Author's Note: I actually kind of wrote the ending to this story today. Now I'm just figuring out how I'll get there. Sorry I forgot to warn about the swearing in the last chapter. I think I need to put in a stationary warning for this one.

Howard was worried. Not just because he couldn't speak French and hadn't been able to understand what had sounded very much like an argument. Although that came into it. He was also worried because Vince had sworn twice in one morning. He could understand swearing when he'd banged into the wall with his trousers halfway up his legs. But now it seemed he was swearing because he didn't know what else to do.

The poor man was shaking and in his experience Vince didn't shake. Vince was usually the one coming up with the madcap but brilliant idea at the last minute to save their necks while he, Howard, begged for mercy. Vince was confidence with a cheeky grin and great hair. Vince was sunshine. Vince didn't sit on the floor pulling on his own hair and banging his head against the door.

He'd gone wrong and Howard didn't know what to do. There was a young woman near him, clutching a bag to her chest and staring down at Vince with equal measures of concern and fear. She obviously didn't know how to deal with this situation either.

Howard started to panic. What're we going to do? What're we going to do? What're we going t-

"Daddy?"

And suddenly everything seemed alright again. At least for now.

Howard watched as Vince lifted his head and opened his arms, an invitation to the tiny girl who scampered across the floorboards in her pink t-shirt-come-dress, and flung herself into her daddy's warm embrace.

As she nestled into him Howard looked on and wondered how they could make it look like they'd been cuddling like that for years when in reality they had only met a few hours ago. They made it look so easy, slotting together like pieces of a puzzle. Like parts of one soul.

Howard chanced a glance up at the woman and realised it was time for him to take action. She was staring at the two Noirs and their display of affection with her mouth hanging open and her glasses sliding off her nose at an angle.

He approached her carefully, like one might approach a flighty llama, with his hands out in front of him and his movements slow and fluid. It was like a dance, and one that he knew well. Vince had used to tease him about his dancing when they'd gone out together and he'd be the first (Well, the second. Vince had been the first.) to admit that he'd been a bit rubbish at dancing at clubs, either shuffling about and flapping his arms like a dalek, or skipping about like an infatuated yeti.

But this dance he knew well, and Vince had never teased him about his way with animals. He'd been full of praise, in fact. Recounting Howard's prowess with the creatures of the zoo to anyone who'd listen. Sure, Vince could talk to animals, but Howard could calm them down with nothing more than body language. If Vince was Mowgli in flares, he was Chris Packham in corduroy, oh yeah.

He used all of his body language powers now, approaching slowly, eyes averted but not completely down, hands in front of him in the traditional sign of surrender. And as he got closer the woman visibly relaxed. At the sound of his voice she very nearly imitated Blanche and threw herself into Howard's arms. As it was she restrained herself and merely grasped his shoulder.

"It's alright," he began. "I'm Howard, a friend of Vince's. That's his daughter, Blanche. What's your name?"

"You're from Yorkshire!"

It wasn't the response he'd been expecting but it made him smile all the same.

"So are you, from the sound of you," he replied and she laughed nervously, leaning on him more heavily. "I think we spoke on the phone yesterday, actually. You're Vince's PA, right?"

"Mm-hm. I'm from Leeds," she said breathily. "It's been so long since I heard someone speak properly. Monsieur Noir has always said he hired me because my voice reminded him of home. I always thought it was odd but if you're his friend, then maybe that's the connection. Did he live there then? Is that where you met?"

Her words all came out in a rush and Howard could barely process more than the sound of her soft, northern accent, but one thing stood out. Vince associated a Leeds' accent with home. Vince had never been to Leeds. They'd met in Sheffield as wayward foster boys. The only connection Vince had with Leeds was Howard, and Howard's accent, or Howard's voice, was a reminder of home. The idea had Howard puzzled for a moment.

(In his head his own jazzy little brain cell was screaming at him to connect the dots and realise the obvious, twitching nervously around the beige brain space in a tweed library suit. But Howard, for all his claims to intellectualism, and tobacco pipes, could be a bit slow sometimes. His brain cell gave it up as a lost cause, put Howard on autopilot, and went into a jazz trance instead.)

"Shall we... that is, would you like a cup of tea? Miss?"

The young woman blushed and looked up at Howard through her skewed spectacles.

"My name's Ami. Tea sounds lovely. But," she hesitated, looking down at Blanche and Vince who were still locked in a tight hug and apparently oblivious to their conversation, and the outside world in general.

"Lovely to meet you, Ami. And don't worry about those two. They've got lots of catching up to do. They'll be fine."

He led her through to the kitchen where she set down her paper bag and began to unpack its contents. Ami seemed much more at home in the kitchen. She bustled about, laying out the baguettes, cheese, eggs, milk, sausage, mayonnaise and chocolate she had brought with her. The bag was still half full when she'd finished unpacking the food and Howard peaked inside. Within were what looked like little girls' clothes and he smiled as he remembered Vince saying that he'd call his PA and have her bring around some clothes for Blanche to wear shopping.

"Did Vince ask you to bring the food then?" he asked, trying to make the question sound light hearted. He figured Ami might be just the person to question about the state of Vince's health and eating habits. The petite woman looked up at him with a wry expression on her face and Howard got the feeling that Ami probably knew Vince better than anyone in Paris, she certainly looked like the observant sort.

"No," she told him. "He asked me to bring a set of girl's clothes in a size three for his daughter, who was visiting from England. I nearly thought it was, you know, a cover story. That he wanted size three women's clothes for a, you know, lady friend, or something like that. But he said, no, he needed clothes for a little girl who was nearly four years old, but quite petite. I figured that if he was hosting a child for a few days he might need some supplies. Monsieur Noir may know how to make vegetables taste good but he barely eats enough to satisfy a three-year-old himself. I wouldn't like to think of him trying to feed a child the salads he lives on. So I brought some, you know, things. Just to tide you over until you can do a proper shop. Not that Vince goes food shopping. He gets it delivered... I'm talking too much aren't I?"

Howard smiled. He'd been right about her. Ami was thorough and caring and seemed to be worried about Vince just like he was.

"Not at all," he told her, trying to smile in a non-creepy way. He still found it difficult to smile at women in a way that wouldn't cause them to run screaming. His smile came out awkward but the answering one from Ami was similarly awkward so he didn't feel too bad.

"So," he said, wondering where he could go with the conversation. "Did you just have those clothes lying around or have you been on an early morning shopping spree at a kids boutique?"

"Oh, these were some older pieces I still had in the wardrobe from when the girls were a bit younger. Not my own, my partners'," she told him hurriedly. "They're five and seven. I love them like my own, though. And the best bit is that I get to be second mummy but didn't have to do the whole pregnancy and middle of the night feeding thing, you know?"

Howard nodded. He didn't really know but felt that nodding was the appropriate response at that point.

He felt a little bit disappointed. She seemed a really nice woman, the sort that probably appreciated stationary. Just his luck that she was already taken. He thought it was a little odd that he wasn't that disappointed. He was nearly forty after all. Soon he'd be fifty and then he'd be dead. He needed to find someone to spend his life with. Howard didn't want to die alone.

Vince wouldn't die alone. He had Blanche now. With a jolt Howard realised that he was jealous. But who was he jealous of? Vince or Blanche?

He wasn't jealous of Blanche, was he? For getting to be so close and cuddly with Vince so automatically?

It was a worrying thought and Howard filed it away for later thought, hoping it would get lost in the backlog of filing his brain had to do so he wouldn't actually have to look closely at his confused emotions.

He turned his attention back to Ami who had made herself at home in the kitchen and was boiling the kettle for tea. She seemed willing enough to talk and he wanted, nay, needed, to know what had gone on in the hallway to leave Vince in such a state. Things were seriously not right in his Vince's world and he was determined to get to the bottom of it, like a modern day Sherlock Holmes. He looked good in tweed and had plenty of pipe puffing experience. He'd do it right, not like that posh bloke they had playing Sherlock these days.

But how was he to go about asking about it? He'd have to be subtle, that was certain.

"So, what happened in the hallway this morn?" Ok, that wasn't so subtle, but he could come back from it. He was Howard Moon.

"This morn?" Ami asked, looking at him over the top of her glasses.

"Yep. I'm bringing morn back as a figure of speech."

"Right. It's quite good actually. I might start using that." Howard beamed. He'd never had such a positive response to his use of morn before. But that was beside the point.

"Anyway, the argument? It was an argument, wasn't it? But not with you. So who else was here? Who was Vince arguing with?"

Ami's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

Howard squared his shoulders. "Because no one bullies Vince and leaves him a shaking mess and gets away with it. Not when Howard Moon's around."

"Good," Ami nodded. "I just needed to make sure that you were on our side." She leaned in closer to Howard, pushing a mug of English Breakfast tea into his hands in a conspiratorial manner.

"The thing is, Monsieur Noir hasn't had a great year. When I first started working for him about twenty months ago he was, well, aloof of course, like in the commercials and that, but he was sweet too. And he loved trying out restaurants and clubs and having fun. He almost seemed a little shy or unsure of himself, and he was just so beautiful. People were stunned. Monsieur Jaquettie liked the mystery and intrigue his new model was causing, he's such an old gossip. He booked Monsieur Noir for photo shoots in all the most fashionable magazines but never let him do interviews, even though he speaks French like a native. He'd started off all kind and fatherly, even throwing money at some little theatre thing Noir had been desperate to do. But he got a bit possessive to be honest and started making comments about Monsieur Noir's weight. Bullied him in front of the other models and the designers. It wasn't nice."

She sighed and took a sip of her tea and Howard did the same but he was eager to hear more. He'd spoken to Vince every Tuesday and yet he'd had no idea about any of this. Was Vince really such a good actor that he'd hidden this all from Howard? Or had Howard, on some level, ignored the pain in his friend's voice, not wanting to believe that Vince might have been struggling, might actually have needed him.

He couldn't do anything about the past but he was certainly going to do something about the present. And the future.

"When Monsieur Jaquettie finally started taking Monsieur Noir's designs and ideas seriously I thought that maybe it would get better. Monsieur Noir was actually excited, nearly bouncing, when he told me that his designs were to be showcased at one of Jaquettie's runway shows. He was smiling, can you imagine? But if anything, the bullying got worse. Noir was like a toy that Jaquettie was tiring of. He's been riding Noir's success for two years but he knows he needs to come up with something new soon. He's getting on a bit, you know? And I think he thought he could really just claim Monsieur Noir's designs for himself."

"What!?"

"I know, it's ludicrous. But Monsieur Noir's been very brave, standing up for his ideas and wanting to model some of them. He stormed out of a fitting yesterday after Jaquettie tried to tell him that he couldn't wear his own designs at the show on Friday."

"What!?"

"He also tried to tell Monsieur Noir that he was boring, had no sunshine, and that his own designs didn't suit him. Can you imagine? If Monsieur Noir isn't as bright and sunny as he once was the blame can be laid at the shiny booted feet of Jaquettie. The names that man calls him: vapid, frigid, cold. Just because he doesn't play the field and make the tabloids every weekend."

"What?"

"That's why it was such a shock to hear he has a daughter. Vince Noir, the lonely angel, who never does more than kiss the girls on the cheek, who parties all night but always leaves alone."

"What?" Howard's exclamations had gone from loud and outraged to quiet and confused as he tried to make sense of what Ami was telling him about Vince. Except she wasn't talking about Vince at all, was she? Not really. She was talking about Monsieur Noir. Monsieur Noir was a stranger.

But even if no one here really knew Vince, Howard knew that his friend hadn't been destroyed by Jaquettie's bullying and the strains of the industry. His Vince had just been hidden from those people but he'd put in an appearance for Howard, and for Blanche.

Howard liked the idea that Vince couldn't be anything but his true, bubbly self when with those who loved him.

Wait. Love? Had he said love?

"What?"

Ami gave him another look. She seemed very good at those.

"Are you stuck?"

Howard shook himself. His feelings were running away with his brain and he really couldn't keep up. He needed to focus on Ami's story, on what had been happening to Vince while he'd been sulking back in Dalston.

"I'm fine," he told her. "It's just... a lot to take in. Back home, Vince was known as the Sunshine Kid. He had a different girlfriend or boyfriend every week and he smiled at everything. It was annoying really. But-"

"The Sunshine Kid? Truly?" Now it was Ami's turn to look confused.

"Truly."

"Gosh."

"I take it that it was Jaquettie who turned up this morning? And that he was being a bully?

Ami nodded. "He threatened Vince, I think. Told him that if he found out that Vince had a child he'd drop him. Vince doesn't have an agent. He's basically been owned by Jaquettie these last two years. I don't know what'll happen to him if Jaquettie gets rid of him. I don't know if any other design house would have him."

Howard frowned down at the empty mug in his large hands. There was only one thing to be done.

"We need a plan," he said with conviction.

"Agreed. I'll get us some stationary."