Preston Tucci sat at the desk in his bedroom, listlessly browsing the internet. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, mostly killing time. Antoine was in his own room. Sometimes, space was good.

Ever since their trip to Boston, probably before that if Preston were to be perfectly honest with himself, his dynamic with Antoine didn't feel like enough. It seemed the more he mentally recovered from The Incident, the more like his old self he felt. That was good in some ways, bad in others. The confidence that had served him so well in the past, that was returning. Even some of his old arrogance as well. It definitely made work easier to feel in charge again. Important when one happened to be the CEO.

There was a flip side to that though.

When Preston had first returned to New York, he had been in and out of the hospital for regular check-ups. Cold hands, and even colder tables, making sure there was no lasting trauma from the bullet that had pierced his abdomen. That, in and of itself wasn't a pleasant experience. But it wasn't the worst.

The hardest part had been returning to his small apartment on the River Side of Plateau City. Everything seemed too quiet, too still. In the dark of night, his mind replayed the details of the incident with increasing vividness. Preston felt himself drowning in the memories. They consumed him.

It was Antoine who had noticed something was up.

Antoine who offered his home. You can stay here till you get your feet under you, Antoine had said. Or something very similar to that. Antoine had made up the guest room for Preston, helped him bring a few essentials over from the apartment. Make yourself at home, Antoine said.

Even though he wasn't alone, Preston still found himself overwhelmed and unable to sleep. On the third night, he'd swallowed his pride and crept into Antoine's room.

Antoine's bedroom, the master bedroom was spacious and relatively clutter-free. He had a king-sized bed, and thick black curtains that could block out even the brightest midday sun. Antoine had been, technically still was, a pilot. Mandatory down-time was part of the package deal. Sometimes that required sleeping during the day.

Preston had groped his way in the darkness until he found the footboard of Antoine's bed. Antoine must've heard him. There was a rustle of cloth as he pushed himself up. Ugh, Preppy… what's up? You need something?

Preston ran a hand over his throat, squeezing himself, trying to wring out some courage. I can't… I just… Can I stay here tonight?

Antoine shifted, had pulled back the covers and patted the mattress. That's fine. There's plenty of room. You need to sleep. Antoine had then slid over the opposite edge, and let Preston climb in between the flannel sheets next to him. It had been stiflingly warm, and yet, it felt just right: a dark and cozy nest. Preston felt his body relax almost immediately. The effect was only enhanced when he felt Antoine's strong arm wrap around his chest. Nothing's gonna hurt you, Prep. Not while I'm here, Antoine rumbled softly. He gave Preston a squeeze, then fell silent.

That had been the first night Preston had actually slept well.

He'd expected it to be a one-time thing. It turned into their standard arrangement.

And that, Preston thought as he stared at his laptop screen, was part of what made everything so complicated.

As he continued to recover mentally, a combination of finding the right counsellor and the right medication, it wasn't merely his old attitude that was returning. Antoine was, as far as Preston understood it, asexual. While Antoine was cuddly and emotionally affectionate, Preston was creature with more physical needs. He hadn't thought much about that in some time, probably stress and medication both, but as he felt better… well, certain desires were returning.

The relationship he had with Antoine, simply put, wasn't meeting all his needs.

Preston sighed as he browsed yet another mindless click-bait website. He and Antoine hadn't talked about this. Well, they'd discussed it a little on a vacation to Florida, but they hadn't actually had a lengthy discussion about where they as a couple were headed… or even if they were a couple at all.

During their trip to Boston, they'd gone down to Providence, Rhode Island. There, they'd visited Preston's alma mater, and afterwards a dance club Preston used to frequent during his college days. Preston had hoped Antoine might get into the mood, dance with him; maybe it would lead to something.

The only thing it led to was Antoine drinking by himself at the bar while Preston forgot his inhibitions for a time. Preston enjoyed the moment, then it got awkward. Their walk back to the hotel had been full of dangling sentences. That night Antoine had slept on the edge of their hotel bed, putting a notable space between them. The next morning though, on their drive home, Antoine played a rather sappy song in the car, and winked playfully.

Antoine confused him.

Preston leaned back in his chair, pushed up his glasses and covered his face with his hands. "Ah, fuck," he groaned into his palms. He ran his hands through his hair. All the available men in the city, and he hadn't even fallen for a straight. He was crushing on a guy who wasn't interested in anything with anyone. Well, maybe at least that wasn't as bad as a straight. At least Preston didn't have to worry about Antoine coming home with a girlfriend.

"This is not going to go anywhere, is it big boy?" he muttered to himself.

He leaned forward and entered in the website address of a dating site he used to use. He'd deleted the contents of his profile shortly after becoming CEO, but he kept his account active. Dating or not, this self-imposed celibacy was starting to get old. Preston logged off his laptop and went to find Antoine.

As expected, Antoine Radson was in the master bedroom, browsing Facebook and chatting with someone online. He didn't look up as Preston entered.

"Waylon says hi."

"Tell him I said 'hi' back," Preston replied as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed.

Antoine's fingers flew across the keyboard. For someone who was a slow reader, he could certainly type fast enough. He paused, read Waylon Smithers' reply, and made a face.

Preston watched as Antoine's brow furrowed. He glanced up at Preston nervously, typed another reply, then shut the lid of the laptop quickly. "So, Preppy," he said a tad nervously. "What's up?"

Preston glanced at the shut laptop under Antoine's palms. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Nah. Not really. Just stuff. Springfield stuff. Anyhow, what's up?"

Preston looked at his hands. He wrung them together, then sighed heavily. "Antoine, how would you feel if I started seeing people?"

Antoine's face creased as he processed what his housemate had just said.

Preston waited patiently, nervously. He realized he was squeezing his hands white.

"See people," Antoine repeated slowly. "As in date people…"

Preston nodded.

Antoine's was leaning on the laptop, rolling his weight forward towards Preston, expression stormy.

"Yeah, Preston. You can see other people. It's a free country, I can't stop you… But if you go out, don't come home. Ever."

With that, Antoine snatched his laptop off the bed and stalked off.

Preston heard the door to the basement slam. A few seconds later, the deep sound of explosions came through the floorboards interspaced with gunfire. Call to War, or something like that. Antoine's "I'm angry" game. The one he always played when he was pissed off. And he had the bass cranked all the way up.

There's your answer, Preston thought morosely. He slouched back to his room, and closed the door.

Antoine turned down the bass and adjusted the Bluetooth headset around his ear. "That better?" he asked the familiar face on the screen.

"Much," replied Waylon Smithers.

Antoine had opened his laptop and the Skype application, connecting his gaming headset to the computer. It allowed him and Waylon to continue their conversation while he worked out his frustrations in the safety of a virtual warzone. Waylon, meanwhile, was working on some project at his desk.

"So Preston wants to see other people," Waylon observed without looking up.

"Yep." Antoine reflexively dodged with his character, jerking the controller to the side. As if it made a difference. Grenades. It was always grenades. He leaned back and waited for the respawn counter to tick down.

"Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I always got the impression you two were something of an item."

"I did too," Antoine replied. He skillfully maneuvered his character around a bunker and crouched down, waiting.

"So what's the problem?"

Antoine toggled through his character's weapons. Rifle, pistol, knife… wrench! That would do the trick. A battered tank sat unattended on a hill. "Well," Antoine began, "I'm happy with what we've got, but he wants more. Something a bit less platonic, if you get my drift."

Waylon clearly understood. "Ah." He nodded.

"And that's not really my bag," Antoine confessed as he ran up the hill and started 'fixing' the tank. "He wants, eh, more than I'm comfortable with."

"It's pretty apparent Preston's gay," Waylon observed.

"Yep."

"And you're not…"

Antoine's character climbed into the freshly repaired tank and set off towards the main combat zone. "I'm nothing, really," Antoine replied. "I mean, if I ever were to want… you know… it would be with him. But I'm not comfortable with it."

Waylon looked up from his paperwork. "You've thought about it."

"Probably more than I should."

There was a lull in the conversation. Waylon opened an email, skimmed through the contents. He blanched. Antoine, immersed in the game hardly noticed. Waylon coughed. "Hey, Antoine?"

"Yo."

"Pause that a minute."

Antoine paused the game and set his controller on the couch. He hunched closer to the laptop. "What's up, Waylon?"

The man on the screen was paler than usual. "Antoine, I'm going to send you an email I just received. Read it over. I'll wait."

Antoine drummed his feet on the floor. A few seconds later, the mail alert chimed. Antoine opened the email and read it through carefully, so he wouldn't miss anything.

"You people lost Rhonda?" He glowered at Waylon.

Waylon gestured to the message. "Our chief of operations at the India facility went to take her for her daily constitutional around the property, and found the links hacksawed through."

"You know, when Burnsie said she was chained to a desk…"

Waylon waved a hand. "I know, I know. It's hard to tell what's a metaphor with him sometimes. I'm never sure myself."

Antoine grunted.

"If it's any consolation," Waylon offered, "I'm sure your perfectly safe. I wouldn't worry about it."

Antoine leaned towards the computer, shoulders square, glaring at Waylon through the camera. "Yeah? I hope now, Waylon. Because she caused a lotta grief for Preston, and I don't need him going through that again."

Waylon looked away.

"That's right, look sad about it," growled Antoine.

"Oh," Waylon explained, "I'm not sad for me. I'm sad for Preston! You care the world for him."

Antoine made a snorting sound, but it was an affirmation.

"Have you even told him how you feel about him? How do you feel about him?" Waylon probed.

Antoine folded his arms across his chest. He muttered something barely audible.

"What was that?"

"I said I love him, okay?"

Waylon threw up his hands. "Have you told him that?"

"Why do I need to? He knows." Antoine couldn't bring himself to look at the screen.

"Unless you tell him, he'll never know for sure. I've seen the way he looks at you. He's head-over-heels for you, Antoine!" Waylon shuffled some papers on the desk. "Look, it's not my job to tell either of you what to do with yourselves. I've got enough going on in my own life right now. But I know how it feels to love someone who you don't believe loves you back. It's that point, teetering between elation and despair. It's a horrible place to be, Antoine. I lived in that hell for twenty years!

"Preston's feeling better, he's healing. And, as he does, those parts of him are going to reawaken. If he's got needs that you aren't able to meet, is it really fair to him to keep him hanging on? You'll have to make a decision; do what's right for him."

Antoine grabbed the can of pop sitting on the end-table and finished it in one long swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It had gone flat, but at least it was still cool.

"What do I do?"

"I don't know, Antoine. That's between you two to figure out."

"Right." Antoine crushed the empty can in his hand and dropped it on the floor. "And what about Rhonda? What are your people doing about that?"

Waylon looked up through the screen.

"We're running traces, doing a search through the authorities, but there's not too much we can do other than watch. Technically, we moved her illegally. We can't capture her without doing more of the same. At this point, we're waiting to see what she does."

Antoine made another snort, this one of irritation. "Wait and see approach. Great strategy."

"Don't be surly," Waylon admonished. "I didn't have to tell you at all."

"Yeah." Antoine hung his head. "Sorry 'bout that. So what do I do?"

Waylon tossed a few papers into an unseen outbox. "You have my word I'll keep you informed with everything as soon as I hear it." He folded his hands, tenting his fingers. "I'm looking out for you; you and Preston both. I don't want to see either of you fail."

An off-screen voice echoed into the frame. "Hey, Dad? Are you in there?"

Waylon raised his head. "Give me a minute, okay Ryan?"

Antoine raised his head. "'Dad?'" he repeated.

Waylon gave a rueful smile. "Didn't I say I had a lot going on in my life? It's been quite the adventure these last few months. First Monty's acting strange, then I find out I have a son I never knew I had. That incident down in Louisiana… Rhonda…" Waylon offered a weak shrug.

"What happened in Louisiana?" Antoine asked.

Waylon waved a hand. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"Huh. Right. Falls into the 'some other time category,' eh." Antoine rubbed his chest. "So… Rhonda. Should I tell Preston or not?"

"Antoine," Waylon began a bit tiredly. "That is your decision. Do I think you're in danger? No. Do I think it might be premature to worry Preston? Yes. Would I tell him? No; but I'm not you."

The conversation was winding down. Antoine reached for the controller. "Okay, so this'll be our little secret then. I'm not really okay with this, but I guess I'll have to be for now."

"If I might offer one bit of advice," Waylon interjected.

"What?"

He rubbed his fingertips together. "If you want to keep Preston in your life, you need to be honest with him. But you have to be fair to him too. If you love him, tell him! Then let him decide where he wants to go from there. Maybe he'll decide he wants to stay with you, maybe he won't. Maybe you'll both find a way to make this work. I don't know. What I do know is: he needs to know the truth about how you feel. That way, whatever he decides, at least it's an informed decision."

Waylon glanced down for a moment. "It hurts to think someone doesn't care about you; but it hurts just as much to realize they did all along, and never said anything." He looked up and gave Antoine a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That's how people wind up moving across the country for 'space.' Tell him. It'll mean the world to him."

Antoine picked at his fingernail. His heart and head were swimming in thoughts, most he couldn't identify. "Will it… will it make him stay?"

Waylon's brown eyes were soft, sympathetic. "It might not, but it definitely won't hurt."

Antoine took a deep breath, stared at the ceiling, exhaled slowly. Feelings were never his forte. Rhonda, Preston… it was all very complicated for a person who considered himself a simple man. "Yeah, it won't hurt." He glanced at the screen. "Hey, thanks Waylon. Wasn't trying to seem ungrateful that you told me about Rhonda. I do appreciate it and all."

"I understand, Antoine. Don't worry about it. Now, you better get back to blowing stuff up. That war won't win itself."

Antoine looked at the frozen scene on the TV, heroic music playing softly in the background. "I think I've got a bigger war to fight right now. In here, you know?" He tapped his chest.

"I know all too well, Antoine," Waylon replied. "I wish you the best with everything."

Antoine nodded. "Laters, Waylon." He gave a weak half-salute, then ended the call.

Preston… his dear Preston. Antoine groaned and stared at the ceiling of his den. Ah, shit, he muttered to himself. "Hey, Preppy!" he bellowed at the ceiling. "Can you come down here, there's something I gotta talk to you about. Please," he added as an afterthought.

Is this the right time? He wondered as he heard Preston's footsteps on the floor above. For some things, this was probably as good a time as any, he reasoned. Antoine inhaled slowly, and glanced towards the stairs. Preston's feet were coming into view. Well, Antoine thought, giving himself a mental push. Here goes nothing…