Deficient

A snarl rolled through Alex's pre-sigh inhale; the dopey fish had just snapped at him for putting alcohol before people.
“You sound like my ex-wife” he murmured, unheard.
“... And they ain't my 'buds'.”

Tempted to clear off though he may have been, and grudging though he was to admit it, he was worried about them, especially Cass who could do without being mauled after recent events, and Seymour - what with his lack of lower limbs, generally rubbish scrapping skills and terror in the face of... most things.

But Jay was bound to be looking after Cass, and White Wolf or Davie would be defending Seymour... Probably. Well, maybe.
Please.

Never said I wasn't gonna help 'em, though - y'nerk.
The screeching roar came again, not from the caves now, but somewhere off in the distance.
“Oi, Jaxx...” he hissed. No reply.
“Jaxx! This way...” But the MACO and the new arrival had already disappeared.

“Smegsake.”
With a bad tempered groan, he armed himself with a staff-like length of stick, stubbornly ignoring the shaking of his hands - withdrawal was a bitch.
He wiped his suddenly damp forehead with the back of his arm and, feeling like crap, headed off towards the area that Niples had designated as his own private thinking spot, a little way behind camp. Seymour's Sanctuary.

He ducked into the bushes at the unexpected air-tearing crack of a sonic boom.

What the smeg was going on?

--

Three million and some years ago:

“Get up.” Jessica's demanding voice, full of rage, yanked him into unwelcome consciousness. Her fingers, hard in his ribs, jerked him into a limp semi-sit.
“Ughh all right, all right. What?”
“Look where you are, you slept on the sofa again.”
He was so hungover that his mind refused to focus.
“S'what?”
“'So what?' he says. 'So what'!?” She grabbed his chin, too hard, and turned his face towards her.
“You came home at five am. A-gain. The kids were worried, I had no idea where you were, and I had to do bloody everything myself.”
She let go, disgusted. “You never came to bed.”

He looked up at his furious and beautiful wife, guilt swimming in his stomach like an electric eel. He didn't know what he could say to make it better.

“I am sick of this, Alex.”
He reached out an apologetic hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She slapped it away.
“Don't.”
“I'm sorry, baby” he mumbled, looking deep into her tired eyes, hoping she'd see the sincerity in his.
She did - as she always did - and softened. Safe now. She exhaled, anger leaving with her breath.

He hooked a finger over the waistband of her jeans and pulled her towards him. She submitted, looping slender arms over his shoulders.
“You've got to stop doing this, Al.”
“I know. I will.” He nuzzled into her neck.
“I promise.”

---
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