Much let himself in, calling a "Hey," through to the lounge while he locked the door behind him. In his imagination, he'd come home to a siege, Apollo or something descended on the parsonage to draw Marcie out, and the simple and straightforward act of unlocking and locking a door was reassurance that they weren't there. At least yet.
He let his messenger bag slide off his shoulder (full of anything a person might need if a protest went nasty, goggles and heat proof gloves, water and milk and a little first aid kit - normal stuff) as his eyes found Marcie and Tuck tightly entangled on the couch.
Tuck'd said she looked upset.
She definitely looked upset.
"Oh, hey, shit," he said, stepping closer. "What's happened?"