When Tuck stood to answer the door, Stutely was close behind him. It was probably Alan, or perhaps Daniel, maybe even Francis or one of the parishioners dropping round another care package, but damned if he could suppress that low jolt of mixed hope and dread that shot through him every time a knock sounded on the parsonage door. Ridiculous, really. If today's false alarm should have taught him anything—
And then the door swung open, and there on the other side of it was Robin, with an easy grin and an 'ay up', as if— Christ, as if none of the last six months had bloody happened. Will stared at him, expression frozen in a kind of numb shock that, given a few moments, was apt to thaw into resentment. He didn't even get the chance. Before he could process it, Tuck had whipped out a hand and caught a surprised Robin square on the nose with a headbutt.
"Hey— HEY!" Stutely didn't even think; he was already pushing himself between the two. "Bloody hold up! What the hell happened to 'don't hit your brothers'?"