Thomas' money had helped the Littletons through Christmas, and with the dawning of the new year, Lavinia had been paid and she had been able to pay off the bills. Even working less hours it seemed like things might be okay again eventually. They were managing anyway, even if not magnificently.

( Well, that'll loosen you up... )

Christmas was coming, and Lavinia had nothing for her children. Her job at the hospital had ended because a doctor had decided he would rather attept to rape and beat her than help her. She couldn't go back there. She had been turned down for another job at a hospital because she had no formal qualifications, and her hours at one of her waitressing positions had been reduced because it was so close to the holidays and her manager said she had more than one job so the hours should go to people who only had the one job and therefore 'needed them more'. Apparently the fact that Lavinia had six mouths to feed did not enter into the equation when dividing shifts up between staff members.

( Treasure )

I can sit up again! I can breathe! I can stay awake for longer than an hour!

I can't stop coughing for more than 30 minutes, but considering the triumphs up there, not coughing can follow.

Aly is making me lunch and I can smell it and this is very exciting. Welcome to my exciting, exciting, very exciting life.

Lavinia and Mad Dog were sprawled on the sofa when Abby burst into their home without knowing first. Not that Lavinia would ever mind the presence of her children, knocking or no, but sometimes it was best to be careful... "My goodness, Abigail. If you had done that fifteen minutes ago, you wouldn't have liked what you saw..."

( Betrayal )

Apparently 'I'm not a social worker' and 'I don't have time' meant nothing when Paul pulled the 'look'. Abby didn't think it was fair that just because one of her friends had been skewered in the midst of rescuing her boss' daughter, that suddenly meant he could get away with anything. What about her?! She had been battle fodder far more times than bloody Paul. She'd been slammed into walls and shot in the neck and yet here she was in her office on a Monday night, looking over a case file Paul had thrown together in two hours because he needed a 'favour'.

( Whoa, Daddy... )

When Flynn got to call his Quinn, it was his favourite time of day. Even if it happened to fall after a gig when he was so tired he could fall over, and all he wanted to do was sleep. After the Edmonton gig, while curled up in bed with a heavily sleeping Deirdre, Flynn dialled his boyfriend, who answered the phone on the second ring.

( Boilove! )

Dad's not getting better and I'm totally wigging!

After feeling comparitively okay the last few days, Peter was now ready to admit he was sick. It was as if someone flipped a switch over night and Peter was stricken with a fever, malaise, and the inability to breathe correctly. Which was just not fair in the grand scheme of things, he decided. He had just been rescued from his Templar prison, and now he was imprisoned in his bed, unable to move. Worse, he didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything beyond lie there and moan while the full effect of his illness slammed into him all at once.

( Siblings )

I have pneumonia.

Stupid fecking Templar.

Lydia entered her parents' room just in time to see her father bend over in a fit of coughing, which looked like it was rather uncomfortable. She leaned against the wall with a worried look on her face while Peter proceeded to cough so hard it sounded like he was going to lose a lung.

( No, you are not okay! )

I've been avoiding this because it seems so trivial somehow. And writing here means I'll have to get introspective and that's more than a little scary. But my best friend is gone again, and without him to know how I'm feeling without ever having to ask...it means I'll have to start speaking up.

I just spent three weeks being told and treated like I was the most despicable and disgusting thing on this Earth. Nothing I said mattered, even though it was all true. Dragonetti was there, which means he did fake his death. I'd know his voice anywhere. And he took his hood off a few times because apparently you can't spit at people through those things. They put me in a cell that was so far below the ground, I couldn't hear anything. No noise. The air was stale and damp and so cold. There was no light, and Dragonetti said he wouldn't waste food on me. He told me to ask my 'father' for help. Since my father is dead and not Satan, that would be pretty ineffectual. And when I was too weak from lack of food to answer his questions, he said it was a 'trick'. I was trying to trick him with my physical need. I would have gone mad there, I think. They interrogated me once, asking where Aly was. But it seemed half-hearted, if one could say such a thing. Mostly, I was just locked in the room, and then chained to a wall so I couldn't get anywhere near the locked door. It was dark and silent and cold and horrible.

If it hadn't been for Daniel, I don't know what I would have done. Daniel was the guardian of that place they had me in. He's my cousin. Johan's brother. He says the Templar took him from his 'business' years ago and tried to purify him. He ran to Saul afterwards and joined them. Saul told him to join the Templar, and the Templar shoved him in that hole, but not as a prisoner. The guard has to stay underground and he'd been there for five years, unable to leave. He helped me. He knew who I was, but never said. I think in case I sang like a stool pigeon when things got rough. But he was the only one who brought me food. And cigarettes, shhh. He's staying at the hospital for a while. He doesn't really feel like seeing people, and that's fair. He's not used to them. But I owe him a great deal of gratitude.

Mostly, I don't know how I feel. Strange. My wife came to rescue me and she couldn't have been more beautiful. I'm safe now. I'm a hell of a lot thinner, I have a few lovely new scars, and I'm showering 4 times a day because I feel disgusting, but safe. Dragonetti demonstrated his inability to kill me in front of whomever took over for Coronati, though. They all believe him now. I think having me lit some sort of fire under them. I've been having visions (which are also 'devil's trickery' if you weren't aware) of angels and demons being strung up like poor Rosa. Nothing definitive yet, though the second there is we'll need to help those poor people. I only hope the Templar don't do anything like they did to London a few years back. I hope, if we can take their 'symbols' from them again, it will stop this. I believe we can.

I still feel like a worthless piece of shit. I don't know how to make that go away.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!

DO I HAVE 'I HAPPEN TO HAVE A VERY FLEXIBLE TONGUE' TATTOOED TO MY FUCKING FOREHEAD OR SOMETHING?!?!

Edit: ( This is what I am !!!ing about )

I have no idea what to do about this.

Peter was down today, and when I asked him what would make him feel better, he said, "you in leather". So I think it's safe to say he's at least feeling a little better! He did make me watch West Side Story and Cats before I was allowed to leave. James was horrified. So I think it's safe to say he's not a little three-year-old gay boy. He said, and I quote, "Why don't they just say how they feel? Why do they have to sing it?" Oh, little boy. Sometimes you have to.

Just not me, because we all know how that would end. With everyone running away from me. And then I'd have to sing a sad song about having no friends.

( And then I'd do this on the internet again. I have no willpower... )

Home was nice. It was perfect, actually. Peter hadn't seen the place in far too long and now that he was back he decided he was never leaving again ever.

( Home )

Peter wanted to go home. He hated being in hospital, and he hadn't been home in a very long time. Abby had been called in to his room and when she arrived, she smiled companionably at him. "Peter, you wanted to talk to me?"

( Not so jiggity-jig )

Canada was cold, Flynn decided. Terribly cold. They were in Toronto, resting before their gig the next day. It was raining heavily and temperatures weren't expected to rise over 10 degrees celcius. That was too cold for touristing. Flynn had insisted on staying in the hotel and not leaving the premisis except when he had to to smoke. He was very nearly influenced to quit as he stood outside, soaking wet, with the wind freezing his skin.

( It's a gas )

I'm home, I spent the last two hours with my amazing son who is now asleep. He told me all about dressing up as his daddy for Halloween. Meaning Spectre. Oh, I just *melts*. Abby is off at Mums' with Stuart and Mara tonight, and Flynn and Spectre are touring. With James asleep, it's just me and the animals, who are all ignoring me with amazing ability.

I'm a sad man at home alone on a Sunday night, having just spent a week and a half searching for 'the Antichrist' in Rome and then burrowing through an underground wall for two days. You know the old story.

( So I surfed the internets )

Godric was sitting in the back, his foot jiggling. The room smelled like instant coffee and stale shortbread, and it was filled with the hushed whispers of people trying to ignore the reason they were here at least until the meeting started. Narcotics Anonymous. They all came together to cry on each other's shoulders when it was too hard to get by with out anything else. Godric, who was very active in group therapy, every once in awhile, needed some himself.

( Merry Meetings )

When Razvan stuck his head into Peter's room, he found the man sitting in his hospital bed looking mutinous. Razvan took one step into the room and he cocked his head to the side. "Hi there, Chief. Problems?"

( EMOtions )

People were everywhere.

( Rest )