If Monty were to be completely honest, he would say he is not excited by the prospect of Robbie being back in town. He knows he is supposed to love his little brother unconditionally, and he supposes he does, in a way, although their relationship has always been fraught. Even before the day the whole town saw Robbie for what he was.

He'd allowed himself to hope things might be different now; that prison might, just might, have helped mold Robbie into a more tolerable human being. (Monty doesn't really believe this will happen, but he has never been the type to think the worst of people, so he always wants to hope.) Of course, in the end he doesn't know why he really ever expected things to be any different.

When George asks him if he's really alright with the job-sharing, Monty just nonchalantly shrugs it off, as he's become accustomed to doing. Frankly, he does mind being forcibly removed from his job - a job he actually enjoys, thank you very much, and considers himself at least somewhat good at - by a better brother. At least, everyone seems to think Robbie is the better brother. But maybe he really is; Monty can only think of one thing he himself is better at. That would be cricket.

The real estate agency is supposed to be a family business. But which of them has been there for the family this whole time, which of them hasn't been stuck in jail for being a drug-dealing wife-beater - it isn't Robbie, that's for damn sure. However, Monty is trying to distract himself from his family troubles, not dwell on them; so he shoves these thoughts to the back of his brain, and tightens his grip on his cricket bat until his knuckles turn white. At least he knows he is good at that. Better than Robbie, he reminds himself.

But he has the distinct impression his friend sees right through his seeming indifference, and so he's utterly unable to hold his feelings in once George starts making excuses for why he can't join the Weld cricket team. Then he only wants to think about the game instead, and so he's able to successfully put it out of his mind for the time being. (Convincing George to play for the team seems more important at the moment.)

He doesn't think about it again until Saturday, late afternoon, their first pre-game practice session.

First, Robbie is late (along with Fiona, although that's really none of his business). Then, just when Monty thinks all is well, there's that little comment about abstaining not being difficult for him. He resists the urge to glare darkly in Robbie's direction. He may not be married any longer, but at least he was once, and got a child out of it - which is more than Robbie can say, in any case. Yet it still gets to him. As much as he enjoys his life and the little semblance of family he's built with Siouxsie, he misses the exhilaration of being deeply loved, and of loving deeply in return. (Although that's really a separate matter entirely.)

Honestly though, he's used to it by now. Robbie has always delighted in little jabs like this, even when they were children. In fact, in a lot of ways his little brother has stayed exactly the same since childhood; never quite growing up. So, Monty just frowns and shrugs it off (as the one who has, in fact, grown up). It will all be worth it, so long as he can lead the cricket team to victory.

And it seems like he just might this year. After a rocky start the team is doing well, and they're not as far behind the Stafford team as usual. They can win this, Monty thinks as he starts to play, and if he weren't so focused on the game, he would be grinning wildly at the sounds of everyone in town cheering for him, the shouts calling out his name and "cricket god."

He doesn't imagine for a moment that Robbie will deliberately run him out. (Just because he knows how important cricket is to Monty.) He tries to stop, to run back - but it's already too late. As he stalks off the field someone pats Monty's shoulder consolingly, but he barely notices it, suddenly feeling utterly drained and exhausted. So he just sits there under the tent for a few minutes, his lower lip quivering pitifully as he blinks back angry tears. Of course, he's beyond exhilarated when Weld finally wins for the first time in 9 years, but the hurt is still there.

The next day, the paper declares Weld's win with a bold headline and a giant picture, both of which leave out Monty entirely. There's a tiny mention of him on page 2, but he still feels like a bit of a loser - a sentiment which he echoes, somewhat angrily, to Robbie. (Robbie doesn't seem to care.) Of course, that is not the worst thing to come of the day.

When Siouxsie says she'll be moving to Stafford to live with her mother, Monty doesn't quite realize yet that she means it. He files this new information to the back of his mind to be dealt with later, and it comes back when he's sitting in the boat club, supposedly listening to his father's lecture; instead, all he can do is sourly stare at the (suddenly very interesting) colours of his tie.

His house is empty and cold when he returns, and when he pops his head into Siouxsie's room - predictably dark and gloomy and covered in skulls - to call her for dinner, he has forgotten that she has already gone. Monty perches awkwardly on the edge of her bed, picking at a loose thread in the duvet and glancing down at the carpet. She'll have to come back, at some point; she's only taken the essentials with her, leaving plenty of things behind, band posters and less-favoured clothes. But Monty doesn't know if she'll come back to stay, or if this is her way of moving out for good.

Without her, he might as well leave. But where would he go? Weld is the only place he has ever known. So he only sighs, and sits down for a quiet meal with only himself and his swirling thoughts for company. He finds himself bitterly wishing Robbie would just disappear, and then he admonishes himself for that thought, since he is not the kind of man to wish harm on anyone.

The next day, the day of the fight, goes no better for Monty.

He has to grit his teeth and bear through the whole incident at the cottage, and that, in itself, is difficult enough. And then Robbie and Fiona are leaving his office, and Monty feels he can finally relax, an entire encounter with his younger brother having passed with only a few feelings singed. But then he catches sight of the paperwork, and Monty can't keep quiet - he knows very well that for the house to go to market, Fiona has to initial every page of the agreement. He is a real estate agent who actually does his job, thank you very much.

He doesn't intend for it to go any further than that, honestly; he isn't going out there meaning to shove Robbie.

Monty is not a violent man. He never has been. He's a bit of a pushover, actually; he wishes he could have been stronger, more assertive in his youth, but he is the man he is. And that man has always been carefree, and fun-loving, and a bit of a loveable annoyance around town - without that, he isn't good old Monty, is he? Even he has a breaking point, but the fact still stands: he is not much of a fighter.

Then why does it feel so good to shove Robbie, even if the push barely makes him stumble?

He barely has time to consider it before his brother pushes him in return, a stronger push that makes him stagger back a step; a flare of anger blazes in him, and before he knows it he's tossing the clipboard to the ground, just so thoroughly fed up with it all that he feels the need to confront Robbie about the three things the younger man has stolen away from him. Selling real estate, playing cricket, and being a father.

His second push is more forceful, and he's pleased to see that Robbie wobbles backward a bit more. Monty allows himself to feel a little proud, just for a moment, but then they're awkwardly grappling with each other, and he's so upset, but he doesn't really know what to do.

Monty doesn't know how to fight. He's never needed to. So he just puts his fists up in a poor imitation of self-defence, and keeps backing away. In a moment of boldness he takes a swing, and misses terribly.

The punch takes him by surprise, but he doesn't even have a moment to reach up to the pain that blooms in his jaw - Robbie's grabbing at him again, and after another moment of scuffling Monty is somehow able to gain the upper hand. He manages to get a few punches in before George and Woody and his own father are all involved in the fight too, struggling for a bit before they finally succeed in pulling the two men apart.

But now Robbie and George are fighting, if you can even call it that - Monty takes the moment of Robbie's distraction to jump him, and feels a burst of satisfaction when he's able to take him down to the ground. Of course that's the moment when his father, apparently the most commanding figure in their sleepy little town, orders them to stop. Everything is quiet for a moment.

He's still a little dazed from that punch, and everyone is looking. Fiona gives him a pitying glance, but he can't even muster a small smile for her. His hair hangs down into his eyes, and when he reaches fingers up to the sore spot on his jawline, they come away bloody. He's still catching his breath, and he keeps his gaze fixated on a spot of pavement - blinking rapidly to keep tears of frustration from clouding his vision. He doesn't want to see all the eyes upon him.

Especially the eyes of his father, who is looking at him with severe disappointment. Of course, there's nothing new about that look, but just for once, Monty wishes Big Mac would be proud of him - he was standing up for himself, after all. But Robbie is the golden boy, the favourite, and nothing he can do will compare.

Monty gets to his feet, barely pausing to wipe the street dust from his suit, and flees the scene as fast as he can move without running, his thoughts stormy and his jaw pulsing with pain. He doesn't even care where it is he ends up, so long as it is far, far away from Robbie, his father, and the probing eyes of everyone else in town. Somewhere - anywhere - with a little peace and quiet, a refuge.

So, when he pauses long enough for his head to clear, it's really no surprise that he finds himself on the steps to the News of the Weld, well on the way to his little office. Except it isn't his office, not anymore - it's George's now. Still, Monty doesn't know where else to retreat to; his father's estate is clearly not an option, and he doesn't think he can face the newfound emptiness of his own house. At least he counts himself lucky that Siouxsie wasn't present to witness her father's failure - he knows she already sees him as a moron. He feels useless.

The door is unlocked, just like almost every other door in safe, sleepy little Weld. He slips inside and scans the familiar room, with its peeling mint-green paint and homey little atmosphere. The editor's desk is much tidier with George at the helm, he notes with some detachment. He knows he was a rotten editor, and that George is far more suited to the position - he knows that, but that doesn't mean it still doesn't sting, just a little. He would have liked to be genuinely good at something. He had thought he was good at three things, actually, but well… Robbie's return has really turned Monty's life and self-worth upside down, hasn't it?

Maybe it would be alright if, just for a moment, he took refuge in this place, in this chair, just like he used to. Hopefully George won't mind Monty warming the seat for him, as it were. When he sits he can almost imagine that this desk is his again, except it's so much more neat and organized - and he can see actual work organized into neat, clearly-marked little piles. Careful not to accidentally knock any of the piles over, he picks up the name plaque, just to feel something in his hands. Slowly, Monty leans back into the chair (is this the same one he had when he was editor? it feels so much more comfortable) and closes his eyes. His jaw still hurts a bit from Robbie's punch, and he's sure it's going to leave a nasty bruise, but the pain is beginning to fade, and he lets out a deep breath as he allows himself to relax.

Until he hears the office door open.

Monty immediately opens his eyes and sits up, quickly putting the plaque back in its rightful position, and looks up to see George approaching. He makes to get up, but sinks back into the chair the second that George gestures for him to stay put. He feels a little awkward, as if he were caught doing something he shouldn't be. Monty smiles thinly; it doesn't reach his eyes.

Honestly, he doesn't really mean to open his mouth - George seems entirely content to sit in silence - but by the time Monty begins talking about how much of a refuge the little office once was, he realizes he might as well keep going. It feels good to unburden. But it makes perfect sense when George finally stops him - of course George wouldn't care about Monty's problems. Nobody ever has, not really. It's disappointing, naturally, but nothing surprising, he thinks with a little scoff of self-deprecation.

Which is precisely why it is so surprising when George then proceeds to give him what can only be described, in Monty's mind, as a pep talk. Telling him he shouldn't run himself down so much. He finds himself truly listening, letting the words sink in. Monty looks away from George, gazing out the window almost distractedly - but he's thinking about it all, really he is. He lets himself smile again, and this time, he dares to hope. He is good, good enough, no matter what his father and brothers say. And maybe it's about time to let them all know. To tell them all that he won't let himself be walked all over anymore. It's long overdue. Maybe, this whole time, he just needed someone to tell him he was worth it.

At last he looks back at his friend, giving him a quick nod and a smile that, albeit small, glimmers with optimism.

Later, Monty considers the idea of driving up to his father's place to find Siouxsie; he frowns and questions this plan as quickly as he's come up with it, wondering how effective it would all be in the end. She thinks he's a moron anyway.

But then he remembers what George said, the bit about actually taking action, and he decides not to procrastinate any longer. He loves his daughter, moron or not, and he knows she loves him too. And he wants her back home with him, not with a mother she despises, or a grandfather who has always been distant. So when he arrives there, he is pleased to find that Siouxsie hasn't even unpacked her suitcase yet.

Of course Robbie tries to interfere, just like always, but Monty finds that standing up to him a second time is easier - even with the whole family watching. Somehow that empowers him.

No one trusts you!

God, that felt good. And it feels just as good to reclaim his rightful place at the helm of McNamara Realty - feels even better, to threaten Robbie with dismissal if he dares ever make fun of Siouxsie again.

Out of the corner of his eye Monty sees his daughter smile at that, and his heart lifts. He hopes his little brother knows he really meant it, every word. (Siouxsie is the most important thing in his life, and he won't let anyone, family or not, come between them.) Now, with his daughter back with him, and his job as the family real estate agent secure once more, Monty can't help but feel like he can deal with whatever Robbie throws at him.

Because between the two of them, he is the better brother, and he's really starting to believe it.