To put it mildly, things had been tense since Monday. Much had got home late - well after dark - and had both forgotten to get milk and refused to tell Alan where he'd been. He would have explained things to Alan if he'd been by himself - if he'd been single - if he'd been dating anyone other than a Greek Muse, but as it was, it was too risky.
Much knew that if he told Alan and swore him to secrecy, then Alan would keep his word. But asking Alan to keep a secret from someone he loved, when it was about the murder of someone she loved, was a big ask. And after Much had said, upon getting home "I can't tell you" and Alan had said, in an angry, hurt, petulant snap "Fine, fuck you then" - well, it was easier just to leave things at 'fuck you' and try and get on with the business of living.
It made things awkward in the house though. Oh, they still searched. But Much could feel Alan still seething, and it made Much sulkier. Sulkier on top of his fear for Marcie's life, which was colouring everything. Was Ares' fatherhood enough to protect her from Apollo's retribution? Was Aphrodite's protection enough? Could Tragos actually do anything for help her? Much didn't have a lot of faith in any of them (though seeing Tragos rattled the other day did endear him to Much, a little). He had quite a lot of faith in going to ground and hiding. And every day that Apollo didn't show his face was a day Much got more and more scared about the whole thing.
Like he needed something to feel worse about with every passing day. As if 'the boys are dying in a dungeon' wasn't enough. As if 'the Sheriff has Marian alone in an unspecified location' wasn't enough.
When Tuck called, Much was just out of the shower after a night of terrible, restless sleep. The stress levels too high to offer anything but nightmares, his imagination too exhausted to create anything new so was drawing on his memory for inspiration instead. Apollo's slashed open stomach, Tuck's slashed open throat, the wounded parts of his own body he'd seen the day the Sheriff killed him. No, Much didn't need imagination to have a miserable time, his history was quite enough.
But Tuck's voice on the phone felt like Much was finally going doolally. His tired brain taunting him with one of the things he wanted the most. "What?" Much asked, fairly sure that losing his mind was just as likely as Tuck ringing him at this point.