Morning started as so many do, with the insistent buzzing of an alarm on Antoine's cell phone on his nightstand. He rolled over and nudged Preston with an elbow. "You want the shower first?"

Preston stretched, blearily looked at his phone on his own nightstand, shook his head. "Not showering this morning," he replied. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his face.

"Need to get in there first?"

"No, go ahead Antoine."

Antoine bounded up. He grabbed his work clothes from the top of the dresser, and launched himself into the shower. Unlike Preston, he was a morning person. Or, at least, an all-day person. A light sleeper, it was easy for him to go from asleep to functional without the long wake-up period his fiancé required. Antoine was thoroughly convinced that if caffeine ever became illegal, he'd have to pick up a night job smuggling coffee beans into Plateau City.

He showered, lathing the shampoo through his thick blue hair, wondering if it might be time for a touch up soon. He hadn't dyed his hair recently. The colour had faded from a vibrant teal to a warm sea-green. The very tips of his roots were beginning to show. It seemed the dye always stayed longer in his beard.

Probably due to the texture of the hair, he reasoned as he took the Braun trimmer to his jawline. Despite his tropical hair, it behooved him to maintain a well-groomed appearance. Especially today! A vendor from General Electric was coming, contract in tow. If all went well, the Infrastructure would be renewing their contract, with an add on for additional busways as demand increased.

It was all a bit over Antoine's head, admittedly. His boss, Sharon had been practically living at the plant for the past three days, fueled by caffeine and pure adrenaline as she checked and double-checked the paperwork.

Exacting at the best of times, Sharon had become downright unsparing as the contract date drew closer. The intensity with which she checked and double-checked her team, put everyone on edge. It was understandable, but still unpleasant.

Antoine examined his face in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, pursing his lips as he examined the roots. Would it really matter if he kept dying it? What if he just let it grow out natural. How many years had it been since he'd worn blond? He honestly couldn't remember.

His phone buzzed again; a second alarm. His "get moving now!" alarm in case he'd been dawdling too long.

With a noise of exasperation he swiped it to silent, and ran the towel over his hair one last time. He dressed quickly. His backpack was on the floor by the closet, in easy reach.

Preston was in the kitchen, seated at their breakfast bar, wearing pajama pants and a lounge robe. He slowly stirred a bowl of Rice Chex as he surfed the news on his tablet.

Antoine drew up short, backpack dangling from one hand. "Dude! We gotta get going or we're going to be late!"

Preston glanced up at Antoine, eyes tired. "I'm working from home today."

"Huh?"

"I'm taking a personal day, Antoine." Preston returned his attention to the tablet.

Antoine sputtered for a second, at a loss for words. He swung his backpack onto his shoulder almost angrily. "Fine, Prep. But I'm taking the new car."

Their conversation was at an end.

...

By new car, Antoine meant "new to his ownership." The car in question was hardly new: a 1984 Dodge Rampage, a truck-sedan hybrid along the lines of the iconic Chevrolet Camaro. It needed a bit of work, but after his old Bessie had proved unsalvageable, Antoine bit the bullet and called in a favor from an auto trader he knew. The car had arrived via truck, listed in the condition of "as is." Despite that dubious phrase ("as is") the vehicle itself was in great shape. Sure there were a few issues that needed some tuning up, but it was nothing outside of Antoine's experience.

He'd been planning to bring the car to work for some time, stash it in the hanger that once held his beloved Little Diva. The helicopter and her supplies were gone. With the hanger empty, it seemed a shame to waste the space.

"Nessie," as Antoine decided to christen her was in surprisingly good condition, given her age. Body, major engine components, and frame were right as they should be. It was more a few of the little details that Antoine needed to tune up. She was roadworthy though. That was the main thing.

Antoine hefted his mountain bike into the bed of the Rampage and tossed his helmet into the passenger seat next to his backpack. He debated going back in, maybe trying to convince Preston to join him.

In the end, he decided against it. Preston hadn't been himself lately. He seemed preoccupied and terse in his replies. Whatever was going on in Preston's head, Antoine didn't like it.

There were several meeting rooms at the nuclear plant, named by color. The swankiest was up in the administrative department, on the floor above Preston's office. It was seldom used except for executive meetings and when the Board of Trustees convened. It was known as Gold.

Antoine was not there. Sharon's department was using Blue, a smaller and less formal room located closer to her office below ground level.

The room was windowless, fully enclosed by the body of the nuclear plant. At the center was a wood-topped table, an eight-person affair surrounded by inexpensive but comfortable mesh-back roller chairs. Several photos of Plateau City and the nuclear plant hung on the walls, lending a sense of décor to the otherwise sterile space. Two glass panels hung on the wall, one at either end of the room. They doubled as a white board and projection surface.

The room was simple, but it met their needs. After all, it was the vendor representative who needed to impress Sharon, not the other way around.

Antoine had arrived early at his boss's request to make sure the projector was set up. Unlike Gold, and some of the other rooms, Blue didn't have a ceiling mounted digital projector. He'd brought the cart in and made sure everything was ready for the vendor's presentation. He settled in at the tail of the table next to the projector and waited.

Slowly, steadily, the various shift leads trickled in. DeLaney rubbed his eyes. He'd recently been transferred from day shift with Antoine to night shop lead. He sat opposite Antoine and poured himself a cup of coffee from his thermos. "I tell you, Antoine, this is a tough adjustment to make."

Antoine chuckled. "The great DeLaney Kaaj is tired? I thought that never happened."

"You try adjusting you schedule by sixteen hours and then stay up for a meeting." DeLaney threw back his head and finished the cup in one long gulp. He quickly poured himself a refil.

"Touché. Oh, and congrats on the promotion. We miss you on First Shift."

"Tell First Shift I miss it too." He slapped the sides of his face lightly, and shook his head.

Stewart came bounding in, a few steps ahead of Sharon. He hopped into an empty chair next to DeLaney, leaving the head of the table open. "Wow, you look beat," he observed. "I didn't know the great DeLaney Kaaj got tired-"

DeLaney cut him off with an annoyed sound and rolled his eyes. "Morning people," he muttered.

Sharon tossed her armload of papers down on the table and wheeled her chair to the back of the room. It was something she seemed to do. Antoine figured it gave her the best view of the entire space, and the people in it. Sharon did the same thing in their shop. She set her notepad on her lap, and took a sip from the bottle of water she'd brought along.

Promptly at nine AM, a middle-aged man in a moderately priced suit came bouncing in. "Good morning, good morning," he chirped, passing out pamphlets to everyone. Antoine noted the Relic watch on the man's pale wrist as he introduced himself. His shoes were high gloss patent leather. Antoine found himself distracted for a moment, watching the reflections on their black mirror-like surface as the man set up his PowerPoint presentation.

The rep smiled charmingly at Antoine, and gestured to the first slide with his laser pointer. "I'm so glad you were able to meet this morning. As you can see, our MiniFlux Isolated Phase Duct Bus is perfect for streamlining switching operations in your plant! This thing practically runs itself, and your team will have a minimum of field maintenance upon install!" His eyes never left Antoine's face. "As you can see from this next slide-"

Antoine caught the stormy look brewing on Sharon's face across the room. He glanced up nervously at the vendor, trying to catch the man's eye.

The rep paused slightly.

Antoine coughed, drew his hand under his chin; bro, not me! He tilted his head towards the front of the table and Sharon. That way.

Confusion flickered across the man's face. His brow creased as realization dawned. Glibly he turned, the spotlight of his attention landing on DeLaney. "My apologies," he said, cupping his hands. "As you can see, sir, this system is rated for anywhere from twelve hundred to forty thousand amps, depending on usage load…"

Sharon's expression was getting darker by the minute. Her brown eyes flashed with a dangerous fire. DeLaney followed Antoine's gaze over his shoulder. Sharon was slowly rolling her notebook into a tube. He glanced back, eyes meeting Antoine's. They shared one thought.

Oh shit.

That poor bastard.

Sharon stood up slowly, her lips pulled back. The expression was more predatory than friendly. "Excuse me."

The rep paused, caught in the middle of his spiel. He stiffened ever so slightly at the interruption.

"Yes?"

"I hope I don't sound presumptuous, but I really don't think you read that email very well. The one about who you'd be presenting to."

The man pursed his lips. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I heard you'd be coming down to speak with the Department Lead of Infrasturcture, correct?"

"Yes, quite so. What seems to be the problem, miss?"

Sharon set her water bottle down and rubbed her hands together. Her voice grew soft, quiet, intense. "So tell me, Mitch; do either of these men look like a 'Sharon' to you?"

The man's face grew even paler, if that were possible. His eyes widened as Sharon advanced, still rubbing her palms. "Because, you see, neither of these men are Sharon. In fact, none of them are. There's only one Sharon here, and that would be me."

He was backpedaling now, retreating awkwardly towards the projector. "I… uh, I thought…"

"See, I do so appreciate your assumption that that the department head must've been a man, especially the initial guess that it was a man like you. My employee, Antoine, sitting by the projector to run it." Her hands froze, clasped together. The last moment before the storm. "Does he look like a Sharon to you?"

Frantic eyes darted around the table. In that moment, everyone, including the rep wished they were somewhere, anywhere else. No matter what happened next, it would not be pretty.

The eruption came as expected; Sharon unleashing a technical barrage of specs on the man, lacing her tirade with none-too-subtle jabs at his terrible faux pas. "How am I to expect you to give me detailed product information when you can't even be correct in your point of contact? No, don't answer that. I think we're done here today. I'll be contacting your people down in Westborough to reschedule this meeting a more attentive to detail representative. Thank you for your time, we're done here."

She turned, and snapped the lights on. "Antoine, turn that thing off."

"Yes, boss." Antoine quickly shut the projector down.

Sharon didn't wait for any follow up discussion. She was already out the door.

...

Antoine drove his car into the empty hanger, parking it near the side wall where the gear lockers and his toolbox stood. The place seemed so much larger without the chopper. Empty aside from a few supplies Infrastructure had stashed in the corners. The sounds of his work boots echoes on the epoxied concrete.

He hauled his bike from the bed of the Rampage and leaned it against a wall. He planned to leave the car at the hanger till he was done. The weather was mild, and Antoine enjoyed biking to and from work.

Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. Antoine turned, curious.

Like most hangers, this had been divided into different sections, the epoxy floor marked with heavy painted lines to delineate the areas. Heavy swaths of yellow surrounded the spot where the helicopter once sat, marking a safe distance from the rotors. Red lines marked fuel supply lines and flammable material storage. White lines indicated "safe" spaces for work and preparation.

Without the presence of the AW A119 Koala Lima Delta dominating the space, the lines had been largely ignored. A pallet here, the ATV with its helipad snowplow parked there… it wasn't the bastion of order it had been when Antoine had 'lived' there.

Well, technically, if one counted his hidey hole behind the lockers where he'd stashed a couch, space heater, and microwave, in many ways the hanger had been his second home.

It wasn't the lack of order that drew his attention to the rear corner.

Quite the opposite: it was the precisely organized parts and row of tools laid out across a folding table that stood out. Intrigued, he left his Rampage, "Nessie," and indulged his curiosity.

The table was covered with bits and pieces of what looked like robotics wear. A soldering iron, and several other micro-miniature level tools were laid out in neat order above the parts.

There was a spherical cage that reminded him of the so-called "buckyballs" his middle-school science teacher had mentioned. It was an open sphere, each piece connected to others to form two perfect domes, held together with small clasps. It was lightweight, yet surprisingly strong.

Antoine lifted the sphere up in his hands, peering at it.

The sound of the side door slamming startled him. He twitched, almost dropping the hollow ball. "That would be mine, Radson," a familiar voice barked.

Antoine set the ball down as Sharon briskly crossed the room, a lab coat billowing about her legs. She regarded Antoine with a strangely pensive look. Antoine couldn't read it. He took a step back from the table.

"That came out a bit harsh, I'm sorry," Sharon said as she pulled out a folding chair and set it up. "I've been a bit on edge today."

"Yeah," Antoine agreed. "I'd noticed. Whatcha working on, if you don't mind me asking."

Sharon pulled a blue tote bin onto the table and popped the lid off. The inside was full of egg-crate style foam packing material. She removed the top layer and gestured to the contents.

"Whoa!"

Antoine pulled his blue hair back and leaned his head over the top. Nestled in foam padding was a multi-propellered drone about the size of a large dinner plate. The controller, a tablet, a charger and spare batteries were tucked in their own pockets beside it.

"So that's what you were working on in the shop the other day?"

"Yes." She took a rubber band out of her pocket and tied her hair back, pulling the neat box braids into a loose bun.

Antoine hesitated, unsure whether to stay or go back to his own project. Sharon seemed preoccupied. Something in his guts told him to stay. He listened to it.

"I was rather harsh on the rep today, wasn't I," she remarked as she lifted the drone out of its homemade case. It wasn't a question.

"You were," Antoine replied carefully, "but I get it."

"I don't know if you do. I was the president of the robotics club at Rensselaer Polytechnic. We had a battle-bot team. I was the captain of that as well. Whenever the referees came to check us in, without fail they went to the token Asian boy first. Every time! Then they'd work their way down the line: white man, Indian, until by process of elimination they realized it was me. Same as when I get applicants with no experience who think working Infrastructure is a maintenance job for high school drop outs." Her voice was bitter as she popped the cover off the drone and examined the miniature engine inside. "So I guess, Radson, I'm venting because I'm tired of all the crap from people who think I'm just some affirmative action secretary case, or something. I shouldn't be laying this all on you, it's unprofessional."

Antoine shrugged. "Yeah, no… I get it. I mean, that's why you were pretty strict on me when I started working for you. I understand."

Sharon raised her eyes, expression patronizing. "How could you possibly understand?"

Antoine reached into his wallet and pulled out a small photo. He looked at it, smiled, then passed it over to Sharon.

She looked at the two figures, a dark skinned man with his arm around a white woman, not comprehending.

"My parents," Antoine explained. "Adoptive parents," he added, seeing her skeptical expression. "My dad, Marcus, he was a chopper pilot in Nam, and after the war he got a job flying supplies and the occasional tour. Debbie, she's from Western New York. She met Marcus, and decided to move here with him. I got to see it firsthand how people treated my dad when he was in his pilot's suit versus when he was in sweats and a tee shirt. They live in Heidelberg. Preston and I were there for a block party last week. His first time in my old neighborhood. A bit of a culture shock for him. So yeah… I totally get it."

Sharon pursed her lips thoughtfully, then handed the photo back to him.

"I didn't know you were adopted."

"I was mostly in the system, but the time I spent with Debbie and Marcus, and reconnecting with them now, they're my family, y'know?"

Sharon had the drone broken down into several main components. She pulled an older model iPhone out of her kit bag, and started prying at the cover. In a few minutes, she had it off. She tapped a pen on the table as she thought.

"Whatcha doing?" Antoine asked.

"Scavenging components from my old iPhone," she replied. "It's got a Qualcomm multi-band RF transceiver. I need this drone to be able to communicate with newer phones."

"Couldn't you just buy one? And what are you going to use it for?"

Delicately, Sharon tapped the guts of the iPhone with her pen. "I want to make an impact-proof drone for inspecting some of the harder to reach places around the facility. While such things are manufactured, to get one with the specs I want, that's way above the department budget. It's cheaper and easier to build my own. Being inside that cage, even if it collides with pipework or a breeze nudges it into the wall, it'll be fine. This will cut down on man-hours and associated risks for routine inspections." Sharon listed several more virtues of her drone before lapsing into silence. Antoine watched as she deftly disassembled and reassembled the parts, ran test charges through them, jotting down notes as she went.

"Is everything okay, Antoine?" Sharon asked without looking up. "You seem rather distracted as of late. If there's anything that's going to affect your work performance, I need to know about it."

"Nah," Antoine lied. "Everything's fine."

"Good, good." Sharon reached over to turn her soldering iron up. "I don't mean to be rude, but I need to concentrate on this part. If I make a mistake, I'll need to make a completely new control module."

Antoine stepped back. "Yeah, I've got some work to do on my car too." He gave a half-wave, and loped back to the Dodge. He slid the hydraulic jack under the lift point, and threw his mind into the project.

...

When Antoine got home, Preston was more or less where Antoine had left him. He was sitting in his pajamas, a dressing robe over his shoulders, mindlessly surfing through channels. Antoine flopped down in the armchair nearby, and attempted to make conversation.

Preston responded, but his focus was elsewhere. It was clear he didn't feel in the mood for idle chit-chat. He was withdrawn, physically and emotionally. After several false starts and strained exchanges, it was clear they were going nowhere.

Frustrated, Antoine folded his arms across his chest. "What is up with you lately?" he demanded.

"Nothing's up with me," Preston snapped back. "I've got everything under control if that's what you're implying. I don't know why you've been on my case so much lately. Everything is fine."

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow? You going to work then?"

Preston's eyes narrowed.

"Miss Vought forwards email to my computer, and calls to my cell phone. If you're implying I haven't been working…"

"No, it's not that! But your job's a lot more than just answering calls and sending emails-"

"I know, Antoine. I'm well aware of what my job entails, Antoine. I suggest you focus on your job, and let me worry about mine."

Preston's tone was uncharacteristically waspish.

Antoine scowled. Without a word he got up and stalked off. He grabbed his cell phone off the dressed in the bedroom and stepped out onto the back deck. He watched the water lapping at the edges of the pool.

"Do your job Antoine… worry about yourself, Antoine," he muttered with an annoyed eye-roll. He unlocked his phone and selected a contact. "Yeah, that ain't happening, Prep."

He threw himself down into a deck chair and waited for the line to connect. International calling. It always took a bit longer. Finally, the line connected. After several rings, it went to voicemail.

"Hey, Mister Tucci, it's me: Antoine. I'm not really sure what time it is where you guys are. Sorry if I'm calling in the middle of the night. Anyhow, it's Preston. He's going through some stuff lately, and it's a lot like how he was struggling after The Incident several years ago. I've been trying to talk to him, but he's gotten pretty withdrawn. I know you and Momma T. said ya felt bad you hadn't been there for him in the past sometimes. This is a good chance to reach out to him now. I think it would help to give him a call, or Skype, or something. It'd be good for him, y'know?"

Antoine felt he was starting to ramble.

"Well, anyhow, that's what's up. Hope you guys get this and give him a call. Thanks. Bye."

Antoine disconnected and folded his arms behind his head. He stared up at the sky. The cicadas were starting early this year, the trees at the edge of his yard buzzing loudly. The light from the pool gave a soft blue glow to the otherwise dark deck, flicking softly with ripples from the breeze. It was a sultry night, the air laden with earthen scents and unspoken thoughts.

Tomorrow would be another day.

He hoped Preston's parents would call.

Antoine expected Preston to make good on his plan to stay home yet again, and Preston did. They didn't speak much, except for Antoine to express his concern.

Preston shrugged. "I'm fine," he replied, echoing his words from the night before. He sat at the breakfast bar, wearing the same pajamas and bathrobe as before. He scrolled through newsfeeds on his tablet, quickly skimming but reading nothing. A mug of rapidly cooling black coffee sat by his outstretched right hand.

Preston rarely drank coffee.

Antoine wrapped his arms around his fiancé's angular shoulders. "I love you, Preppy," he muttered Preston's neck. The dark scruff of Preston's two-day stubble felt strange against his skin. He kissed Preston's rough cheek.

Preston returned the kiss. "I love you too, Antoine," he replied. Dark circles lined his eyes. He smiled, but the effect only made his expression more hollow.

"Take care of yourself, Prep. Eat something. I might be a little late. I want to get a new belt installed on Nessie before I head home."

The only reply was a grunt of acknowledgement as Preston returned his attention to his newsfeed.

Antoine caught the bus to work. He did his job. After his shift ended and Second Shift arrived to relieve him, he went to the hanger and worked on his car.

A bit later Sharon arrived and fussed with her drone for a spell. She did a few test flights that apparently failed to satisfy her requirements, and grounded it. Antoine watched out of the corner of his eye. Its effortless hovering reminded him of his time in the air, behind the yolk of the Little Diva. Feeling vaguely nostalgic, Antoine threw himself into his automotive project.

By the time he looked at the clock, it was already well past five in the afternoon.

He checked his phone; no texts, no voicemails. He'd been half-hoping for a message from Preston. Even a "where r u?" would've been preferable to nothing. Antoine yelled a goodbye to Sharon, and waved.

She returned his wave.

There was something nice about having company in the hanger today, he decided. It didn't matter that they didn't talk. It was simply nice not to be alone. From the way she'd claimed that back quarter, it was clear she wasn't planning on moving out any time soon. Antoine resolved to bring his old boom-box and set it up. They'd definitely get better channels than in the team workshop downstairs. Music always made work go quicker.

The first thing Antoine noticed as he walked down the short street towards his house was the tan Chrysler 300 in his driveway.

The second thing he noticed was the Virginia license plates.

"Dafuq?" he asked, quoting a frequent internet meme. He walked around the car, cupping his hands to the tinted windows. The interior was empty, devoid of any clues as to the driver. Antoine pursed his lips. He didn't like surprises, and strange cars in his driveway definitely fit the bill.

He was halfway into the entry hall, a question on his lips when the voices from the living room interrupted him.

He immediately recognized the velvet tone. Janet Tucci, Preston's mother. She was speaking low enough he couldn't make out the words.

Antoine galloped into the living room and skidded to a halt.

Never in a million years could he have guessed at the scene before him.

Janet and her husband, the reserved and dignified Alfred sat at either corner of the couch. Preston sat between them, tucked under Janet's arm, glasses on the table behind him.

Alfred and Janet looked up as Antoine entered. Alfred gave Antoine a single nod. It spoke volumes. I got your message, he said without words.

Thanks. Antoine returned the nod, and dropped into the chair nearby.

Preston didn't uncurl from his mother's embrace.

"So…" Antoine began slowly, awkwardly.

"… You called my parents," Preston whispered.

Antoine ran a hand through his hair. "Well, yeah. I was worried about you." He picked at his fingernails nervously. "I hope you're not mad about it."

"No. Thank you."

Janet stroked Preston's back, her eyes meeting Antoine's.

To his relief, there was no malice in her expression. Just a tired look of gratitude.

Antoine tapped his feet on the floor. "It got bad, didn't it."

Preston raised his head and nodded. "It did. How did you know?"

Antoine shrugged. "I pay attention to you. I love you. I saw how you were after Alkali Stark, and the way you withdrew and everything. Back then at least I could ask you to live with me. But this time, it felt bigger than something I could fix on my own, you know? So I called in reinforcements."

"You know my parents were in Italy, right?" Preston rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses.

"Actually, I didn't. I just knew they were out of the country. I never expected this." He gestured to Alfred and Janet. "You guys here; now."

A round of awkward silence followed. Antoine coughed nervously, and ran his other hand through his hair, as if unsure what to do with himself. "I'm glad you're here through," he added, looking from Alfred to Janet, then back. "What time did you get in?"

Alfred glanced at his watch. "We got in several hours ago. We've been here since three."

Preston pushed himself up from his mother's arm, adjusting his glasses.

"So I guess you guys talked for a while then."

"We did," Preston replied.

Antoine nodded thoughtfully. "Care to give me the Cliff Notes edition?"

"Come again?" Preston asked, shifting towards the edge of the sofa.

"Y'know, the quick and dirty. Or maybe it's none of my business." Antoine tried to look relaxed. He concluded he was probably failing at it. He got up and went to the wine rack. He pulled out a bottle of scotch Preston had given him for Christmas. Generally a wine drinker himself, Antoine felt the time was right for something stronger. He undid the cork, and poured a few ounces into a rock glass. After adding some ice cubes, he returned to the living room. "Does anyone else want anything while I'm up?"

No one did.

Antoine leaned against the mantle and slowly sipped his scotch. "So, Preston, talk to me," he pushed. Then added: "Please."

Preston looked over at his parents, as if looking for reassurance. He stared at the ground. He looked out the window. Anywhere but Antoine's face.

"I've been struggling with stuff lately…" Preston began.

Antoine resisted the urge to say obviously. He sipped his scotch and held his tongue. This was Preston's time to talk. He tried to calm his mind, a whirlwind of both worry and anger. Anger at Preston for being withdrawn, anger for feeling helpless; anger at being worried in the first place. He forced himself to sit still and listen.

"I wish I could tell you why, Antoine," Preston confessed. "It's not you, and it's not because we're getting married. That's a good thing, and I'm happy about it. I know I should be overjoyed, but my mind… I don't know how to describe it."

"It gets in the way?"

"Exactly! It's hard to focus, and I feel exhausted most of the time. Things that shouldn't worry me do; and the things that should be no big deal leave me overwhelmed. I look at my job, and I wonder if maybe I shouldn't just quit. My brain tells me I'm not CEO material, I'll never be. Best to leave now before I ruin everything.

Preston continued: "I get flashbacks of all the mistakes I've made, things that have gone wrong. When Burns and Ryan went missing last month I couldn't help but think somehow Franklin had come back to finish the job. That's utterly irrational, and on some logical level I know this. But knowing it doesn't help. It doesn't fix anything. Even being well aware they're back safe and sound changes nothing."

He paused, looked up at Antoine. "You know, I think I would like a drink afteral."

"Same as mine?" Antoine held up his glass?

"A bit of water too, please."

"Certainly."

Antoine brought Preston a glass of scotch, then settled back into the armchair.

"Everything is just so much harder than it should be, for no good reason. I can't sleep at night, I can't function during the day. I'm not hungry though I know I should be. I feel like all I do is go in circles, obsessing over the same inane things. And it never solves anything." He dropped his forehead into his hand.

"I don't know what to do Antoine. I'm drained and frantic all in one, paralyzed with the weight of problems that only exist in my own mind, and I can't seem to move on."

Janet gently rubbed the back of Preston's neck.

Alfred leaned over and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

From across the room, Antoine nursed his scotch. "Yeah, you're pretty much telling me what I already knew, no offense. And I want to help you, I really do. But sometimes this stuff is bigger than one person, Preston. Sometimes ya need to know you're not going at it alone. That's why I called your folks. You should know, we're all here for you. Whatever it is, we'll help you get through it. I can't do it for ya (I wish I could), but I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere."

Antoine gestured to Preston's parents. "And neither are they! Hell, they flew all the way from Italy just because I said you seemed pretty down! If that doesn't mean they care, I don't know what does."

"Maybe I don't feel worthy of that."

Antoine shrugged. "Well then that's bullshit. Pardon my French, but it is. You remember what we talked about, when we got back from Burnsie and Waylon's place after their wedding?"

"Hey Preston," he called out, mildly concerned. "What's this?"

"What's what?" asked Preston from the kitchen where he'd been warming a frozen pizza for dinner.

"These little pills," replied Antoine, shaking the bottle.

Preston hastily appeared in the doorway and held out a hand. "You weren't supposed to find those."

"What are they?"

Preston sighed and slipped the pill bottle into his pocket. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's Xanax. For my anxiety." Preston could caught the expression on Antoine's face. "Oh come on, don't look at me like that. I don't even know what that look means."

Antoine rubbed the back of his neck. "It means I want to make sure you're okay. It means I care about you and I worry. I knew you were struggling since that incident and all, but I guess I didn't realize how bad it was."

"Yeah, it was getting pretty bad."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Preston looked away. "I was afraid you'd think less of me. That I was weak, or a junkie, or something. It's hard to deal with things that are all in your own head. Sometimes it seems like I'm the only one who feels this way. I don't want to let you down."

"Look," Antoine began firmly, "I don't judge. You're my friend, I care about you and I wanna see you succeed. I know you're going through stuff, and I know I'm not. Things affect us different. That's okay. As long as you're getting better, as long as that head doc and those peachy little pills are helping, keep up with both." Antoine put his head on Preston's shoulder, his blue hair falling around Preston's neck. "But if they stop helping, or you start feeling worse, promise me you'll tell me, okay?"

...

Preston cracked his knuckles. "I remember."

"So do I. And you promised if things started getting bad, you'd let me know."

There was a moment as Preston digested what Antoine had said. He took a long sip, the ice cubes clinking in his glass. "I guess I let you down then."

"Not at all!" Antoine shook his head. "You just don't have to feel like this is all on you to fix, is all." Antoine pointed to his tattoo, to Preston's ring. "I made a commitment to you! We don't have to be officially married yet for me to make good on it. I wish I knew what caused it for ya. Then maybe I could keep it from happening."

"I don't think," Preston began slowly, "that anything causes it. It just seems to happen. It's probably always been something that happens, but it never got bad until The Incident. And now, I have to be a bit more careful."

"So it's something that's always been a part of you." Antoine raised his glass, peering through it.

Preston furrowed his brow. "Probably. Why?"

Antoine gave a short laugh. "Because it's proof that even the accomplished musician, polyglot, and CEO Preston A. Tucci is human after all!" He tilted his glass towards Preston, and slammed the rest of the contents back in a single gulp.

Seconds later, Antoine was sputtering and rubbing his throat.

"Jeez, what happened Antoine? Are you okay?"

"Swallowed an ice cube by accident," Antoine confessed, feeling his cheeks redden. "Sorry, I'm not very good at making toasts or slamming scotch. I probably should abstain from both."

Preston chuckled, then despite his mood he laughed: a genuine, friendly sound. Something Antoine hadn't heard in far too long. "Oh Antoine," Preston chortled, wiping his eyes, "only you!"

"Right? Only me!" Antoine beamed. "And only you, too! I guess we're two of a kind, eh? I'll let you do the shots, and Long Island Iced Teas-"

("-Oh god, don't bring that up!")

"And I'll take care of doing whatever it is I'm good at. Which is, at least right now, making you smile. There, do you feel better now?"

Preston hesitated. "A little, but not completely."

Antoine shrugged. "Well, it's gonna be a long road, but at least you got company for the trip. I'm here, and I don't you how long y'all are staying in town," he gestured to Janet and Alfred. "But for the time being, let's roll with it and call it a good start, eh?"

"I'd toast to new beginnings," Preston said as he raised his glass, "but I know how that would go." He winked at Antoine, a spark of his old sass flickering in his smile.

"Scotch is more of a sipping drink anyhow," Alfred remarked from his corner of the couch. Though his face was serious, there was a faint upturn at the corners of his mouth. For a reserved and aloof man as he prided himself in being, such a display was the equivalent of a broad grin.

The effect wasn't lost on his son, or Antoine either.

"Hey, even Mister T. agrees!" Antoine gave a nod towards the wine rack. "What about it, Mister T? Momma T? Just a sip for the sake of family?"

"What is it?" Alfred asked.

"Laphroaig, Madeira casked," Preston replied. "I picked it out myself."

Alfred raised his thick eyebrows. "A good choice. Milder, less peaty than some. A good introductory scotch." He smiled knowingly at Antoine.

"Hey, guilty as charged." Antoine shrugged. "I'm a noob! But when it comes to wine, I can and will hold my own." It was a friendly challenge, and they both knew it.

As the evening slipped into night, three Tuccis and one Radson savored the taste of Islay. Though Preston clearly wasn't magically cured, Antoine could see the effect having his parents' support made. It might not be the end, but it was most definitely a good beginning.