It was 10AM on 31 March 2018, and the morning script meeting was well underway for that evening's "Saturday Night Takeaway.' A far earlier start than usual, but that was due to there being so much to discuss. Dec was hunched over on his seat, staring at his script, unable to meet anyone's eyes. They were discussing how Ant's absence should be addressed. Again. It had been the hottest topic of conversation, both during ITV meetings and in the press, for the past week. Dec was over it all. He was sick of hearing everyone pussy-footing around the subject – around him – and just wanted to yell at them all to shut up. He had absolutely no intention of drawing yet more attention to what Ant had done by addressing that directly.

There were all sorts of rumors in the press that he was going to give an impassioned speech about his friend, wishing him well in his recovery, yada yada....Why the heck would he do that when Ant wasn't even going to be watching? He was back in rehab – all access to the outside world had been cut off. And anyway, there was no bloody way he'd ever get through that – he'd break down after the first sentence. It would be a miracle if he got through the show tonight without breaking down.

"So, Dec, what do you think of that idea?" One of the producers was speaking to him, but their voice was just a distant whisper. "Dec? You listening?"

"What? Yeah, yeah, that's fine." Dec had no clue what they'd been talking about. He'd completely zoned out, tired mind struggling to keep up.

"Do you even know what we were discussing?!" The producer sounded seriously annoyed now, and Dec raised his bleary gaze to meet theirs, instantly regretting it. "What the hell do you think you're playing at, Dec?! How do you expect to get through a live show tonight if you can't even pay attention during a script meeting??" they railed at him, causing him to shrink back slightly.

Jaw cracking loudly as a wide yawn tore through him, Dec started to defend himself but was cut short.

"Would it be too much trouble for you to stay awake right now? I mean, seriously," the producer's voice had taken a decidedly acidic tone, eyes piercing into Dec, even as another member of the team told them to "cool it" and leave Dec alone.

Dec 's gaze was trained on the table in front of him. Mumbling a half-hearted apology, he tried to focus as discussion regarding his opening lines began. Resting his head heavily on his hand, his eyes slowly drooped closed. Only to snap open a moment later when an angry voice hit him.

"Wake the f*** up!!!"

That was it. He'd had enough. Shoving his chair back, Dec stared down their disrespectful employee, bristling with anger. "YOU can shut the f*** up!" he snarled, eyes burning, "I've had two weeks from hell! I got 30 minutes' sleep last night – I'm so knackered I can barely think! I have NO patience for this right now. So either shut up or go home!"

Hesitating for a moment, Dec followed his tirade up with another shorter one. "And you should be bloody well thankful to me for not firing your sorry a*** right this moment. You'd be sacked by now if Ant – {his voice cracked painfully} – heard you talking to me like that!!!"

Stunned silence reigned for a brief moment, before one of the senior producers motioned for the target of Dec's anger to leave the room. Beating a hasty retreat, despite throwing one last venomous glare in Dec's direction, they exited the room, leaving behind an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. Dec had sunk back into his chair exhaustedly as soon as the offending producer left, and was now staring vacantly at his script, picking at the corner of the page, unable to raise his gaze, feeling everyone's eyes on him. He knew that had been unprofessional, but he couldn't help it. He'd never been this stressed out in his life, and he really wasn't coping.

It was his good friend, Saul Fearnley, who finally dared to speak. "Dec, you all right, mate?"

Shaking his head miserably, Dec buried his head in his hands as his breath caught in his chest. He couldn't break down here. Not in front of everyone. Suddenly remembering that there were a couple of ITV executives here today – there was even one sat right next to him, for goodness' sake! – Dec let out a deep sigh before pulling himself together.

Instantly contradicting himself, he croaked, "Sorry, I'm fine, carry on," daring himself to meet Saul's eyes, giving him an unconvincing smile.

Saul gave him a disbelieving look, but everyone else seemed to take that as a sign to continue their so rudely interrupted discussion. A few minutes later, the tea lady arrived with a fresh load of refreshments for everyone. Placing Dec's usual order of strong green tea in front of him, she was surprised when he shook his head.

"Actually, Gladys, can I have a latte? Please?" Dec bit his lip, feeling everyone's curious stares on him. That was Ant's usual order on a Saturday morning – he had a latte, Dec had a green tea. Quiet surprise registering on her face for a moment, Gladys bustled away with his rejected tea, returning a few minutes later with a steaming hot latte. Dec thanked her graciously, popping open the lid on the cup and clutching the beverage with both hands, holding it in front of him with his elbows propped up on the table. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing as the familiar aroma filled his senses. If he tried really hard, he could imagine the scent was mixed with Ant's, that Ant was sitting to his right.

He had taken his usual seat at the table that morning, leaving Ant's spot free. But when one of the ITV executives started to head towards Ant's chair, Dec had hastily moved, taking Ant's place at the table, unable to bear the thought of anyone else sitting there. The executive had given him a disapproving stare, not realizing why the presenter was acting so strangely – or why most of the rest of the room's occupants were shaking their heads at him in silent disapproval – as Dec took the seat he'd intended to occupy. Everyone else at the table had had a sad look on their face as Dec nestled himself in Ant's spot, but decided it was best to just ignore Dec's painfully poignant actions and begin the meeting as normal.

But now there were eyes trained on him from all sides. Dec had opened his eyes after a long moment of pretending Ant was there, and had found everyone staring at him – most looked like they thought he'd lost his mind, while a couple of them looked a bit teary-eyed, of all things.

Cheeks coloring rapidly, Dec hastily put down his latte, placing it on his right. "Erm...Sorry, er,..." Dec didn't know what to say. He knew everyone thought he'd gone off his rocker, and he couldn't really blame them. His behavior this morning wasn't exactly confidence-inducing, given he was meant to be sailing this ship. Everyone here except for the two ITV executives – who definitely seemed to think he'd gone insane – was technically one of his employees, and they had to be seriously wondering by now if they'd have a job by the end of tonight. Especially given how weird he was being. But he couldn't help it. He needed Ant. He couldn't explain his actions other than that he'd needed something solid to hold onto, something to remind him of Ant, some way he could pretend everything was fine and Ant was right by his side. But he knew no one would understand that, no one could grasp the concept of him feeling close to his best friend by ordering a latte rather than a green tea. So he just sat there, embarrassed, not knowing how to break the awkward silence that had settled over the room.

Saul came to his rescue again, clearing his throat and restarting the seemingly never-ending – and so far unfruitful – discussion over how to address Ant's absence at the start of the show. Dec finally found his voice, feeling a strong need to redeem himself in front of everyone. "How 'bout I just make a joke about having twice the amount of work to do, or sommat like that?"

Nothing was said for a moment, before one of the ITV executives crowed, "That's the best suggestion I've heard yet!" Murmurs of agreement erupted around the table, and after a brief discussion, the amendment was made to the script.

Voice tiny, Dec decided to brave one other suggestion. "Can we just make everything, erm, jokey? Everyone knows what's happened, and, erm, I don't think I'll be able to handle anything really...erm...serious...about...Ant." The last word was barely a whisper, but the pain in it was more than audible for all to hear.

One of the senior members of the team spoke up, "Yes, lad, we can do that. No worries."

And that's how it was decided that Dec would never directly explain Ant's absence, but would instead make a few remarks here and there, poking fun about having been left to do everything himself. Happy to finally have a direction in which they could go to finish off the script, the table breathed a collective sigh of relief, and soon moved on to other topics such as the complex End of the Show Show which they still hadn't managed to get right. Dec had been stressing about it overnight, worrying over their inability to come up with something that actually worked.

They had spent a good part of yesterday going through the motions with the rotational room, trying to figure out the choreography for him, Scarlett, and Stephen. It hadn't gone well, and everyone had left frustrated that evening, still with no proper solution. The other problem was that neither Scarlett nor Stephen was really properly fit, so they both kept getting puffed out very quickly. Dec, on the other hand, was in pretty good physical condition at the moment, and had far more stamina to keep going for the full length of Paloma Faith's song. Although the way he felt right now, he wasn't so sure he'd actually make it through without collapsing. 

So the only real decision they'd made yesterday was that Dec would do the main part of the routine himself, only joined later by Scarlett and Stephen, who had been added in place of Ant. Not that anyone could ever replace him, but the general consensus was that it would be a bit boring if it were just Dec all by himself. So they'd gotten a start on it, but there was still a lot left to be figured out before the show tonight.

But eventually, they ran out of opportunity to talk. Rehearsals needed to get underway. It appeared none of the team would be getting a proper lunch break today – there was not enough time in the day today, it seemed, the countdown to going live at 7PM ticking away relentlessly. The team were nervous, of course they were, but most of them were taking this in their stride. The one person who wasn't coping at all was the one person who really, really needed to. And that person was Declan Donnelly.

He didn't even make it through the opening without breaking down, stepping onto his usual mark rather than the new X that was placed in between where he and Ant would normally stand, having to be corrected by the director, Chris Powers. He'd locked himself away in his dressing room for several minutes, eventually emerging with a newfound purpose in his step, having decided that, if it was the last thing he did, he was going to save Ant's career for him. And his new resolve to be strong had lasted for a while, but not long enough...

Dec reached his breaking point when they began rehearsing his trip down memory lane from Studio 2, which would be closed – along with the rest of the London Studios – within the next month. It seemed there had been a last-minute change to the script, urged by one of the ITV executives who was very concerned about the public's reaction to that evening's show. And apparently, no one had thought to consult Dec on this, as it came as a total shock to him.

"Okay, so Dec, we're going to have you crouching down out of shot when we return from the break, then you'll pop up and go from there. All good?" Chris Powers questioned, Dec nodding quickly and getting into position on his mark.

Everything was going swimmingly until Dec reached the corridor, explaining that Studio 2 had been the home of Wonkey Donkey and Chums all those years ago, where he, Ant and Cat had done Saturday mornings with SM:TV Live and cd:uk. He wasn't really paying attention to the autocue – he practically knew the entire script by heart after studying it endlessly the night before – so didn't notice the change until he was stopped abruptly, mid-sentence.

It was that producer who'd been so rude to him earlier who spoke up. He was considerably nicer to Dec this time around, but there was still a very noticeable edge of annoyance to his voice. "Hey, pay attention to the autocue! Didn't you get the updated script?"

"Huh?" Dec looked beyond puzzled. What could there possibly be to change? It was straightforward enough, surely? "I wasn't told there'd been a change. Roll back the autocue, please, boys."

As he read the words on the screen, his eyes narrowed and mouth fell slightly open, appearing to not quite believe his eyes. Then pure rage took over. "WHO DID THIS?!" he roared, causing those around him to jump and then recoil as his feral gaze swept around the gathered crew members. When no one answered, Dec bristled further, deciding to pin his anger on the man who'd first spoken up about the change to the script. Hands curling into tight fists, he stepped up to the producer and growled, "Was it you? Eh? Tell. Me."

"Er, no, sir," the terrified man replied, shrinking away from Dec's fierce, bloodshot eyes which were piercing holes into his skull. "I had nothing to do with it!"

"THEN WHO DID?!" Dec felt like he was going to burst a blood vessel, he was so incensed. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he shouldn't be losing it with the crew, but at that moment in time, he really didn't care. This righteous anger felt good. He'd been under so much pressure over the past two weeks that he wasn't unlike a taut rubber band, primed and ready to snap. And right now, he was snapping. It probably was an unhealthy way of releasing stress, but no matter. It felt so good.

There was a scurry of movement to his left, and Dec turned to find one of the ITV executives being ushered into the corridor by Chris Powers. The executive seemed unperturbed by the wild-eyed man in front of him. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked coolly, regarding Dec with a condescending stare that only served to stoke the already raging fire in Dec's belly.

Realizing this must be the culprit, Dec just stared at him for a moment, sizing him up. "What the f*** do you think you're playing at." Dec wasn't normally one to use heavy duty swear words, that was more Ant's thing, but this was no normal time. And it wasn't even a question, either. It was more of a statement, full of disbelieving rage.

The executive was still playing dumb, gazing at Dec disinterestedly. "I said, what seems to be the problem? I don't have all day to stand around, you know," he purred, posh London accent grating on Dec's inflamed nerves.

"Cat Deeley and I??" Dec thundered, face flushed with anger, "CAT DEELEY AND I?!? WHAT ABOUT ANT????"

"Cool it, young man," the executive reprimanded, unimpressed by Dec's current major lapse in professionalism, "As of 18 March, your partner has become a major liability, a topic to be avoided at all costs. We decided it would be best if you don't mention him by name at any point during the show."

Dec was dumbfounded, incredulous eyes blinking a few times as the man's words gelled in his brain. "Ant has a NAME and is a PERSON, you numbskull!!! He's not a 'topic,'" Dec was now edging forward, slowly backing the man into a corner, both literally and with his words, "He is my Best. Friend. He is the man who's stood by my side for 29 years. I will NOT pretend he doesn't exist!!!!!" Dec was off his limits now, shouting inches away from the executive's shocked – and, it must be admitted, rather terrified – face.

Cowering in the corner of the corridor, the man held up his hands, hurriedly repealing his orders from earlier. "Okay, okay, we'll put him back in, but ONLY for this link," then, with menace creeping back into his words, "Any other direct mention of him, and you will regret it. Got it?"

Dec refused to relent in his furious stare down of the executive for a long minute, eyes burning with incandescent rage. Finally stepping aside with a huff when Chris Powers tugged on his arm, Dec left the man with a final parting shot, spoken as a dark growl, "Don't you ever forget what me and Ant have done for ITV – we've worked our bollocks off for 20 years for you people. 'Cause if you do forget and don't treat us right, you. will. regret. it."

Utterly drained, his explosion of temper having taken the last reserve of energy he had, Dec swayed for a moment, knees nearly buckling, before Chris caught him and steadied him. "You all right?" Chris queried, beyond concerned about the man he'd known for years. He'd never seen him like this before.

Dec didn't respond. He couldn't. He wasn't all right, but there was no way he was going to admit that in front of the whole crew. He had to be seen to be strong now – if he didn't, everyone would lose faith in him and that would only serve to further bring down the already low morale. Biting his lip so hard he swore he could taste the coppery tang of blood, Dec forced himself to take a moment to breathe, gaze fixed on the floor. Blowing out a tense breath, he wordlessly resumed his position on his mark to return to rehearsing this bit of the show. He nearly broke down while walking through the corridors, which were lined with photos of him and Ant on 'Takeaway,' messing around, doing the End of the Show Shows. Every time he caught a glimpse of Ant, he had to swallow down yet more tears, but soldiered on, unwilling to let anyone see his weakness.

And then Davina McCall arrived early afternoon to rehearse her vital role in the show, the item named "This Time Next Takeaway." Davina was an old friend of the boys, having known them since their SM:TV days, and was very fond of them both, as were they of her. Dec was sitting in the audience, waiting for the crew to sort out a technical issue, when she arrived, stealing up behind him and making him jump slightly – his nerves on edge – when she wrapped him up in a caring hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Taking a seat next to him, Davina laid a hand on his arm, studying him. My goodness, his makeup artist had her work cut out for her tonight! His face was pale, drawn, the only color provided by the dark, heavy bags underneath his eyes. There was an intense vulnerability in his expression, and she was reminded of a little kid at his first day of school, scared and unsure after having been separated from his mummy.

But Dec was still busily pretending to be fine, so turned to her, pasting fake enthusiasm on his features and exclaiming, "It's great to see you, Davina! You excited for the show tonight?"

Davina just smiled sadly at him. The poor man, he looked awful, and clearly was scared to death, but was still trying to carry on as if nothing was wrong. What a trooper. But she knew he needed someone to be there for him right now, and her mothering instincts instantly kicked in. "Have you eaten anything today, Dec? You look like you're low on energy," she stated, deliberately avoiding any reference to the fact he looked absolutely terrible, not wanting to embarrass him or draw attention to his overwrought state.

Dec sucked in his lips, closing his eyes for a moment as he shook his head slowly. Mumbling, "'m not hungry," he averted his gaze, not feeling brave enough to meet her concerned eyes. He was feeling incredibly fragile at the moment, the chronic lack of sleep and his extremely high stress levels taking their toll, leaving him a jittery, shattered, emotional mess. His stomach was in knots, nervous cramps paining him every few seconds.

"He never takes care of himself, ya know. When he gets all het up on a show day, it's like pulling teeth tryin' to get him to eat sommat. It's a full time job looking after him when he's like that."

Ant's fond words from years ago suddenly flooded Davina's consciousness, and she knew what she had to do – for Ant as much as for Dec. "Well, I've not eaten yet. Come on, let's go get something. Ant would want you to take care of yourself," she gently ordered, pulling Dec's arm to force him up. Dizzy, he had to steady himself against the seat in front of him, at which point Davina braced him with an arm around his waist as she pushed a grumbling Dec in the direction of the studio break room. A runner had informed her when she'd first arrived that there were lunch foods available in the break room, and she really didn't think Dec was up to going to the more public cafeteria.

Startled when she heard a loud, shuddery breath next to her, Davina turned to look at Dec. He was crying.