You’re quiet and subdued on the journey back home. For a change, you insist on sitting in the backseat of the car. Normally, you want to join Martin in the passenger seat; to be as close to him as possible. It’s your turn to sit there, after all, but you tell Paul he can take it this evening. And you sit in the backseat, lean back against the headrest and close your eyes, listening to the inane chatter of your second partner.

Now that the statue is gone, it’s like a weight’s been lifted from Paul. It’s harder to read Martin, but you think he seems much more at ease too. Then again, compared to what he was like when you first met, any time he’s not trying to kick you out of his life is a plus, at least as far as you’re concerned.

“I thought we agreed me or you were going to destroy the statue. Why do you think Ray did it?”

Paul’s question, no matter how innocent it sounds, makes you open your eyes and you stare at the back of Martin’s head, swallowing hard. The conversation you had with Ray back home plays through your mind. Even then, you knew you should have told Martin about his offer.

“I don’t know.” Martin’s response is honest. Straightforward. Just like the man he is. Not afraid to admit he doesn’t know something. You’re tempted to lean forward and wrap your arms around the seat and, therefore, Martin; but common sense prevails. He won’t be happy if you put yourself at risk just to hold him, when you can do that any other time.

Paul continues to talk as Martin drives, but you tune him out once more, continuing to stare outside the window at the passing scenery; not that you can see much, as it’s too dark to make out any details.

So lost in your own thoughts, you only come back to yourself when Martin parks the car outside your house. He undoes his seatbelt and then twists round to look at you. “You’ve been awfully quiet back there.”

“I guess I just can’t believe the nightmare’s finally over.” You shrug. “I don’t know how the time passed when we were all stuck, but it felt like an eternity.”

“Hmm.” Martin eyes you for a few seconds, completely disregarding the innocent look you plaster on your face. Then, he places a hand on Paul’s knee and squeezes lightly. “Go inside. We won’t be long.”

Paul pouts, looking almost sulky. “I know both of you think I’m too innocent for some of the things you talk about, but I’m really not. I died too, you know.” His eyes slide away from Martin’s face; drop to his hand on his knee. He swallows visibly and, in a much quieter voice, says, “I still have nightmares. Like when I saw my own dead body. How it felt to be moved. How…wrong it felt.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “But mostly, I dream about Bill.”

Undoing your seatbelt, you lean forward, clasping Paul’s arm as Martin wraps him in a tight embrace. For a few moments, your best friend sobs, one hand clinging to you for dear life; the other clutching at Martin like he’s a lifeline.

The storm of tears doesn’t last for long. The sobs die down to soft sniffles and Paul turns his head to kiss the side of Martin’s neck; squeezes your hand. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, before letting go of you to wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Don’t apologise for needing to cry.” Martin kisses Paul; a light, gentle brush of lips that makes the younger man’s breath hitch. “But I’m not trying to exclude you from anything,” he continues. “I just need to talk to Grant about what’s bothering him.”

When Paul glances at you, you smile, shrug and point towards the house. “Go on. We’ll be fine.”

Paul snuggles into Martin for a few more moments, pressing against his shoulder, and then clambers out of the car.

Instead of getting out of the car, you climb between the seats and settle in the passenger side. “Nothing’s bothering me.”

Martin squeezes your knee, the touch just firm enough to be a warning. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I know why Ray destroyed the statue,” you admit, staring down at your feet rather than into his eyes.

“Did you ask him to?”

You risk a glance at Martin’s face. He doesn’t sound angry. And he doesn’t look it, either. Instead, he’s watching you calmly. He squeezes your knee and gives you an encouraging nod, so you say, “No. He offered. I…but I didn’t argue. I should have. Or told you, maybe. You would have known what the best thing to do was.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit.” Martin wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, stroking his fingers down your back.

You relax into his embrace, closing your eyes and breathing in deep, letting the familiar scent of him wash over you. “You’re not mad?”

Martin kisses the side of your neck and then the top of your head. “I’m not mad at you for being scared and worried. I know what it was like when we were at the site of the statue. If it was the other way round and someone else offered to take that choice from you? I don’t think I’d be strong enough to refuse either.” He pulls back enough to look into your eyes, hands rubbing down your arms. “How are you feeling about it? Do you feel guilty?”

You let his touch calm and settle you as you consider the question. Is the guilt too intense to handle? Or can you agree that the situation was a bad one all round and there was no right or wrong decision?