A/N: What's this, a chapter two days early?

Lemme just say, this one went through a MAJOR rewrite;most of it looked totally different before. This one's also a bit longer than some of the other recent chapters and a certain character who hasn't had much 'screen time' gets it. Y'all knwo the drill on rarely written characters so I won't bore you with it.

Also, Mike is definitely not okay. But he hasn't been for a while. But especially in this chapter. So yeah.

Thank you once again to Muttlpe Mike and Kitkatkatester for reviewing the last one. It means a lot. :)

Enjoy!

There wasn't much Mike could tell Jo about that night at the palace involving his disappearance, as he'd been unconscious for most of it, and had been interrupted in his conversation with Duncan so he couldn't tell her who had taken him. He told her what he could, sitting in the front garden of his house; Scott was standing against the doorframe, yelling intermittently into the house at Vito, probably, about what was going on. At some point Noah took a peek out the door, smirked to himself, and returned to the inside of the house. Mike didn't notice this, as he kept his attention on Jo, who he found was easier to talk to once it was just the two of them. He was still recovering from the initial shock and panic he'd felt inside that guest bedroom, as his hands were unsteady rested in his lap and he tried to keep his breathing under control. His responses were slow but articulate, to Jo's slight surprise.

After what felt like both too long and too short a time, Jo squeezed as much information out of Mike as she could, and stood up from where she'd sat. "I'm sure Princess Ella will be thrilled to hear you're alive still...she hasn't shut up about you," Jo said casually, a bit more relaxed since she's decided her job here was done.

At the mention of Ella, Mike felt a slight clenching in his stomach-whether it was a good or bad feeling, he couldn't tell- and a slight bit of heat on his face. "...tell her I'm...doing okay." He said this reluctantly.

"I wouldn't say that much, frankly you look less than alright, but...I'll tell her you're not dead," Jo said unhelpfully. "That should be good enough for now."

"...okay," Mike replied

They continued looking at each other awkwardly for a few more moments before Jo offered to see him inside. "It's the least I could do," she claimed.

"...mmhm," Mike said, using his crutch to stand up, very much unsteady despite the support. His hands trembled slightly as he clutched it tight, afraid to let go, and began to approach the door, Jo walking beside him.

Scott narrowed his eyes at Mike, not making a move since Jo was still there for some reason. Jo looked at him, then glanced between the two. "Make sure he stays out of trouble," she said, not making it clear who she was referring to. "I'll be heading back to the capital now."

"...have a safe trip," Mike said under his breath shakily, taking a very hesitant crutch through the threshold of the doorway.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. We'll make sure he's niiiiiiice and safe…" Scott assured Jo with an unconvincing smile that read as more of a smirk or a sneer. "Can't have him going off gettin' kidnapped again, right, brother?"

Mike turned his head slightly towards him and, for the briefest moment, Scott could have sworn he death-glared him, but it was probably nothing, as his expression returned to its previous one. It caught him off-guard, however. Mike's semi-controlled breathing was pretty obvious at this point.

"Right, okay...goodbye," Jo said, unsure of what just occurred, before turning around and leaving, finally.

Scott closed the door and looked over at Mike, who hadn't moved much. "Just so things aren't all muddy between us, I don't intend on calling you that ever again, got it?" he clarified.

"...wasn't...expecting that from you…" Mike replied, voice the same. "...sir," he added for emphasis. As if he'd ever considered Scott to be his brother; only one person was allowed that title.

"Good," Scott sneered before giving him a shove and walking off, probably to go bother Vito about something.

After regaining his footing, his breathing off-kilter again, Mike got himself to a chair and sat for the briefest of times before Noah emerged from where he'd been previously. "I was starting to worry I'd have to find a new servant," he said disdainfully, his expression cold but surprisingly neutral. He got a better look at Mike's condition, seeing him take measured breaths while looking at the floor, noting his unkempt and droopy hair, the rickety-looking crutch, and the strangely clean clothing. "You look horrific," he observed.

"...I…" Mike began to speak. "...I don't think...I can w-work like this...sir." He glanced up at Noah, his hair in his face; the more heavily marred side of his face was visible. "My leg...I c-can't walk without support…" The stutter was a result of his breath pattern.

"What do you expect me to do about that?" Noah asked. "You walked in here, didn't you?"

"...y-yeah, but-"

"Don't talk back to me, servant," Noah scolded. "That was rhetorical."

Mike didn't say anything in response.

"Figure something out. It's not like you'll be going anywhere anyways…" Noah said ominously. "Not after what you did at the palace-don't think I didn't realize you were there. The fact that a royal guard was sent to look for you…I'm not letting you out of sight again."

Mike's eyes widened slightly. Sure, he wouldn't have really wanted to leave much in his current condition, but making him work despite his injury was just...cruel.

"I'll still need you to go into town, so I'll have Scott or Vito accompany you there when it's appropriate...they don't do much but bicker all day anyway," Noah continued, placing a hand on the back of Mike's chair. "Since you've been gone they've refused to do any housework, so that's all yours to deal with now-I've been far too busy to do any of it myself. To get you started, there's quite the mess in the kitchen." He gave the chair a push, causing Mike to fall out, managing to half-stand with use of his crutch. "Get to it," he ordered, moving away from the spot.

Mike felt his heart rate increase dramatically when he was pushed out of the chair. If he were any stronger he'd have likely snapped the crutch in half with how tightly he held onto it, as if his life depended on it. Swallowing nothing, he muttered a stutter-filled "yes, sir," and made his way towards the kitchen, where Vito happened to be shuffling about in the cabinets. The place was indeed a mess; it was a wonder they'd been eating properly the past few days. He moved to grab the broom that leaned against one of the walls.

Vito finally noticed Mike and looked at him. "Yo...not lookin' too hot there," he noted. There was a surprising lack of disgust or anything besides surprise in his tone. "What you in here for?"

"...I'm...supposed t-to clean in h-here," Mike explained, halting his movements to look back at him.

"Ey, hol up there...how you 'gone do that, when you're all busted up?" Vito seemed genuinely confused; he wasn't the brightest, but something felt off here. Sure, Mike had managed things just fine before-he hadn't done a whole lot of complaining about his injuries prior to this- but now he needed a crutch just to stand. It didn't make sense, how could he clean stuff in his condition?

"...I h-have to," was the only thing Mike could respond with, reaching for the broom.

Vito didn't reply right away, glancing towards the kitchen door briefly. "Uh, hm…" he said, his facial expression unclear. "I don' think that's gonna work out for ya, Mike."

"Well, w-what do y-you expect me to do?" Mike asked, raising his voice slightly, staring him down. "Huh?!" His whole body shook, and he found himself the nearest thing to use as a support, a small table that was a bit more cleared off than some other areas of the kitchen were and sat next to the broom. His head started to ache alongside the rest of him. "...I-I need to…" he started to explain, unable to finish what he was saying.

"Whoa, whoa...okay, I could talk to Dad for you, maybe," Vito offered, putting his hands up. "Chill out... I didn't mean nothin' by sayin' that." He lowered them again, pocketing one. "Si' down if ya can't support yourself."

Mike did as he said; there was one chair in the corner of the kitchen, and he got himself sat on it. "...y-you...would v-vouch for m-me?" Mike spoke with incredibly high disbelief. Vito had never really expressed any desire to help him at any point ever. Sure, he'd been slightly less aggressive compared to his brother and father in the past, and he actually called him by his name, most of the time anyways. Still, why would he choose to help him now, of all times?

"Ey, I said maybe, I dunno if he'd listen to me…'e doesn't pay much attention these days," Vito claimed, running his hand back through his slicked hair.

"...why?" Mike asked.

"I dunno," Vito replied, continuing to be almost a bit fidgety with his hands. "Doesn't sit right with me, I guess." He shrugged. "Don' read into it too much." He glanced off to the side.

Mike didn't reply, still trying to calm himself down from his earlier outburst. After a few minutes of awkward semi-silence, he said with a slightly steadier voice, "...okay, sir."

Vito's response was a small nod before leaving Mike alone in the kitchen. Mike could hear Scott yelling his brother's name in the other room, as he'd likely been looking for him. He placed his hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly stabilizing to a normal pace. He sighed, closing his eyes as he sat there, hoping no one would walk in on him in this state of stillness amongst the mess that was the kitchen.

Who knows, maybe Vito would be able to convince Noah to let him recover a bit longer.

Just maybe...

Please review if you have anything to say, I really appreciate feedback. :)

I'm starting school again soon but the next chapter has been (mostly) written so we'll see if I can keep this upload pattern up this time.