They'd let Vince out as soon as they realised there was nothing wrong with him.

"Overactive imagination and stress," the doctor had decided and Vince was allowed to walk free straight into Howard's arms. He ignored McFadlin but he could hear Howard talking angrily to her.

"They've got the proof," he was shouting. "You picked holes in everything they said all day, you gave them the DNA results and they still won't give us our sons. What do we have to do?"

"Mr Moon," she replied in her calm, cold tone, "I genuinely believe that on Friday, the judge and jury will have to put their conventional logic aside and give you back your sons. I honestly can't see them being able to find any excuse not to. Though maybe there should be less of the talk about aliens and shamans."

Howard nodded as Vince sobbed painfully against his shoulder.

It was a tough three days until Friday. Howard tried to lose himself in scat and bebop but not even jazz was enough to drown out the voice in the back of his head that told him this was their last chance to get the boys back. Vince couldn't sit still. He couldn't sleep. He wouldn't eat. He was a ball of nervous ever-depleting energy and on the Thursday it finally took it's toll on him.

Howard had been reading, or at least he'd been trying to read, The Global Explorer. He'd hardly taken much notice when Vince had got up from his seat in the arm chair and walked to the kitchen. Vince was always getting up and moving about at the moment. It gave him something to do other than think.

Howard heard the creaking of the pipes, the telltale sign that the tap was running. And running and running … and running. It had been going on for ages and Howard wondered what the hell Vince was possibly doing with all that water.

"Vince," he called, lowering his magazine. "Vince, are you okay?"

There was no reply. He put the magazine down and pushed himself to his feet.

"Vince," he called again as he walked towards the kitchen. He opened the door slowly and was horrified to see a puddle on the laminate floor.

"Vince!" he screamed as he flung the door open.

The younger man was sprawled across the tiles. The thinnest trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Howard panicked. It was what he did best. He turned the tap off and pulled the dishcloth, which had wedged itself down the plughole, free. It was almost as though he was trying not to have to think about dealing with Vince. The more other things he had to occupy himself with the less he had to ponder what exactly was wrong with Vince. He just stared at the younger man for a moment. He didn't know what to do or say. He had no idea what could have happened.

Eventually, as the gurgling sound from behind him told him the water had cleared from the sink he was snapped back to reality and rang for an ambulance.

Vince was fine. He'd banged his head quite hard but the doctor reassured Howard it was nothing to worry about, though they did want to keep him in over night.

"Has he been stressed recently?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," Howard answered. He was sat next to Vince's bed, holding his hand. The younger had a drip because he was running dangerously low on … well, everything but apart from that and the general paleness, he looked okay.

"Has he been eating?"

"No." Howard squeezed his partner's limp hand a little. He just wished he'd squeeze back. The doctor could tell him Vince was fine until he was blue in the face but Howard wouldn't be convinced until he could feel Vince, warm and moving in his arms.

"Has he been sleeping?"

"No."

"Has he been drinking heavily?"

"No, he hasn't drunk much at all. Not even water."

"Drugs?"

"No."

"Okay, thank you Mr Moon."

Howard just nodded curtly and turned back to look at Vince's pale unmoving form in the horrible green hospital bed. It looked like he'd have to go to court on his own today.

--

When Vince Noir woke up, he was surrounded by people. His parents were there, hiding their cigarettes from the nurses and telling him to man-up. Howard was there, holding his hand tightly and apologising on behalf of Mr and Mrs Noir. But most importantly, his boys were there. Three small heads peering down at him like inquisitive monkeys.

"Hey Daddy," Jones said as Vince' eyes fluttered open. "You're very lazy, you've been asleeping for days."

Vince blinked a few times and stared at the triplets. Then he gathered them into his arms and cried.

--

"So what happened?" Vince asked, as he packed his stuff into a small bag. He was very ready to leave this place with it's too clean hospital smell and it's horrible artificial lights and horrible artificial people.

"They looked at the other DNA test and Sarah McFadlin got some science expert in and they both said that the boys were undeniably ours."

"And what are they saying about the fact we're both men?"

"Ah," Howard said before quickly trying to change the subject onto something about food.

"Ah … what?"

"Nothing."

"No, what have they said?"

"Well … nothing. Honestly. It's just …"

"Just what?"

"Erm," Howard tentatively handed Vince a newspaper.

Vince Noir Woman All Along

Vince Noir, who was born Vanessa Noir ….

Vince didn't need to know the rest. He threw the paper to the bed and glared at Howard.

"Where've they got this from?"

"Well…"

"Howard?"

"Look, I panicked okay… they asked how the kids were born and Sarah warned me about telling the truth. It was the only thing I could think of."

"Who asked?"

"The breakfast news people."

"Breakfast news!" Vince shouted. "You told the whole of Britain I was a woman?"

"It was an accident," protested Howard weakly. Then he looked up and saw Vince was grinning wildly.

"What?" Howard asked timidly.

"I don't care," Vince grinned. "I don't care what people think. We've got our boys back."

"And you're okay."

"Yeah." Vince agreed, as the three boys came bundling into the room squabbling over who got the biggest galaxy bar, from the hospital vending machine, "come on everyone, let's go home."