Fletch scoffed and shook his head. He leaned back. "Nah," he grunted. "Not getting reeled into this. I'm just here to make sure you don't hurt yourself doing whatever the fuck it is you've decided to do today."

He disentangled himself from his blankets with a huff and looked over to glare at his partner. So the man was not going to speak to him but was going to sit and sulk in his presence. Fantastic. 

"Is there a legitimate reason you woke me up and dragged me inside like that? Are we actually under attack? Or are you just continuing shutting me down and shutting me out like yesterday?"

Fletch dragged him all the way back in, set the chair down on all fours again, and strode around it to shut the balcony doors. He left Theo sitting there facing out across the grounds. It was clear the man didn't want to talk to him — though whatever cry for attention this was screamed that he wanted to be seen in spite of it. That was fine. They didn't need to talk about it. Between his hangover and his festering anger at what he'd realized the night before, Fletch didn't have the patience to play this game.

He turned to leave. Halfway to the door, he scowled and thought better of it. If Theo was in the mood to self-destruct even the slightest bit, he'd need someone to stay and watch him. And as Tiff had just finished his shift, it was going to have to be him that did it. He swore beneath his breath, pivoted, and dropped down into a chair by the fire.

Theo had fallen asleep in the afternoon sun with his legs thrown over one arm of the chair and his back curled up against the other. He didn't realize Fletcher was even on shift let alone on the balcony until he was suddenly and rudely awakened by his equilibrium being thrown off by the chair tipping backwards and the vibrations of it being harshly dragged back inside.

He squealed and flailed violently in surprise before looking up at Fletcher in wide-eyed alarm and horror. The blanket tangled around him making it impossible to just jump up and away but his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Upon recognizing his nap-disturber, he settled and dropped his gaze, refusing to look at the other man. Two of them could play the ending communication game if they wanted. 

Fletch awoke to too-bright sun and eye sockets that pounded shards into his brain. As with all mornings that began with a hangover, he regretted how much he'd drank the night before. The feeling only deepened as he recalled why he'd done it in the first place. Sleep had brought him no fresh perspective on it at all. He'd passed out hurting and alone, and now he'd woken up that way, too.

It didn't go away at breakfast. His cigarette afterwards didn't clear his mind, either. When he turned to head in, he glanced up at Theo's balcony out of pure habit, expecting to see closed doors and drawn shades, but to his surprise, there he was: all bundled up and hunched like he was miserable. "And whose fault is that?" Fletch muttered to himself, and then he felt horrid for even thinking it.

He left the house again for sparring practice, and again for another smoke, and then for a third. Each time, he looked up, and each time, Theo hadn't moved from where he sat. By his fourth smoke it was early afternoon — nearly the start of his shift. He'd been dreading it. He'd been dreading being forced to face the man who'd turned away from him when he'd most needed him to stay and be a comfort. But now, as he stared up at the nobleman and finished his cigarette, he began to grow irritated. 

This was so childish. It was absurdly dramatic. It had gone on long enough. 

He marched back towards the house and up through the servant's entrance, startling the maids as he stomped past them. He made his way up the stairs, and down the hall, and to Theo's door, pausing long enough only to relieve Tiff. "Now excuse me. He's making poor choices," Fletch informed the man as he pushed through Theo's door, shutting it behind him. He strode determinedly to the balcony, opened the doors, grabbed the back of Theo's chair, and began slowly and loudly dragging it — and its contents — back inside.

And there was the rejection. It was such a familiar pain and thing to have someone just close communication on Theo. People turned away, they walked away, they covered their mouths, or stood where he couldn't see. Most wouldn't even learn sign for him and instead forced him to struggle on a daily basis. But, Fletcher, who knew how important this was to Theo had turned his back and walked away from him mid-sentence.

He considered saying his words aloud but given that his lover's actions had been deliberately silencing, he decided against pushing the matter. Fletcher needed space and Theo would give it to him. He tried desperately too to not give into anxiety and despair, to not think the worst and that this was a sign that the other man was done with him. It was difficult but he held onto his promise not to and allowed his trust in Fletcher to overpower his own worry.

Theo still dragged himself out of bed and mindful of the fact that Fletcher would hear him if he paced or muttered, moved himself instead back out to the balcony. It still lingered with the smell of smoke and for a moment he looked to Fletcher's window to see if more came from his room. But it was vacant. With some bitter sadness he wondered if the other man was drinking now and it was entirely his fault this time. 

He stared down over the railing. A tiny fantasy of leaping off and into the tree beside it then running away flashed within his mind. Its appearance startled him. It had been a very, very long time since he had considered such things but it had never been from love he had been wanting to run from. So why now?

Movement below caught his eye and he realized Barty had spotted him. He waved back at the man eyeing him and then retreated back into his room. Pretty songbirds like him belonged in their gilded cages safe from the wilds of the real woods. He'd never survive out there. Not even Fletcher believed he could rough it for long. His eyes dragged back towards the other man's door. He wanted to burst in and pounce, to brandish apologies on a silver platter and demand an embrace. But as greedy as he was, that was going too far and even stupid pretty boy that he was, he knew that.

He settled into a chair and stared as the flames died down and dawn crept back through his window. How many more nights were going to start lovely and end in heartbreak like this? Were they just ill-fitted? Was Theo forcing something on Fletcher that the other man was all too eager to go along with because he didn't know better and was just that desperate?

For once, Theo dreaded what the morning would bring. He felt terrible, looked worse, and was too afraid that he'd be receiving a cold look from Fletcher instead of the warmth he craved. He did write a letter though begging off having Edwina come over, feigning a headache and begged one of the guards to switch with Neal so that he didn't have to face the man's scrutiny when he was already feeling like dirt under a farmer's boot.

Instead of returning to his chair by the fire, he dragged it out onto the balcony along with a throw blanket. At least the cool air would help keep him awake and didn't require him to get caught and yelled at for being in the yard by his mother whose nerves would likely suffer a fright over her baby boy risking getting sick in the "frigid" temperatures. All he wanted was peace, and perhaps a bit of punishment for having ruined things again. It would serve him right if he caught a cold. Maybe then he wouldn't have to face the world for a few weeks. 

"Wait a minute, 6 or 7 years...so she's not a kid then? I thought she was a kid." 

Morthil, as soon as Goblinda loosened her grasp, shot out of her grip and hit the ground hard. 


He groaned and slowly stood up, gingerly stretching each paw with the exception of his injured one. 
He then tried to shift again. 
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Wonderful.
Goblinda also had fallen to the floor, and he glanced at her with concern. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, his minor indignation from before completely forgotten.
But she seemingly didnt recognize Lin. Or remember anything. 
"Is that normal? Has that ever happened before?" Morthil worriedly asked.

The string of unknown words and sounds was not lost on Linda, who, despite not knowing what Morthil was saying, could understand a frustrated tone of voice when she heard one. Whatever was said, it wasn't pleasant-- the apology that followed all but confirming that. And perhaps even further confirmation was the sudden bite that followed-- the cat sinking it's teeth into Goblinda's cradling arm. "Oh-- oh dear," Was the best she could manage in response, the aggression seeming to have-- in her mind-- come out of nowhere. Granted, she had much, much more patience for dealing with the goblin girl than arguably anyone else could ever dream of having... but still.

Meanwhile, in immediate response to the bite, Goblinda... did nothing. Which, honestly, was equal parts impressive and concerning. Morthil's fangs struck true, but left little more than a scratch; The little green girl's skin was abnormally tough... like tanned leather, or the bark of a tree many generations old. It was hard to say if she actually felt it or not-- But what she didn't do was wake up.

"Well... we won't be waking her up by force, I suppose, but that did give me an idea..." Tapping her chin, Linda stood and returned to the table once more-- and more importantly, the tray of food. "You asked about how long 'Lin and I have known each other? I think... 6, maybe 7 years? She travels here and there all the time, taking on new adventures-- but eventually, she always comes back 'home'. I s'pose deep down, she still feels like she needs to protect me, somehow."

There were still beef steaks left, but they weren't what she was looking for. No, this time her eyes were on another big piece of meat-- One which was a little... 'safer' to hold for her next attempted idea. What was it? A large drumstick-- the likes of which animal it came from, who could say? All that really mattered was that it was seared to relative perfection, and seasoned with imported sea salts and herbs-- something the entire room could tell as it's smell wafted about from the moment she picked it up. She even went so far as to hold it overhead, almost as if claiming some grand prize in victory. "This one's her favorite! I think it'll work." The woman cheerfully explained, before heading back toward the bed.

What was her grand plan, one might wonder? Before, she'd practically stuffed the steak into the slobbering goblin's mouth to sate her. Now, as she loomed over Goblinda's resting form, she placed the drumstick just above her mouth-- holding it right under her nose, where the smell was at it's strongest. The result, to her pleasure, was almost instantaneous-- Goblinda's little sniffer got to work, taking in the scent of the poultry meat and her head shifted a bit as she attempted to bite at it. But Linda was quicker, and much more clever-- rather than letting her have it, she pulled it away, little by little, and as she expected, the sleeping goblin unknowingly followed the meat, shifting and turning from her spot on the bed-- and more importantly, letting go of her grasp of Morthil in the process. "'Atta girl, 'Lin!" The woman praised her goblin friend, who yet continued to crawl toward the smell, until she could crawl no further-- primarily due to the fact that there was no more bed to crawl on-- and stumbled right out of the bed, onto her face.

"Oof. Um..."

"Ow..."

Linda's eyes lit up with delight at the sound of the familiar voice. She wasn't sure just having her fall out of bed would be enough, but to her great joy the little redhead slowly began to right herself on the floor near the bed, groggily looking around as if she weren't sure if she were still dreaming. "'Lin! Oh, thank goodness. You scared me a bit, there!" She swooped down, scooping up the little goblin in her arms for a warm, hefty hug.

"...Lin? Am I Lin?"

A hug which quickly dissipated into concern as Linda loosened her grip on her friend and pulled her away a little to look her in the face-- a face filled with complete and utter confusion.

"Who... are you? Where am I?"

By the time Theo had begun to sign, Fletch had already turned away. He didn't know what the next day would bring if he left like this. He just knew that right now, it would hurt too much to sit in whatever damage this was. He needed peace. He needed simple. He needed a drink. And none of those things would happen in Theo's room, in Theo's bed. The man would just stir shit up again. He'd take something good and make it an argument and dig and dig until he'd found another tender string to yank. No. Fletcher needed away from that, whatever it was.

He left the room and returned to his own, picking up his now futile purchase along the way. He shut the door without pausing to so much as glance at the man. He set the bag aside. He stared at his empty bed: the rumpled sheets, the depression in the pillow where Theo had lain. It would be hard to sleep with the man's scent and memory surrounding him. Harder still with this blossoming anger at Ven and himself and the unfairness of life. But he was too raw to quest any further down that path. He didn't want to lay there and wonder why the man had never said it. He thought he knew the answer already, and it scared him to face it. So instead he drank it all away, and fell into bed with his clothes still on, and faded off into drunken oblivion.

He nodded in understanding. This was why he hadn't gone straight back to Fletcher's room when he left to give him space. There was less sting in the rejection by being told no versus being kicked out of the room or abandoned in it.

"Alright. Get some good sleep. I love you and I'll see you in the morning."