A/N: Thanks for all the amazing reviews so far, you are all made of awesome. This is (I think) the penultimate chapter, though I could be wrong and end up making it longer. Just to warn you in case anyone doesn't like it, from here on out, things get a bit slashy, so if you don't like it, turn back now.

Enjoy!

Howard turned away from the door just in time to see Vince half collapse on the sofa, pick up a magazine from the table and hold it directly over his face, far too close to actually be reading it unless he had suddenly and inexplicably become very short sighted. Howard watched him for a moment. Vince didn't move, just lay there obscured from view by an old issue of NME.

"Tea?" asked Howard after a while.

Vince's shoulders twitched in a close approximation of a shrug, "Got vodka in the freezer, mixers in the fridge."

"Right," Well, it was Saturday night. Howard went into the kitchen.

He emerged, glass in each hand, to find Vince sitting up reading the magazine. Howard placed Vince's glass on the table next to him and sat down. Vince reached for his vodka and diet Coke without bothering to sit up, carefully air-lifting it across the space between the table and himself and resting it on his chest. Outside, night time was closing in, the final rays of the early spring sun struggling to crawl in through the window.

Howard glanced around the flat. The book he had attempted to read earlier lay un-temptingly on the floor where he had left it, surrounded by the piles of junk he didn't have the energy or inclination to do anything about. Vince stared unseeingly at his magazine and Howard wondered what time tomorrow Naboo would get home. Entirely against his will, he felt his eyes starting to close. He forced them open and sat up straighter, took a gulp of his vodka and orange and placed the glass back on the table. Gravity seemed to be pulling his eyes closed, the harder he fought, the harder it pulled. Shopping was exhausting and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. His chair suddenly seemed like the most comfortable thing he had ever sat in, and his head fell forwards, chin resting on his chest.

"Howard?"

It took Howard a moment to notice that Vince was speaking to him. Reluctantly he forced his eyes open to find that the light had been switched on and the curtains closed. The bottle of vodka had been moved out of the kitchen and was currently sitting on the table much emptier than it had been.

"What?" As he spoke, he practically had to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He reached for his drink. The ice had melted and it had gone warm, but at least it was wet.

"We're going to be okay, right? I mean, Naboo said he can probably fix this, but what if he can't?" Vince pulled one of his knees up on to the sofa and hugged it tightly, leaning forward and turning his head to the side to watch Howard's reaction.

Howard had seen that wide-eyed uncertainty so many times before. Whenever they were in any kind of trouble, Vince always looked to Howard for reassurance, and Howard always tried his hardest to provide it. Usually failed miserably, his natural pessimism didn't leave much room for inspiring confidence in others, but he tried. It was that look, the one that made his heart lurch, that forced him to do anything in his power to protect his friend. It had some kind of hold over him, that look, and it was a surprise to find that his own face was capable of duplicating it so perfectly.

He sighed and tried to smile, reassuring himself as much as Vince, "Of course. If Naboo can't do it, someone else will be able to. We'll be fine. We always are, right?"

Vince nodded slowly, "But what if he can't? I can't be you for the rest of my life, Howard. I just can't."

Howard's forehead creased in confusion and he took a long swig of his room temperature drink, "Is this something to do with those girls at the pub?"

"No,"

Howard sighed, "You can't let people like that get to you, Vince. We're going to be fine, Naboo will be able to fix this. But even if he couldn't..." he tailed off, he didn't know how to finish that sentence. He didn't want to stay like this any more than Vince did.

"You don't get it, Howard. All I am is a look, an image, you know? Without that I'm nothing. Not like you. That's why I couldn't do it."

Oh. If Vince was going to have another image crisis this conversation was going to require another drink. Howard moved out of his armchair onto the sofa next to Vince, partly to be within reaching distance of the drinks, and partly because he knew that unlike him, Vince found being near to other people comforting. Howard only hesitated for a moment before he reached over and touched the other man's shoulder in a way that he hoped would be reassuring "We're going to be fine, Vince. Really. But you could never be nothing. Look at the way you've handled today, coming up with things to do to stop me from panicking. If it wasn't for you, I don't know what I'd have done."

"Yeah, well that's only 'cause I'm not that bright. It never even occurred to me to panic until now."

"Well stop it, all right? Everything's going to be fine. If you've been okay all day, at least wait and see what Naboo says tomorrow. You'll probably find that you don't need to bother worrying at all." Less than 24 hours fro now we'll be back in our own bodies, laughing about this."

Vince half smiled, reached behind his back and grabbed hold of the hand resting nervously on his left shoulder. He pulled it behind him and placed it on the right instead. Leaving Howard's arm draped across his shoulders. Vince leaned back and slouched down effectively trapping him in place, "It is pretty funny, when you think about it."

"It's hilarious."

Vince turned to face him, and Howard suddenly became hyper-aware of their proximity to one another. Where the side of Vince's body pressed against his own, he felt warm, as though the heat of his body was burning through his clothing. There was none of the uncomfortable feeling that physical contact usually caused, it felt okay. Good, even.

Vince's face was just inches from his own. He moved closer and Howard didn't back away. Their lips brushed gently against one another as Howard remained frozen in place, waiting to see what would happen next.

Vince leaned closer and kissed Howard, slowly at first, carefully even, giving him opportunity to stop it if he wanted to. Howard was too surprised to react at first, but then he relaxed into the kiss and felt himself responding, kissing back. He didn't know what he was doing, whether he was doing it right, he just tried to copy Vince.

It was different to last time at his disastrous birthday party. It was gentler, more caring, less showy. Last time had been for the benefit of the Head Shaman, this was all about them.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Vince pulled back leaving Howard's lips tingling with the echo of the kiss, feeling abandoned as though they missed it. Howard opened his eyes. Vince was looking at him. Just looking, waiting.

Howard cleared his throat and looked away, then looked back, then began twiddling a button on his shirt, not sure what to say. He wondered whether it would be socially acceptable to wipe his lips. Vince wasn't doing, so he decided not to risk it."That was..." He pulled on the button again, working it loose, "That was nice..." Then he realised that he was right. It was nice, there was none of the horrible, creeping feeling of panic that usually clawed at him whenever someone touched him. There had been none of the claustrophobic need to escape that usually accompanied physical contact. It was good. His eyes opened wide and his fingers stopped tugging on the button, "Vince, it was good, I didn't hate it."

"Well, yeah. 'Course you didn't. I'm a great kisser."

"No, you don't understand, I hate being touched. It feels weird, wrong. This didn't, it felt right."

Vince nodded, looking thoughtful, "Maybe 'cause it's your own body touching you," his brow crinkled slightly, almost imperceptibly as he thought about it, "which is kinda weird, actually."

"Do it again."

Vince hesitated before moving closer, his tongue lightly pushed apart Howard's lips and worked its way inside. Again, Howard tried to respond, his inexperienced tongue lapping against Vince's, lips pursed awkwardly, hoping he was doing it right. Vince pulled away quicker this time than the last, and when Howard opened his eyes to look at him, he was smiling. More than smiling, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he attempted to suppress a giggle. He failed.

Howard felt as though he's been slapped in the face. His arm, resting around Vince's shoulders sprung away as though of it's own accord and he retreated to the other side of the sofa.

Vince reached out to touch him, but thought better of it, "I'm sorry, Howard. It's just too weird. It's like I'm kissing myself, you know?"

"Yeah..."

"Maybe..." Vince looked down, speaking to his feet, "Maybe after all this is over, we could... y'know, try again?"

Howard nodded slowly, doubting it would happen. Once Vince was himself again, he would have the choice of anyone he wanted, he was unlikely to pick a middle aged jazz fan with an obsession with well-organized stationery. And anyway, once he was back in his own body, Howard would probably have his usual hatred of touch to content with.

It was a shame, for the first time ever, he saw the appeal of letting another person close, but it couldn't happen. He slid along the sofa, putting himself nearer to Vince, but not as close as he had been. "Lets have something to eat, then get some sleep. The sooner we do, the sooner it'll be tomorrow and Naboo will be back."

"Hmm," Vince moved around to make himself more comfortable, showing no signs of getting up, "If he comes back. You said yourself he might be gone longer. You know what the shamans are like when they're partying."

Howard glanced into the kitchen and decided he couldn't be bothered moving either, "Don't worry about it, okay. We know where he is, if he's not back, we'll go and get him. And we'll actually leave the flat this time, rather than just try on shoes."

"Heh," Vince smiled and his eyelids flickered closed. Howard thought he had fallen asleep, until they half opened again and fixed on his own, "Y'know, it's not so bad, being you," he said, "I could almost get used to it."

Howard tried to think of an appropriate answer to that, but none sprung to mind. It didn't matter anyway, because Vince's eyes closed again and stayed that way. Howard sat there for a few minutes watching his chest slowly rise and fall in time with his breathing, then when he was sure the other man was asleep, he moved his legs up onto the battered old sofa, rested his head on Vince's shoulder and pulled a blanket over them both.

For a while, he just lay there, enjoying the proximity. He struggled against tiredness, fighting off sleep, wanting to be concious to enjoy this new feeling of not hating being close, but eventually sleep dragged him down.

Sunday morning came, literally, in the blink of an eye. Howard opened his eyes to find himself alone on the sofa. The blanked that had covered them lay discarded on the floor. Loud music was playing and the smell of bacon saturated the air. His stomach growled appreciatively and he rolled off the sofa and followed his nose into the kitchen.

Vince had two frying pans on the go, a saucepan full of baked beans bubbling away, and the kettle boiling. Every available surface had become a rubbish tip of egg shells, discarded plastic wrappers, empty tins of beans and what looked like an entire bookshopsworth of cookery books. In the corner of the room, Vince's ipod had been connected to a set of speakers, which were blaring out Gary Numan at an incredible volume. As he cooked, Vince danced, swaying his hips in time to the music, spinning around, singing along.

Howard stood watching his for a while, then cleared his throat loudly, there was no response.

"Morning." Nothing. "Vince. Vince? Vince!" Irritated, he glared at the offending ipod, looking for a volume switch, he couldn't find one, and so opted for unceremoniously yanking the speakers out.

Silence fell thick and heavy, and Vince spun around to see what had happened.

"Howard!" He smiled, reconnected his speakers and turned the volume down to an almost tolerable level. "You're awake!"

Howard nodded in the direction of the music, "Kinda hard to sleep through that," he looked around the previously tidy kitchen, "What are you doing?"

"Cooking. I was gonna make you breakfast in bed. Well, breakfast on sofa,anyway. I can't believe you stayed there al night, tried to wake you up when I moved, but you were having none of it." He flipped over a piece of bacon with a plastic spatula and indicated the piles of cookery books with his other hand, "Can you believe that none of these books tell you how to do this? They're all 'duck all orange' and God knows what else. Not one tells you how log you're meant to fry bacon for. I'm having to make it up as I go along."

Howard peered suspiciously into the pan, but the food actually looked okay, "I think it might be ready," he said."

"Alright! What about the eggs?"

They were maybe a little overdone, but they'd do, "Why don't I dish up while you make us some tea?"

"Okay," Vince nodded and busied himself pouring hot water on teabags while Howard salvaged the least worst eggs and buttered bread

"Not that I don't appreciate this," Howard said as they tucked in, "but why did you do this? The whole time I've known you you've never once made breakfast. Not one made of real food anyway."

Vince shrugged, "Consider it an apology for last night." He shovelled a forkful of ketchup soaked egg into his mouth. "I'm not very good at being you," he added, "but I thought maybe I'd try this one thing that you do. Didn't realise it'd be so complicated though."

Howard started to point out that Vince had nothing to apologise for, until he considered that maybe he did. It was rare you got an apology out of Vince for anything, and breakfast ever rarer still. Instead he shrugged and ate his eggs.