Bug was exhausted from the Hell that the day had become. After bringing Jordan her chicken noodle soup and being bombarded with hugs, he was just ready to go home and sleep. He thanked everyone for their concerns and Dr. Macy for his help. "I'm pretty tired. I think I'm going to head home. Thanks again, and I'm sorry I was late." Bug forced a weak smile, turned, then walked out the door and down the hall. Nigel grabbed his coat and helmet and ran after him.
"Your car's still at the morgue. Do you need a ride?" he asked, hoping Bug wouldn't argue.
"No, I think I'll walk," Bug answered, and added politely, "but thank you."
"Walk?" Nigel raised an eyebrow. "It's 12am and you live twenty blocks away. I'm not letting you walk home." Bug flashed Nigel his best effort at a determined face as the two men walked down the last flight of stairs and into the lobby.
"The air will be good for me, and after the day I just had, I could use some time to myself."
As they walked outside Nigel handed Bug a helmet. "Put it on. I'm taking you home and that's that." Bug didn't have the energy to argue. He reluctantly donned the bright yellow helmet and straddled the back of Nigel's bike. "Hold on tight."
"Don't worry." Bug wrapped his arms around Nigel's waist and leaned forward into his back. He kept telling himself that he wanted to be alone, but he had to admit it felt good to be with someone who cared about him—someone who believed him, believed in him.
When they pulled up to his apartment building, Bug hopped off the back of the bike and Nigel started to get off, but Bug protested. "Nigel, please, just go home. I don't want to be around anyone tonight." Bug was holding his head down as he spoke. He'd been avoiding eye contact with Nigel all night.
Nigel looked hurt. He knew Bug had been through a lot since this morning, but he hoped his best mate would at least let him see him to his door. "I just want to. . . "
"Please, Nigel. I'll be okay." Bug finally looked up with him, his eyes pleading with Nigel, who desperately didn't want to leave him. Nigel nodded his head. He sat on his bike reluctantly and watched Bug walk into the building, remembering what had happened the last time he and Bug had parted.
As Bug approached the elevator, he realized that he was even more tired than he thought. Rubbing a hand along the side of his face and through his hair, he stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. When the doors opened, he took a deep breath and walked toward his apartment. The color drained from his face as he approached and saw the Homeland Security's "Do Not Enter" seal across the door. He leaned forward, resting his head against the cold door for a moment before tearing the seal down. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He held them in his hand for a moment, running his thumb across the bug keychain Nigel had given him for his last birthday. He smiled briefly, then found the apartment key and unlocked the door.
As the door opened, his smile was erased as an overwhelming feeling of disgust and nausea overcame him. He scanned what he had previously known as his neat and tidy living room—the sofa overturned with cushions scattered around, his bookcase on its side with all of his books strewn across the floor, and the picture of his parents that usually sat on his end table now laying in the corner in a broken frame. He felt faint.
Nigel, who had decided that maybe he would just make sure Bug got into his apartment, felt panic for the second time today when he rounded the corner off the hall in Bug's building to see his apartment door wide open. He ran through the door. His heart raced faster when he realized Bug wasn't in his living room. He brought a hand over his mouth when he saw the chaotic apartment. Bug had always been so anal about keeping his everything in its place. Nigel couldn't believe that they just left it this way. Then he heard a noise coming from the bathroom and rushed over to find Bug on his knees on the floor bent over the toilet. "Bug, are you okay?"
"Yeah," Bug lied, waving his hand in the air trying to signal Nigel to leave. "I thought you agreed to let me be alone tonight."
Nigel managed a worried smile, cocking his head to one side. "I lied." Bug looked up at him and decided he was in no shape to carry on an argument. He accepted the fact that Nigel wasn't going to leave. "Let's get you cleaned up." Nigel reached a hand down to Bug, who accepted it, and helped him up. Bug flushed as Nigel handed him a cool wet washrag. "Wipe your face off and I'll make you some tea." Bug nodded. Tea sounded wonderful.
After washing his face and wiping up in the bathroom, Bug walked into the living room where Nigel had flipped the sofa back onto its feet and replaced the cushions. He sat down heavily on the couch and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He had never felt fear like he did earlier that day—not even when he was being held captive in the woods, not when he saw the man hurling a shovel toward his head, and not even when he saw his brother laying dead in the street. At least in those situations he knew that people were looking for him, or trying to help. At least then he had some faith in humanity. Today. . . today he was hopeless. There wasn't anyone to protect him from Homeland Security, his innocence irrelevant. He sat there with his face in his hands questioning why he ever came to the United States. He looked up when Nigel brought over a cup of tea and sat beside him on the couch.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Nigel asked timidly, already knowing the answer to his question.
"No." Bug shook his head, "not tonight."
"Okay. Do you mind if I sit here with you for a while?" Nigel wasn't going to press the issue, not tonight.
Bug shook his head again. "You can stay." He looked around his ransacked apartment again let out a heavy sigh. "I need to clean up this mess." Nigel ached for him as he watched his friend walk around the apartment, stepping over lamps, books, and broken furniture. He saw Bug stop at the door to his bedroom. He watched intently as Bug's feet gave out from under him and he landed in heap on the floor. Nigel stood up and cautiously walked over to him. Bug was sitting with his knees held to his chest. His eyes were red and welling with tears he was struggling to hold back. When Nigel reached him, he looked over onto the floor and noticed what had caught Bug's eye. By the overturned nightstand on the hard wooden floor was a puddle of water. Laying in it was broken glass and confetti. It was the snow globe Bug's aunt sent to him from India right before she died. Nigel turned to Bug, who couldn't hold back his tears any more. He lowered himself to the ground next to Bug and put a hand on his shoulder. He pulled the poor broken man close to him. Bug leaned into him, wrapping both his arms around him as he the tears forced their way out. For hours, the two men sat there, holding each other, both wondering the same thing. "Why?"