Hello! Hopefully this chapter will be a touch longer! Probably because there will be lots of quotes in it. If you haven't read Shakespeare's 'Macbeth', a lot of this won't make sense. I hope you like it and if you want to, I shall send you an explanation of what I'm getting at with this certain set of quotes. Enjoy!

When Percy returned to the bedroom, clutching a hot water bottle shaped like a teddy bear, he found Oliver asleep, his foot twitching slightly as he dreamed. Percy tutted to himself before he softly padded across the thick carpet to kneel down beside his husband's side of the bed. Percy carefully lifted his husband's arm which was presently stuffed underneath his pillow and pressed the hot water bottle to his chest. Oliver snuffled and wrapped his arms tightly around it.

"Hmm, Perce, you're warm." He mumbled in his sleep, rolling onto his other side. Percy chuckled and left the injured man to sleep.

Percy wandered through the labyrinth of corridors of the first floor of the house, absently tugging at curtains and tablecloths as he roamed, not really focussing on anything. He was so tired, he didn't even have enough energy to think.

Eventually, Percy found his way to one of the spare rooms. The walls were a honey shade of yellow and the carpet was a deep blue. As Percy walked the length of the room, his eyes started to fight to close. Percy noticed that the air was quite dusty so, with his eyes half shut, he heaved the large window open a few inches so that a slight breeze could play with the buttercup yellow curtains, making them dance before Percy in a gentle, lulling, repetitive routine which brought Percy to a sweet slumber the very second his heavy body flopped down onto the bed.

Oliver was standing on a gigantic stage, a baking hot spotlight focussed directly on him. He was alone and there was silence. He gazed out onto the audience only to see a mass of black silhouettes, unmoving, almost ghost like. Gradually, beside him, two other players began to materialise. Lights finally focussed on them too. One of them started to speak and Oliver was drawn to his words.

"Would I could answer this comfort with the like. But I have words that would be howled to the desert air, where hearing should not latch them.

Oliver, without realising, began to speak in response.

"What concern they? The general cause, or is it a fee-grief due to some single breast?"

Oliver instantly recognised the words he had just spoken. They were of Macduff. One of the characters from Macbeth. The first character to have spoken was Ross, and the other, yet to speak, was Malcolm. Oliver looked down quickly to see that he was wearing the outfit of a soldier, a high ranking one at that. Oliver's thoughts were interrupted by Ross speaking again.

"No mind that's honest but in it shares some woe, though the main part pertains to you alone."

"If it be mine, keep it not from me; quickly let me have it." Oliver spoke, knowing exactly what was coming.

"Let not your ears despise my tongue forever which shall possess them with the heaviest sound that ever yet they heard."

"H'm – I guess at it."

"Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes savagely slaughtered. To relate the manner were on the quarry of these murdered deer to add the death of you."

"Merciful heaven – what, man, ne'er pull your hat upon your brows: Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break." Spoke Malcolm.

"My children too?" Oliver asked, an unfamiliar pain coursing through his body.

"Wife, children, servants, all that could be found.

"And I must be from thence? My wife killed too?" Oliver had fallen to his knees, his hands grasping the sides of his head. Visions of a red headed woman flowed through his mind, accompanied by brown and red haired children, playing freely on a rug by a fire, laughing, joking.

"I have said."

Malcolm placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder and spoke to him.

"Be comforted. Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge to cure this deadly grief.

"He has no children. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam at one fell swoop?" Oliver asked, anger rising in his blood.

"Dispute it like a man."

"I shall do so; but I must also feel it was a man; I cannot but remember such things that were most precious to me. Did heaven look on and would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, they were all struck for thee. Nought that I am, not for their own demerits but for mine, fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now." Oliver sobbed.

"Be this the whetstone of your sword, let grief convert to anger. Blunt not the heart, enrage it."

"O, if I could play the woman with mine eyes and braggart with my tongue. But gentle heavens, cut short all intermission. Front to front bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; within my sword's length set him. If he scape, heaven forgive him too." Oliver proclaimed, standing. Fire blazed before his eyes, his chest burned with anger and grief. The one thought on his mind was to destroy the one who killed his loved ones. To seek revenge and to smash the inner peace of the world across the evil one's head and watch the blood trickle from the wound as a symbol of a final befalling of fate.

Oliver did not hear the words spoken next, his head was spinning and he had drawn his sword. He started to run. He ran a fast as he could towards the front of the stage, the spotlight following him all the way. He screamed his anger to the rafters and flew into the sea of faceless manikins.

Oliver screamed as he bolted upright in his bed. He was drenched in sweat and his head was throbbing. The entire of Oliver's body felt as though he was being struck repeatedly with a jagged knife. His bruises felt like they were bleeding and his vision was blurring, throwing the world around him in and out of focus.

Oliver gingerly lifted his arm to remove the covers from his heated body. He looked around in a misty haze and figured that he was alone.

That dream had been so disturbing. Oliver had been screaming with anger at the thought of a sick, twisted person killing his wife and children. Although, now that Oliver was himself again, the dream twisted into his own reality. Oliver could not stop the thoughts bashing against his brain that someone had killed Percy, who was carrying his child.

Oliver shook himself mentally and cleared the dream from his head. It was stupid to think like that. The pills he had been given to ease the pain must have had some weird side effects. Oliver could definitely count playing a character from Macbeth whilst wearing very constricting tights weird.

Oliver adjusted his position to make himself feel more comfortable and felt something quite heavy move in his lap. He looked down to find the teddy bear hot water bottle lying there, smiling, quite suspiciously up at him. Oliver was not in a stable state of mind as it was and a sadistic bear did not help the smoothing of his mental landscape.

"Percy?" Oliver called, his voice slightly husky from the screaming and lack of water. He waited a while and there was no answer. He called again, louder this time.

"Percy!"

Again, there was no answer.

Oliver frowned slightly but figured that his husband must be in the kitchen. He eased himself out of bed and slowly padded out of the room, his left hand holding his right forearm, putting relieving pressure on his bruises.

"Percy?" He called again when he reached the top of the stairs. From here, if Percy was downstairs, he would be able to hear him, but there was again no answer. Oliver couldn't hear any music on that may have deafened his call.

Oliver walked down a few stairs and repeated his shout.

"Percy!"

The silence caused a slight feeling of unease to settle in Oliver's stomach.

He finished walking down the stairs and checked every room, only to find each one empty.

Oliver scanned the garden from the living room window but couldn't see the red head. All of Percy's shoes were still beside the door so he couldn't be out on the muddy grass.

Oliver was getting quite worried now.

He returned up the stairs and proceeded to check every bathroom and every cupboard in the main part of the house. He picked up the pace of his search as he began to panic slightly.

"Percy?"

Oliver's last hope was the east wing which contained the spare rooms. He checked the blue room, the green room, the purple room, the red room, and finally, he pushed the door open to the yellow room.

The window was wide open and the long curtains were bellowing into the room. The blankets were very ruffled.

Not like Percy at all.

As Oliver moved slowly closer to the bed, he noticed a solitary, grubby, small sheet of writing paper with thick, black letters scrawled across it. He carefully picked it up, his heart beating rapidly. His eyes scanned the words and his face fell into a contortion of anger and misery. His breathing quickened and white hot flames burst forth from his heart.

"PERCY!"

What can I say? Please review, I'll update if people like this, if not, I'll repost the chapter. Thank you!