A/N: You reviewers are amazing. Cheers, in the highest of degrees!

This is the chapter in which I really start to deviate from the original Oscar Wilde format. Again, it's not supposed to match the story exactly, so I'll explain the reason for the changes that take place here later on. Just so we're clear and all.

Finally, the chapter title is from 'Disarm' by the Smashing Pumpkins.

FOUR

Disarm You With a Smile

"Howard, what the hell happened last night?" Naboo's distinctive angered lisp woke the addressed man the following morning, hitting his ears with the impact of a nuclear weapon.

"What?" he returned groggily. The shaman's small form somehow managed to look threatening as he loomed over him, and the hard, unyielding stare that he fired only accentuated that. "Nothing happened," Howard amended, sitting upright on the couch. "I fell asleep."

"What'd ya go and do that for? I told you to look after Vince while we were gone!"

Howard remembered Naboo telling- no, ordering- him to closely watch Vince every time he and Bollo left for the past month or so, but the instructions never really meant much to him. It wasn't as if he needed to be told to care about the man. "Yeah, I know. Just calm down, alright, Naboo? Vince won't care that I fell asleep; he's fine without me breathing down his neck all the time."

This attempt at pacification did nothing to soften the shaman's visage. "There's so much you don't know about him, Howard," he said, his mind flashing back to the weeks spent trying to cope with a disconsolate Vince after Howard's abrupt departure to Denmark.

"Why? What happened?"

"Bollo and I found him passed out in the sodding bath tub, and he ain't wakin' up! Now get in there and do somethin'!"

Howard's face flushed with both confusion and worry as he wordlessly got up and made his way into the bathroom, Naboo following closely and resolutely behind. "Vince?" he asked, rather stupidly, as he entered the room.

"Move outta the way, yeah?" Naboo told Bollo, who was hovering worriedly over the bath and taking up a sizable amount of space in the already cramped room. The ape looked toward his flat mates, made a resentful grunt at Howard, and reluctantly maneuvered his way out of the area. "Go," the shaman then prompted, pushing Howard to where Bollo was previously stationed.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Vince lying unconscious in what looked like a porcelain tomb. His perfect hair was matted, greasy and flat. His closed eyes rested above deep purple shadows. His beloved clothing was savagely torn, the dark shreds of which were trying desperately to cling to their owners limp form. Howard couldn't blame them. "Oh, Christ, Vince… what the hell happened to you?" he whispered.

Howard reached over to take hold of one icy hand, and, squeezing his eyes closed to blink back his overflowing remorse, gripped it so tightly he feared it might break. When he was able to bring himself back to harsh reality, he immediately turned on the showerhead, as cold as it could go. Naboo began to protest, but he was quieted when Vince's eyes jolted open, wide and fearful. Howard immediately shut off the water flow before crying, "Vince, you're alright!"

Naboo took a less sentimental approach. "You had us worried sick, you berk, what the hell game r'you playin' at? "

Vince coughed and sputtered up some of the water he was now drenched in. "I just-" he began, and then stopped himself as soon as he remembered Howard's presence. "What are you doin' here?" The question was frigid and unwelcoming.

Confused, Naboo replied for him. "You were passed out, he-"

"No; I know what I'm doing here," Vince interrupted angrily. His bitter armor was cracked, though, when he attempted to stand. His fragile body was wreaked with pain, causing him to cry out before his knees buckled. He would've crashed down upon the hard tile had Howard not lunged forward to hold him up.

"Naboo, could you… leave us alone for a bit?" Howard asked tentatively, his eyes silently pleading with the shaman who seemed to know more about their relationship than he did.

"Yeah, alright," he sighed, frustrated with the absence of an explanation from Vince, and retreated from the room.

"Alright, Vince," Howard began, still holding him up. "Let's get you out of there, okay?"

"I don't need your help."

"Vince, please-"

"I don't need your help, alright? I'm fine without you."

Howard rolled his eyes, annoyed by his friend's futile attempt at stoicism. "I don't believe you," he answered calmly. With that, he angled one arm around the smaller man, mustered up all the strength he could, and literally lifted him out of the bath, eliciting from him loud objections. When the extraction was successful, Howard kept an arm draped around Vince for support and used his other to grab a towel, which he tightly wrapped around his companion, who was shivering from his unexpected shower. "Better?" he asked.

Vince looked up at him, the anger mottled by obvious confliction. Why did Howard have to do this? Couldn't he see he was trying to hate him? When his eyes met Howard's, the concern and affection in them nearly caused him to collapse again.

"Hey. What's wrong, Little Man?"

That inquiry was it. His resolve melted, if only temporarily, and he couldn't act tough anymore. With any bit of strength he had left, he forcefully threw his arms around Howard's torso and buried his head into his chest.

Completely taken off guard, Howard awkwardly returned the hug, not sure that there was anything else to do at that point. "Hey now," he said, as soothingly as he could manage. "This isn't like you, Vince. What's going on?"

"I'm scared," muttered Vince, nearly inaudibly. He gripped the older man tighter. "Fuckin' scared," he repeated.

"Scared of what?" Howard asked, trying his best to keep his own fear out of his voice.

"Everything," Vince whispered, not willing himself to be any more specific than that.

Howard understood his reticence and didn't press the matter any further. "C'mon, now. It'll be alright. Whatever it is, I'm here for you. And we'll get through it together, okay?"

Vince hid the panic that this reassurance brought to him extremely well by focusing on trying to make the embrace last as long as possible.

"How 'bout this. You dry yourself off, I'll bring you in some new clothes and put the kettle on, then I'll put you to bed and you can sleep this whole mess off."

Vince could only nod against him.

Shades tightly fastened down to create the illusion of night, Vince lied in his bed, the covers wrapped closely around him, with Howard standing by his side, as promised. "H'ward?" he asked weakly.

"Yeah, Vince?"

"I… I'm sorry about what I said before. It's just that Leroy, he-"

"I might've known!" Howard said, louder than he'd intended to.

"…What?"

"Nothing. Just go to sleep, alright?"

"No," Vince protested, his voice growing stronger. "What'd you mean by that?"

"All I meant…" Howard paused, wondering how to get around this, but finding no way. "He just… he's always seemed to take advantage of you, that's all."

"Take advantage of me?" He felt himself begin to panic. Is that what Leroy did to him?

"I didn't mean it like that. It just seems as if he takes all the innocence in you to use toward himself, and… and I don't like the influence he has over you."

The resolute anger was back on Vince's countenance, clear as anything. "What the fuck are you getting at? I'm not some stupid kid, Howard! I can think for myself! What makes you assume I let him walk all over me?"

"All I was saying w-"

"'Cuz I'm not like you, is that it? Well, look who's so high an' mighty, stayin' in all the time while I go out and live my life! Isn't that the more adult thing to do?" He inwardly cringed at how cold he sounded; this is what Leroy wanted him to do, wasn't it? Howard was right.

Howard backed away from Vince's side, strangely afraid of his friend's new moodiness. "I didn't mean it like that," he tried to assuage. "I just worry about your nights out; look what happened to you! This isn't right."

"You ain't my father, Moon, so stop actin' like it!" Vince cried. "You're here tellin' me 'bout my 'innocence', when you're the most fuckin' virginal person I've ever met!" He laughed, more from his bubbling hysteria than from humor. "If I worry you so much, stay out of my life and get one of your own, yeah?"

Howard stared in what he hoped was a blank fashion, wounded by Vince's words. "Is that what you really want?" he asked, voice wavering against his efforts.

"Yeah! It is!"

"Fine then," Howard simply said, his tone finally firm. "Enjoy your rest." He began to move for the door, but stopped in front of Vince's easel. Something was… different.

"Well… go on, then," prompted Vince.

Howard looked at the painting intently. He'd almost forgotten about it, and took the time to thank whatever deity was out there that it hadn't been spotted when they'd moved into their room. Then he turned his undivided focus back to finding the difference in the image. His small eyes widened as he finally discovered it: the figure in the sky not only seemed happy and confident, but his face bore an outright smile. Not a cocky one, but a genuine one, adding to his ethereal beauty. And when Howard looked really close, he could see that the outline of the second figure was ever so slightly fainter than it had been before. He felt queasy, but grabbed the canvas and tried once more to make his way out.

"What's that?" asked Vince, his voice sounding cautious.

"It's nothing. Now if you'll excuse me…"

"I want to see it."

The uncertainty and childishness with which this was said brought Howard to a stop. He couldn't deny Vince. He hated himself for that. "It's just a painting I did, alright?"

"You paint now, too?"

Why didn't that sound mocking? He almost sounded… impressed. "It's nothing, Vince."

The younger man rolled his eyes and limped over to Howard, his hand extended. "Lemme see it."

"No, Vince. Just let me leave."

"Who's stoppin' you?" When this unintentionally deep question rendered Howard speechless, Vince utilized the pause and grabbed the canvas from him.

"Vince! I told you-"

"What… is this?" he asked, completely bewildered. His face was covered by a curtain of dark hair, shielding whatever emotions he had.

"It's nothing."

Vince couldn't tear his eyes from the image. Could Howard really paint like this? It looked like something that should be hanging up in a museum, not hidden away with shame in some flat atop a second-hand shop. "You didn't paint this…" he said, his voice faraway and small.

"Yeah, I did," Howard replied. "Now can you give it back?"

Still, Vince couldn't look away. It was quite obvious who the two figures were supposed to represent. Was that really how Howard saw them? As man-god and beggar? His admiration turned to agony as he saw what his artistic representative had clutched in his left hand. He was no whiz at symbolism, but the meaning behind this was all too clear. "Take it," Vince choked back, leaning his head further down to cover his effusively sorrowful face. "And don't ever let me see it again." He thrust the canvas out toward the artist.

Howard took back his painting and crossed the room to tenderly slide it beneath his bed. Had it really changed? He'd been in a trance while he'd created it; he didn't remember putting a smile on the angelic figure, but maybe he had without realizing. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the most horrible sound in the world, and immediately questioned it. "Vince… are you crying?"

"Get out! Since when did my feelings mean anything to you?"

If Howard hadn't left the room without his painting, he would've seen the enigmatic smile broaden just a tiny bit.