. "Cheers, dude!" Then the phone went dead.

Howard hung his head resignedly, taking several deep breaths and squeezing the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache he felt sure was just on the horizon. Then he got his coat, slipped his shoes on, and headed out the door to cater to Vince's every beck and call.

Just like always.

- - - - - X - - - - -

Should I let you fall?
Lose it all?
So maybe you can remember yourself
Can't keep believing, we're only deceiving
Ourselves and I'm sick of the lie
And you're too late

Vince was ridiculously easy to spot as Howard pulled up outside the club, dressed from head to toe in a migraine-inducing rainbow of colours and swaying precariously with his arm around Leroy's neck. Leroy's face, for some reason Howard couldn't quite fathom, was completely obscured from view with a pair of ridiculous polarized sunglasses and a hooded jacket.

"Howard!" Vince exclaimed as soon as he caught sight of the other man. "Wha'are you doin' ere?"

"Come to take you home. I'll take it from here, Leroy." That last sentence was thrown as a sharp aside towards Vince's friend, who remained oblivious as ever.

"Cool. See ya later, Vince." And he bobbed back into the club.

"Howard… what are you doing?" Vince slurred, tottering in his impractical shoes.

"I told you, I'm taking you home." Howard snapped, putting his arm under the younger man to stop him from falling flat on his face all the same.

"I don't want to go home!" Vince protested, sounding like a spoilt child. "I'm having fun."

"Yeah, well, life isn't always about fun. People who have fun end up getting themselves killed."

With that last melancholy thought, he all but shoved Vince into the passenger seat of the car. The drive home was long, awkward and silent, with Howard concentrating so hard on the road it was a wonder he didn't set it on fire, and Vince staring fixedly out of the window. When they finally arrived at their destination, Howard couldn't help but notice that Vince was incredibly pale, paler even than usual.

"Urgh, Howard… I think I'm gonna be -"

Howard leapt into action and steered him into the bathroom just in time, wincing as he heard the sounds of retching and vomit splattering the sides of the toilet bowl. Couldn't Vince see what he was doing to himself? Yes, he was beautiful to look at, but there was absolutely nothing attractive about him when he was like this. Actually, Howard observed as the other man re-emerged from the bathroom, he didn't even look that good right now, all smudged make-up, matted hair and bloodshot eyes, skin almost translucent with blue veins pulsing rapidly beneath the surface.

They locked gazes for a moment, Vince's expression pathetically pleading and Howard's stern and unforgiving, before Howard turned his back. It felt awful, but it was the only way he could express his disgust. He could barely even stand to look at Vince right now. The silence stretched on for a few more seconds before Vince gave in and went to bed, stumbling a little on the way.

Howard was about to follow him when something caught his eye, an old photograph on the coffee table. He picked it up and examined it carefully, noticing the way he and Vince seemed so relaxed and carefree, standing in their green zookeepers' jackets with their arms around one another, grinning like absolute idiots.

What happened? He found himself asking. Then he shook his head and put the picture down again, following Vince into the bedroom with a heavy sigh. It was no use crying over spilt milk, after all. What was done was done, and they were just going to have to try and deal with it, for better or for worse.

Unsurprisingly, the endless array of clichés did little to make Howard feel better.

- - - - - X - - - - -

Couldn't take the blame
Sick with shame
Must be exhausting to lose your own game
Selfishly hated, no wonder you're jaded
You can't play the victim this time
And you're too late

"You have to stop doing this, Vince." Howard half-warned, half-pleaded the following night when Vince was preparing to go out yet again.

"I don't see how it's any of your business what I do." Vince replied coolly, not even bothering to look up at the older man.

"You don't -? You selfish, conceited little bastard!" Just this once, Howard allowed his anger to get the better of him. And God, did it feel good. "After everything I've done for you! I held your hair back when you were sick. I stayed up with you when you couldn't sleep. I pulled you out of school, found you a job-"

"Yeah, is there a point to this?"

"I stood up for you when people said you were nothing but a stupid, shallow bitch, because I really thought there was something more to you. But now I realize how completely wrong I was. They were right, you really are just a stupid, shallow bitch."

For a second, an expression which might have been hurt infiltrated Vince's mask of utter calm. Then it was gone, and it was as though shutters were being pulled down behind his eyes.

"Sticks and stones, Howard."

"There is absolutely nothing remotely interesting or unique about you. You're like a balloon."

"A balloon?" Vince parroted, arching one eyebrow as if to say 'is that the best you can do?'

"Yeah - pretty to look at, but full of nothing but air on the inside!" Was it his imagination, or had he just called Vince 'pretty'?

"Well, if I'm that bad, you won't mind getting rid of me for an evening, will you?"

"Fine!" Howard practically screamed. "You go out, get drunk with your stupid mates. Just don't come crying to me when they ditch you, or when you end up lying in a gutter somewhere. I won't come running to collect you. I'm not going to be your fall-guy anymore, Vince."

"Whatever. It may come as a surprise to you, Howard, but I don't need a freak like you hanging around all the time, anyway." With that, he turned and stalked out of the door, slamming it so hard behind him that the hinges rattled. With a muted scream of frustration, Howard picked up the TV remote and hurled it across the room, feeling a sense of grim satisfaction as it hit the wall where Vince's head had been seconds before.

- - - - - X - - - - -

How could I have burned paradise?
How could I - you were never mine!

Howard was just beginning to drift to sleep again when Vince returned, soaking wet from the rain outside. He hovered uncertainly by the side of Howard's bed for a few moments, as though wanting to say something but not knowing how, before sighing heavily and collapsing on his own mattress.

"Howard… I'm sorry." His voice was curiously clear and sober, which was at least something.

"No, you're not." Howard replied matter-of-factly, rolling over to look at the other man. "You're not sorry, Vince. You're never sorry. You're guilty. There's a difference."

Vince bit his lip, blue eyes widening to massive proportions. "I am sorry, though. I shouldn't have said some - a lot - of the things I said to you."

Howard didn't say anything.

"I - I haven't been drinking. I went for a walk. To clear my head."

The absence of noise whenever Vince stopped speaking seemed louder than any sound could be.

"Howard, aren't you gonna say anything?"

"What do you want me to say, Vince?" Howard demanded finally. "What do you want me to do? Tell you you're a good boy and give you a pat on the head? You're not a child."

"I thought you'd be pleased." Vince admitted quietly.

"It's not up to me, it's up to you. If you really want to be a better person, you have to do it for yourself, not me or anyone else. Because no-one else is going to help you anymore."

"But I don't know how."

"You're good at thinking about yourself, Vince. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

That said, he rolled over again and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to go to sleep, trying without success to block out the muffled sounds of what could have been someone sobbing into their pillow.

So don't cry to me
If you loved me
You would be here with me
Don't lie to me
Just get your things
I've made up your mind

A/N: I actually can't think of anything to say right now, other than shamelessly begging for reviews. But I'm not going to do that.