Well beyond five minutes, the three of the four Hansen men talked about the mundane in an attempt to make Sig feel comfortable, losing track of time in the process until someone else unexpectedly joined their impromptu gathering.
"Mr. Hansen, I see you have some visitors," an authoritative female voice interrupted the dimness of the small hospital room.
Startled, Sverre watched a diminutive, plucky woman enter the room. She was wearing a long, white coat and seemed to be in her late fifties, perhaps early sixties. In her skilled hands, she carried a metal flipchart and several flimsy X-rays.
"Hello," Edgar greeted the lady timidly, fully expecting to get reprimanded for sneaking into the room uninvited.
"Dr. Watson," Sig perked up, recognizing the doctor as the person who spoke to him right before his surgery. Maybe I'm getting out of here tonight after all.
Sverre smile wickedly, bursting out with the obvious, "Dr. Watson? The real Dr. Watson? What, Sherlock have the night off?"
Immediately, the petite, older woman flashed Sverre a sobering, unamused look.
Sverre just grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Sig glanced back and forth between his inane father and the unimpressed doctor, holding in a chuckle. At times, their father could be so like Norman it was unnerving and somehow reassuring. "Even though I was kinda out of it before surgery," he tentatively offered, "I remembered the name."
"I can't imagine why," Sverre noted, unperturbed by the doctor's sharp, honey-colored eyes. "It's not every day you come across a famous character. Now I know it must be New Year's Eve."
"Dad," Sig was beginning to get embarrassed by his father's bemusement over the trivial coincidence. "This is the doctor that operated on my leg." YOU should be thanking her, not making fun of her name.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Hansen?" Dr. Watson pointedly ignored Sverre like he was a misbehaving child.
"OK," Sig said cautiously, hopefully augmenting, "I'd feel better at home."
Dr. Watson didn't take the bait Sig was casting. Instead, she approached the light board attached to the far wall and hooked her first X-ray under its clamp. With years of experience, she flipped on the glaring lights and illuminated the X-ray.
Although the men in the room didn't have Dr. Watson's medical expertise, it didn't take someone with a medical degree to see the two, clear breaks, both located high in Sig's left ankle. Smaller stress fractures were also evident under the intense light.
Sverre stared at the X-ray and let out a low, impressed whistle.
Edgar's eyes grew wide as he glared at the X-ray screen, jaw agape. "Wow, just…wow," he muttered.
"This is how your ankle looked when you came to us, Mr. Hansen," Dr. Watson explained, letting the men in the room get a good, hard look at the damage. Then, after a few moments, she swiftly removed the first X-ray and replaced it with a second one, "And this is how your ankle looks now…after we put a titanium screw in it."
"Holy shit…" Sig exclaimed, leaning forward and staring intently at the inside of his ankle. "There's a screw in there…like…IN THERE?" I have a fucking screw in my ankle…that's unbelievable…AND extremely weird. Just looking at it makes me feel queasy.
"There sure is," Dr. Watson said with complete confidence, "Otherwise, those bones would have never gone back together and they would have healed misaligned. So, for the rest of your life, you're going to set off every metal detector you walk through."
"That's soooo cool," Edgar exclaimed, thoroughly excited about his brother's new addition.
Sig, taking in the jolting news, sat perfectly still, memorized by the X-ray.
Sverre, sensing his son's shock, interceded. "So…how will this injury impact my son for the rest of his life, other than just with metal detectors? Will he be able to walk and have full use of his ankle…like before?" he bluntly asked.
"Sigurd's father, I presume?" the doctor questioned smartly.
Sverre nodded, regretting his earlier teasing of the doctor.
Dr. Watson noticed that Sig couldn't take his eyes off the X-ray machine and she wisely turned off the light. Like a trance was broken, Sig's eyes moved away from the machine and came back to rest on the doctor's face.
"As to your questions, Mr. Hansen, with time and physical therapy, Sig will be able to use his ankle like the accident never happened. You might be able to tell when it's going to rain long before the clouds form, but beyond that, life should be normal." The doctor's face grew very serious. "Let me stress, though, the part about time. You're ankle needs time to heal."
"How long?" Sverre asked with a sideways glance to assess Sig's reaction to the inevitable answer.
"At least six weeks," was the candid, medical answer.
"What?" Sig squinted his eyes with doubt, "That's…impossible. I'm leaving next week for Alaska. Snow crab season starts in 15 days. I've gotta be there."
"Mr. Hansen, that cast…" the doctor pointed the end of the metal chart to the end of the bed and the bulky, plaster cast resting on an elevated pillow, "…is going to be on that ankle for at least three to four weeks. After that, it'll be an air cast for another few weeks. There's no possible way you can stand on the deck of the ship, sir, let alone fish."
"But you don't understand, Doc," Sig said passionately, "I'm the Captain. I know I look young but I'm not just a deckhand. I run the ship, make the decisions…sit in a chair ALL day, fighting waves. I have ta…"
"Sigurd," Sverre interrupted in a voice that would broke no indifference to his direction, "We'll discuss this later…when you're home." He fashioned a meaningful gaze in his oldest son's direction. Then, he turned back to the doctor. Respectfully, he asked, "When can Sig come home?"
"Well," the doctor started slowly, taking a quick glance at the chart in her hand, "He came to us in mild shock and he just got out of surgery but…" she seemed hesitant to give a rushed timeframe, "…IF he can get some rest tonight…"
Edgar slunk back next to Sig's bed, partially hiding himself between the privacy curtains.
"…I don't see why he can't go home in the morning," the doctor announced, "He'll have to keep those stitches clean until they come out in a few weeks and using crutches until then will be impossible so he'll be coming home in a wheelchair. Still, I'm sure he'll receive a lot more personalized love and tender care at home than he will here."
Invigorated at the good news, Edgar withdrew from the curtain and pushed his narrow shoulders back proudly, "I can definitely help with that."
"He'll be well taken care of," Sverre added, laughing a little at Edgar's bluster, "especially if my youngest son has anything to do with it."
"Then I'll schedule discharge for tomorrow morning," the doctor said with finality. "I'll give him some medication to take home and a lengthy list of instructions but we can talk about that tomorrow. Right now, however…" Dr. Watson glanced at her watch, noting the late hour, "…this young man needs to get some rest."
"I guess that's our cue to leave," Sverre stood up, rubbing his hands along his pants to relieve some of the sweat that had built up in his palms. Frankly, seeing the X-rays of his son's injury had unsettled him, understanding fully how easily things could have been much, much worse. Approaching the doctor, he extended a respectful hand. "Thank you…for helping my son," he said in earnest.
Dr. Watson gently shook the man's hand with her tiny palm, "You're welcome. What else would I be doing on New Year's Eve? Out there stopping Professor Moriarty from committing yet another diabolical crime, I guess." The doctor's eyes twinkled mischievously for a moment.
Sverre hunched his shoulders shamefully. "Sorry," he mouthed, embarrassed for being such an ass earlier.
Dr. Watson simply smiled. "I get it ALL the time."
"Wait," Sig pleaded from his bed, "Do they have to go?"
"Yes," was the simultaneous reply by both the doctor and his father.
"Before you go…can I see Norman?" Sig begged, "…just for a little bit before you leave?" He beseeched the doctor with his finest puppy dog eyes, "He's my other brother. He's been waiting out there for a long time and I'd really like to see him…even if it's for just a minute."
Sverre was ready to pounce with a swift answer in the negative but Dr. Watson got there one jump ahead of him. "For just a minute, Mr. Hansen…and only your brother. Then, ALL your guests need to leave you in peace and quiet. You'll see them in the morning, I promise."
Gritting his teeth, Sverre groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted was to give Norman the opportunity to confront Sig about Amanda but the doctor had already given her permission and there was no going back.
Thanking the doctor again, Sverre walked her to the door.
Edgar took that time to give his brother the best hug he could despite the awkwardness of Sig's position. Quickly, as if he wasn't going to see Sig for 12 years instead of 12 hours, the kid hugged his brother's neck with both arms. "I'm gonna take care of you, just like I said I would."
"I know," Sig said softly, taking the stolen opportunity to kiss the silky hair on top of Edgar's head. Silently, he was pondering just how long Edgar would have the opportunity to take care of him. Sig was still under the misconception there was even the slightest chance he'd still make it up to Alaska for snow crab season.
"You'll get to spend my birthday with me," Edgar said, the realization suddenly dawning on him. He leaned back, breaking the hold, and smiling brightly.
With the boy suddenly so happy, Sig didn't have the heart to disagree. Perhaps, somewhere deep down in a place he wasn't ready to go, the realization was dawning on Sig that Edgar was right; there was no chance he'd been leaving in two weeks.
A nervous, throat-clearing noise came from behind Edgar. Sverre, looking pale, popped a head around his youngest son. "We have to set sail, Edgar. I have to take Alma home and pick up the Mustang. And, Norman will be taking you home…so that YOU can get some rest. It's long, long past your bedtime."
Edgar quietly turned to his father. "What about Matt and Mrs. Mavar?" he asked, taking a step back and allowing his father access to Sig.
"They won't be leaving anytime soon, son," Sverre said sadly, pained at the reminder of the other occupant in the car wreck.
Then, to Sig and Edgar's utter shock, Sverre leaned over and kissed his eldest son's forehead.
Following up the uncharacteristic move with another, the Old Man wrapped a weathered hand around the back of Sig's head, pulling away and giving the young man a steady, direct gaze. Choked up, Sverre sighed, feeling the tears prickling the back of his eyes. "I love you," the words floated out in one large conglomerate, "Glad you're OK. See you first thing tomorrow. Call the house if you need anything."
"Ummm...OK," Sig muttered back, wondering just how many drugs the doctors gave him. Surely this is a hallucination.
A few moments early, while Dr. Watson was enduring Sverre Hansen's blithe remarks, Norman had been left alone in the waiting room. Alma had gone to use the ladies room and Mrs. Mavar, Colleen and her father had gone to look for Matt.
Still in emotional turmoil and growing increasing antsy, the middle brother spotted the 11x7 manila envelope sticking out from under Alma's winter coat. She'd taken the envelope out of her pocketbook when she took her bag with her to the restroom.
Norman reached over, grab it and stretched open the top of the oversized envelope. Peering inside, he found Sig's wallet, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, some loose cash, a receipt from the supply house at the docks and, way at the bottom, a circular piece of gold with an inset blue stone.
Annoyed, Norman picked out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter and tossed them into the trash receptacle at the end of the sofa. With a sense of satisfaction, Norman sat back down, feeling not a whim of guilt.
Then, for a reason that would defy explanation, Norman reached into the envelope and took out his brother's class ring. Placing the envelope carefully in the exact spot he found it, Norman glanced around to make sure no one was looking.
Seizing the opportunity, the tough guy glanced at the ring for just a moment. Then, without thinking, he rammed it into the bottom of his jeans pocket. Go ahead and tell yourself it's just for safe keeping. Maybe you'll believe the lie.
A moment later, Alma returned from the ladies room. She offered Norman a weak smile before returning to her seat on the far couch. Slinging her coat over her like a blanket, the woman dozed off, leaving Norman listening to her soft snoring and wondering why Edgar hadn't come back from the bathroom yet.
It seemed like Norman waited an eternity when he finally saw his father and brother walking down the hall.
Edgar came down the hallway, his father's arm loosely slung over his shoulder. Sverre was whispering some kind of gruff words but they seemed to be more of the comforting nature than confrontive. Edgar, seemingly anxious, was occasionally nodding in agreement to whatever his father was saying.
Spying his brother sitting all alone, Edgar separated from their father and approached Norman with glad tidings. "Sig's gonna be alright! You don't gotta worry, Norman."
Calculatedly, Sverre hung back in the archway of the hall, making it impossible for Norman to get past him without a few meaningful words exchanged in private.
"Is he?" Norman asked, ignoring the feeling of relief washing over him, "You snuck in to see him, didn't you?" That would explain why you were gone for so long.
Edgar was tired, that was clear. Heavily, half-moons shaped shadows hung under his eyes. Yet, the kid still seemed full of energy. "Yeah! And now he's asking for you. We're getting kicked out so you only have a few minutes."
Norman twisted his nose. "He's asking for me?" Do I want to see him? Of course I want to see him. So why am I hesitating?
"Of course he is, stupid," Edgar playfully punched his brother's meaty shoulder. "Go see him. He's got stitches and a cast and all kinds of bumps and bruises…he looks a mess…but don't let that fool ya. He's gonna be OK. Hey, I saw the screw they put in his ankle. It's really cool. It's like a real screw, I'm not kidding."
Alma, who'd dosed off on the far sofa, was awakened by Edgar's exuberance. Rubbing her eyes, she drowsily sat up and attempted to look awake and alert.
Sverre offered her a sympathetic, weak smile when she glanced in his direction. "We're going home soon," he mouthed from across the room.
The older woman held up her hand in a dismissive gesture, indicating she was fine and pretending not to be worn-out.
"You're rambling, Edgar," Norman sighed, standing up and pushing his brother to the side to get him out of his face. "You need to go home and go to bed."
"We ARE going home," Edgar fired back, insulted about yet another reminder that he was exhausted, "But we're coming back first thing in the morning. You gotta take me home so I can come back with Dad."
Sverre stared at Edgar's back and woefully shook his head. He'd have Sig home long before Edgar rolled out of bed in the morning. Still, he let the kid believe what he wanted for Edgar would sleep better knowing he would see his brother as soon as possible.
"So go see Sig, will ya?" Edgar pressed Norman. "I want to go home and fix up some things for when he gets home."
"And let me guess, you plan on doing that as soon as we get home?" Norman asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. Momentarily, his own class ring, safely secured on his finger where it always resided, hit against the stolen one.
Eagerly, Edgar nodded his head in the affirmative. "So go already."
Still, Norman didn't move nearly as fast to please Edgar. In fact, he didn't move or make a motion to leave at all.
Edgar scrunched up his young features, "What the heck's wrong with you, Norman?"
"Edgar," Alma said softly, sensing the need for someone to intervene, "Would you like something from the vending machine? You must be hungry." The woman began rooting through her handbag for change.
"Alma, you don't have to do that," Sverre stated, sounding as drained as he felt.
"It's my pleasure," the swarthy woman slowly came to her feet, "Better yet, Edgar can take me to the vending machines and we can both get something for the ride home. How's that sound?"
"Alright," Edgar agreed. It wasn't difficult to convince the boy he was ravenous. With the mention of food, particularly the sugary, chocolatey kind that often came from a vending machine, he realized he hadn't eaten anything since dinner eight hours before.
In mere seconds, Edgar and Alma were off in search of the nearest vending machine, leaving Norman and Sverre alone together for the first time since dinner, a mere eight hours before.
To say a lot had changed in those eight hours was an enormous understatement.
Under the weight of all that change, Norman and Sverre couldn't look at one another for more than a few milliseconds before averting their gaze to a neutral zone. Both stood frozen in place, hands rammed deep into their jeans pockets and unsure of what, if anything, needed to be said.
Of course, there was a lot to say. The problem was neither one of them wanted to say it.
Starting off with what he deemed a safe question, Sverre cleared his throat and asked, "Where's Nick's family?"
"Taken to a private waiting room," Norman quietly informed him, "They said for us to just go when we're ready. Colleen's dad will take everyone home...when they are ready to leave."
"Oh," Sverre murmured, silently wondering the meaning behind the hospital moving the Mavar family to a private waiting area. Whatever the meaning, it can't be good.
"He's out of surgery," Norman further explained, reading his father's thoughts, "He's alive…but it's not good. He's in a coma."
Sverre nodded, acknowledging the news. Poor, unfortunate souls.
Another agonizingly long moment of silence followed.
"You're brother wants to see you," Sverre prodded Norman when it seemed the young man was emotionally glued to his spot. "You can tell him about Nick. I'm sure he'll be asking for an update the minute you walk in the room."
Norman swallowed hard, bowing his head and clenching his fists into his pockets to the point where it was bringing him welcomed physical pain. Still, he didn't make a move to leave. Sig's ring, shoved way down in the pocket of his jeans, was leaving a painful impression on his knuckle.
"Norman," Sverre said sternly, "Your brother is waiting."
Instead of moving forward, Norman raised his eyes and locked them on his father's face. "You knew where I was going tonight…didn't you?"
I'm so tired. I just too tired for this shit. "Oh, don't start this NOW," Sverre threw his hands up in disgust and noticeably raised the volume of his voice, "Your brother was just in a horrific accident and is lucky to be alive. He could have ended up just as Nick did…or worse. So, for Christ's sake, can you think of something other than yourself for a few minutes and go see him?"
"You DID know," Norman unflinchingly confronted his father, convinced by the old man's angry reaction. "And you let me go there knowing exactly what I would find…or not find. Otherwise, you would have never let me go." How could you?
Sverre clenched his jaw taut, the muscles on either side of his face becoming turgid. I didn't have a choice.
Oh, God, I feel like I'm dying inside. Everyone I love has betrayed me. "Whatever. Say nothing, then," Norman said, feeling every inch defeated, "You'd only lie to me anyway."
Taking a second to register the passive-aggressive statement by his middle son, Sverre's eyes blazed with fury. "How dare you!" he hissed, low and trembling with pent-up rage.
"Maybe I'll get the truth from someone else," Norman countered smugly and tried to bury the hurt deep inside where he couldn't feel it anymore. Finally, he started taking the steps needed to proceed from the waiting room to the direction of the hallway.
"Like hell you will!" Sverre reached out with lighting quickness that belied his age.
As Norman tried to walk past his father, he was stopped by a death-like grip around his upper arm.
Full of the energy and strength that comes with anger, Sverre smashed his middle child up against the wall and got right in Norman's face. They were nose to nose, Norman's back against the wall and his father preventing any escape from the front.
"You will listen to me and you will listen good!" Sverre whispered in a fuming voice.
Trapped, Norman refused to look his father in the eye despite the penny's width of distance between them. Instead, his eyes were focused down the long length of the hallway to his right. He could smell his father's Old Spice cologne and a hint of cigarette coming from the man's flannel shirt.
It was the first time that Norman could ever remember his father manhandling him so roughly and he had absolutely no idea how to react.
Even though Norman would not give him eye contact, Sverre knew his son could hear him just fine and that's what he needed most.
Hissing the words, yet still perfectly clear, Sverre said passionately, "Regardless of however you are feeling about your brother right now…HE'S STILL your brother…AND you WILL treat him as such. He's loved you since the day you were born…looked after you almost his whole life….and you came within a hare's breath tonight of losing him. So don't you even think for one second you're gonna go in there and upset him with a lot of nonsense about a broken engagement and at whose feet lays the blame for it."
So you did know… Norman closed his eyes like he'd been punched in the gut.
"Because NOW is NOT the time and place for it!" Sverre said through clenched teeth, "What you and brother need to work out WILL happen…JUST not HERE…and NOT right now. You WILL give me your word on this!"
Norman remained with his eyes closed, frozen and unresponsive. I know you're right. I know this isn't the time. But I can't stop feeling the way I feel just because you want me to. God dammit, I wish I could.
"Did you hear me?" Sverre squeezed his son's arm forcefully, "Did you hear what I just said?"
After a few tense seconds, Norman opened his eyes, staring at the hospital's stark tiled floor, and whispered, "Yes."
"Yes, what?" Sverre pushed, betting heavily on Norman's honor to assure himself of total obedience.
Haltingly, Norman turned his head and looked directly into his father's blue eyes. Same eyes. Same blood. Wish that still meant something to me. "Yes, sir. I won't bring THIS up with Sig tonight. You have my word."
With a final squeeze of Norman's massive arm, Sverre released his grip and took a withdrawing step back. "Good. One minute. Nothing more. Then, you take Edgar home."
"We'll talk…" Norman started, realizing how utterly disrespectful he sounded, "…when you get home?" he managed to make the statement sound more like a question in an effort to alleviate some of the bitterness.
"I'm staying with Alma tonight," Sverre explained, feeling the anger draining out of him. An overwhelming sense of fatigue took its place. "I'm coming back at dawn and bringing Sig home in the Mustang. He'll never be able to get in the truck and…I'm very tired, Norman. It's been…" he sighed deeply, "…one of the longest nights of my life."
"I know exactly what you mean," Norman said without a second thought. As the words escaped his lips, those same lips began trembling and he felt a shudder from within. It was undoubtedly one of the worse nights in his seventeen years on Earth and the anguish he was feeling was beyond description.
Sverre, not entirely unsympathetic to his son's heartbreak, softened his eyes. "Norman…" he wanted very much to share how sorry he was that the kid's girlfriend left him.
Unfortunately, the last thing Norman wanted right now was his father's sympathy. Without another word, the tough, middle son dropped his gaze and hurriedly walked away from his father, proceeding down the hall.
"Hey, what took you so long, tough guy?" Sig asked, his eyes brightening at the sight of his best friend entering the room.
"Ummm…just figuring out who was taking who home," Norman let the lies begin right off the bat.
"Any chance you have room for one more in your car?" Sig asked, a forced smile upon his face. The anesthetics were starting to wear off and he was feeling the pain building in his ankle and his hand.
Norman shook his head. Then, he took a hard look to assess Sig's condition. It was a jarring sight. His virile, healthy brother emerged so vulnerable and broken from the accident that it caught Norman by surprise.
"You've looked better," Norman quipped as naturally as he normally would have had the circumstances been different.
"Thanks," Sig smiled wryly, "I always know I can count on you to sugarcoat it for me."
"Whatever," Norman said, revealing some of his suppressed hostility, "Only got a minute. Just wanted to see you and tell you I'm glad you're not dead or anything."
"Me too," Sig laughed, "Way to get straight to the point."
The brothers stared at each other for a moment, each attempting to gage the other's thoughts.
"I…ah…figured…" Sig hesitated, hating the lie that was about to come out, "…you'd be halfway to Canada by now. I was super surprised when Dad told me you were out there in the waiting room with everybody." Do I sound as much of a fool as I think I do? I hate lying.
Liar. "Were you?" Norman asked, glaring at his brother.
The tough guy's voice tinged with doubt and sharp as a cutting knife.
Sig was momentarily taken aback. It was clearly written on his face what he was thinking. Do you know? Do you know that I know this is just bullshit? And HOW do you know?
"Plans changed," Norman said in a rush before Sig could think any more on his glib response. "Amanda went with her family to Washington instead."
"Oh…" Sig tried to feign surprise, "…I…Norman…I'm sorr…"
"But that's not gonna stop me," Norman threw back his shoulders and said with confidence. "Nobody…" he stared a hole into Sig's chest, "…NOBODY's gonna stop me. Not even you. I'm gonna get to her…somehow. I don't care if I have to fly across the country and live in a cardboard box until I find her. I won't live without her. Can't."
You're so hurt right now; you don't even know what you're saying. Hearing the pain in his brother's voice, Sig's heart constricted in his chest, "Oh, Norm…"
"Nick's out of surgery," Norman changed the topic like a whirling dervish, "He's in a coma. They don't know…" The middle brother simply finished the sentence with a shrug of uncertainty.
Sig winced at the news. Sliding back against the bed, he rested his head among the pillows and came face to face with the ceiling. "God…" was all he muttered, his heart going out to his friend and his family.
"Well…" Norman was more than ready to finish this brief visit, "…can I get you anything before I go?" You saw me. I saw you. You're OK. I'm not. I think we're about done here.
"No," Sig said softly, feeling the pain of his injuries and the guilt that his friend couldn't feel anything. "Wait," the blond leaned forward, "My ring. Make sure it's with my stuff, will ya? I think Alma…or somebody has it…" the young captain added, "…I hope. Everything else I had can be replaced."
Sucks to lose something that means so much to you, doesn't it? "Sure," Norman nodded, a frosty gleam in his icy, blue eyes. He lightly touched the ring in his pocket. "I'll look for it."
"Thanks, buddy," Sig said, wishing his brother would come closer or offer him some kind of affection.
Instead, Norman said coolly, "I'll see you tomorrow" and walked out of the room.
At the time, Sig chalked up Norman's demeanor to losing his girlfriend. Later in life, he had to admit that, even at the time, he had suspicions it was because of him.
Walking down the hallway and back to the waiting room area, Norman thumbed his brother's ring while it was deeply hidden in his pocket.
It was the cruelest thing he'd ever done but he was also in the darkest place in his life. Not even his mother's death was this dark for him, but at least, back then, he had his family.
Now, he felt he had no one.
That thought lasted as long as the hallway did.
When Norman arrived back in the waiting room, he found his little brother alone, curled up in the crook of the sofa, chocolate smeared in the nook of his mouth.
Norman caught sight of Alma and his father walking out of the sliding glass door and into the snowy night. Apparently, they were heading to the parking lot.
"Time to go," Edgar sleepily asked, barely still awake and rubbing his eyes.
"Yes, buddy," Norman said kindly, remembering that not ALL of his family betrayed him tonight. "Let's go home."
~tbc