A/N - Here I am again. A tiny bit late, but it's only a little bit after Monday (where I live, anyway! 😅). I just want to put a little note here that what you'll read a few paragraphs into this chapter is, sadly, very much based on real life comments I read at the time. They are not quoted word for word, mainly because I did not want to go back and read through them again....It's hard enough doing the research for this story as it is.💔 Thank you all for continuing to read and (hopefully) enjoy! Your votes and comments always make my day! And please always remember, kindness over everything...❤ - H. x

Sunday, May 13th, 2018. It had been a very long, tense day so far, marked only by Dec occasionally snapping at Ali when she asked one too many questions. He'd been intensely taciturn all day since Ali had found him sitting on the couch at 8am that morning, blearily watching a political show on catch-up.

By some miracle, she'd managed to get him to eat half of a fry-up at about half eleven, but he'd refused all other semblance of food since, instead choosing to drink several cups of strongly caffeinated tea...Which really hadn't helped his nerves at all – not that he would ever admit it.

It was now just after 5pm, and Dec was in the dressing room adjacent to the master bedroom, fumbling with nervous fingers as he tried to knot his bowtie properly. No matter how hard he tried, he kept doing something wrong each time, and his temper was rapidly fraying. He couldn't even knot a stupid tie, how was he meant to present a week's worth of live telly in two weeks' time?!

His heart spasmed painfully at the sudden realization that, right now, he needed Ant. Ant always helped him when he got like this. And he was excellent at tying bowties. Tears sprang to Dec's eyes unbidden at the searing pain of missing his best friend. He couldn't help but wonder what he was doing right now.

Ant hadn't said much in regards to the BAFTAs when they'd last spoken, and hadn't mentioned it at all in the few texts they'd exchanged yesterday. Now he'd not heard from him all day long.

Finally giving up on his bowtie with an annoyed huff, Dec stared at himself in the mirror. He'd never been the biggest fan of his body, despite his cheeky outward display of pretending he was a stud for the cameras. If either one of them was a looker, it was Ant. He at least had defined muscles and a masculine figure, whereas....Dec sighed, eyes roaming his figure.

"Which one's pregnant?"

"Dec's got more of a baby bump than she does! Does she ever actually smile??"

Dec shoved down the cruel words he'd read just that morning. He'd known he shouldn't have clicked on the links to those articles the tabloids had published with the paparazzi photos from Friday's "trial run," but he couldn't help himself. He'd wanted to see what they were writing about him and Ant...But, unfortunately, he'd gotten sidetracked when he caught sight of some of the readers' comments.

It stung quite a lot, reading people's heartless comments about his body and weight – and about the love of his life – there was no doubt about that. He'd struggled massively with body image as a young tween, and while he'd come to accept – and even embrace – his body as he grew older, there was still a deep-set insecurity that he could never quite shake off.

And now he had to go and walk a bloody red carpet. Brilliant.

Hearing the light thudding of high heels on the carpeted floor behind him, Dec turned, doing his best to wipe all traces of anxiety from his expression. What he saw made his eyes widen and jaw drop.

"Oh, Al, you look stunning, pet!"

Ali glided into the room in a shimmering, floor length gown that made her husband's eyes roam her curves appreciatively before stepping forward and kissing her soundly on the lips.

"Not so bad yourself – you look very handsome, sweetheart," Ali smiled as she moved to stand in front of the mirror, putting the final touches on her hair and makeup. Normally, they would wait to get fully glammed up until they'd arrived on site – making use of the dressing room usually reserved for them – but this year, Dec had preferred to just get straight out onto the red carpet and get it over with. The less mingling and waiting around he had to do today the better, as far as he was concerned.

Toni, their makeup artist, had left just a short while ago after having gotten him and Ali camera-ready, giving him a quick hug and telling him to, "Go out there and knock 'em dead."

Yeah, right. Dec rolled his eyes, conscious of the way his heartbeat quickened and a small ripple of sharp cramps rolled through his stomach at the thought of walking the red carpet in just over half an hour's time. The Royal Festival Hall, jam-packed with paparazzi, reporters, and colleagues he'd not seen since everything fell apart, was the last place on earth he wanted to be today.

Catching sight of her husband's reflection, Ali frowned. The smitten smile had gone, and had instead been replaced by a look that could only be described as a cross between misery and intense dread.

"Dec, are you okay, love?" Ali questioned softly, only to immediately mentally slap herself for asking such a stupid question. Of course her husband wasn't okay – the BAFTAs were normally a fun day out with the potential to end in celebration of hard work paying off. But this was no normal day, and Ali was worried that no part of it was going to be fun, either.

The past two months had taken an immeasurable toll on her husband – his mental health was in shreds, and there was a sense of bone-deep exhaustion weighing down his features most days – and today was going to be a hard one. It was the first awards do Dec had attended without Ant in 5 years, and only the second in their entire career; the last time had been a TRIC awards ceremony when Ant was ill and couldn't make it. That had been an odd enough experience for Dec, even though he had made light of it at the time.

If she was honest, Ali was feeling quite trepidatious about how Dec would cope with everything today. He'd assured her repeatedly – and quite heatedly, at times – that he would be "fine" and there was no need to worry, but she just couldn't help it. Even though he seemed to be slowly patching things up with Ant, Dec was still suffering from what she deemed to be quite severe anxiety and depression.

He'd gotten through the test run she and Simon Jones had improvised with the "planted" paparazzo they'd anonymously tipped off, but that was nothing compared to what he would face today. Both she and Simon had gotten together to try to have a chat with him on Saturday, running through the agenda and devising some secret signals Dec could use if things were getting too much. In the end, Dec had burst into tears and stormed off, ranting about how no one trusted him anymore.

All in all, Ali had a very low confidence level in Dec actually coping with today internally. But she also had known him for nigh on twenty years now, and she knew that, when times got tough, Dec got tougher. He may break down or even panic in private – panicking in public like he had done last week was basically unheard of for him – but in public he was as strong as steel, a consummate professional.

And that was the only reason Ali believed without a shadow of a doubt that Dec would ace his public appearance today. He was too damn professional for his own good.

Dec had dropped his head, studying his feet intently, as soon as Ali questioned his wellbeing. The truth was, he wasn't okay – he was so far from being okay he couldn't even remember what being okay felt like anymore – but he knew he had to do this, he couldn't let the side down. If they were going to have any chance at all of coming back together, he had to keep them relevant; he had to remind the public of why they loved Ant & Dec.

It was all on him.

The thought was a sobering one and did nothing to calm his nerves, but after a brief battle with his conscience, Dec decided the only way to get through today was to lie. So he pasted a bright, fake smile on his face, practicing his red carpet pose, and replied, "I'm fine, Al, stop worrying, okay? I've done this a thousand times before – nowt different this time around."

His words were weak and unconvincing even to his own ears, the unsteadiness of his tone more than evident in the slight trembling of his voice, but he chose to ignore that and continue to pretend everything – including him – was fine.

Ali sighed, watching as her husband began pacing the floor behind her, hands fidgeting with his shirt cuffs, nervous tension exuding from his every pore. She knew there were times when, no matter how hard she tried, she would never be an adequate substitute for Ant, and she accepted that. The relationship the two men shared was unlike any she had ever seen before, and she doubted she would ever come across a pair as loyal and devoted to each other as they were.

So this was a massive step for Dec today, walking the red carpet at the BAFTAs – the most prestigious TV awards ceremony in the country – without his beloved partner by his side. Ali knew Dec was extremely grateful to her for accompanying him today, even if he didn't say so much in words. 

It was more than obvious that he didn't really want to go. That he was only doing this for the good PR. He'd admitted as much to both her and Simon Jones. But he felt obligated to go, since Takeaway and BGT were nominated in the Entertainment Programme category – Takeaway was tipped to win – and he believed he owed it to their teams to be there. Not only that, but there was a huge sense of responsibility to represent the Ant & Dec "brand," making sure no one in the TV industry forgot them.

And if there was one thing Dec was doing everything in his power to ensure, it was that no one forgot who his Ant really was, even if he himself at times had struggled to remember who his Ant was over the past couple of months. 

So here they were, ready – well, as ready as they'd ever be – and waiting to leave for the BAFTAs.

Hang on. How had she just noticed now? "Dec?" she questioned softly, heart clenching at the way he started at the sound of her voice, "Your bowtie...?"

Dec paused in his endless journey back and forth across the room, giving her a rueful look. "Yeah, couldn't get the bugger right, so I gave up on it."

Smiling sympathetically, Ali beckoned her husband over, softly caressing his cheek – noting sadly how he leaned into her touch, clearly desperate for comfort despite his brave act of being "fine" – before setting to work on his bowtie. Making quick work of it, she turned him by the shoulders to look in the mirror at her handiwork. "You handsome devil, you," she whispered in his ear, giving him a light peck on the head and grinning as a pink blush rose on his pallid cheeks.

"You sure you're okay to go ahead with this?" She knew she shouldn't push him – he'd already barked at her a few times today – but she'd seen the unmitigated terror swirling in his eyes just now, and the amount of tension rising from his body was really quite worrisome.

Dec looked down, unable to meet his wife's gaze in the mirror. Telling the truth would get him nowhere except grounded at this point in time, so lying was still the best option. But he hated lying, so he tried a different tactic to get Ali off his back. He knew she meant well, and he appreciated her concern, but sometimes she just made things worse by pointing out the obvious....

Raising his gaze and turning towards her, his eyes followed the soft curves of her body. "You look beautiful," he murmured, one hand reaching out to gently rest on the rounded swell of her abdomen where their tiny child was growing. Leaning down, he placed a loving kiss on her bump. "Still can't believe I'm going to be a dad," he said softly, smiling as he added, ignoring the trembling of his voice, "First time Bump's walked a red carpet!"

Before a surprised Ali could respond, they heard the honk of a car horn outside, indicating their ride had arrived. This was it. It was finally time. Ali slipped her hand into his, lacing her fingers with her husband's mildly clammy ones and feeling the barely-there tremor currently rocking his body.

Helping Ali down their front steps and into the car, Dec sighed resignedly as he climbed in beside her, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and laying it down beside him. Still no notifications. Not even a single good luck message – well, apart from his mam who'd called earlier in the day and passed on well wishes from all six of his siblings.

This was going to be a very, very long evening.

The drive was spent mainly in silence, Dec alternating between staring vacantly out the window or at his feet while fidgeting almost constantly, unable to keep still as the apprehension over what he would face today got the better of him. Within the first five minutes of their drive, Dec had opened the Twitter app on his mobile and posted a very simple – one might almost say terse – message on his and Ant's account:

"#Bafta bound. D"

For a while, he'd watched as dozens upon dozens of good luck messages poured in from fans, tears brimming at the amount of love being showered upon him – and even Ant, who was mentioned by more than a few fans – but then it had gotten a bit too much and he'd closed the app, returning his blurred gaze to the view outside his window.

Ali gave up on trying to get his attention after the first 15 minutes, capturing one of his restless hands in her own – trying to provide some small form of comfort – and resigning herself to scrolling through her Facebook feed on her phone before quickly getting bored. 

She missed the lively conversation that usually kept her amused during the ride to and from awards ceremonies, with the boys trading jokes, bickering like an old married couple, and spending a lot of time and energy convincing themselves of how extremely unlikely it was that they'd actually win an award this time around. 

It was eerily quiet now. 

They were about 5 minutes away from the Royal Festival Hall when Dec's phone buzzed. Snatching it up hurriedly, his heart fell to see that it was merely a text from Simon Jones telling them he and their red carpet escort, Penny, were waiting for them at the drop-off site.

It seemed Ant had forgotten him today. Or perhaps he just didn't know what to say. Either way, it hurt. Even though he knew it shouldn't. It must be beyond odd for Ant to be sitting at home – or, more likely, at Anne-Marie's place – knowing that he was attending the BAFTAs, rubbing elbows with the great and good of British telly on his own. 

There hadn't been any pap photos of Ant the past couple of days, so he must have heeded Dec's warning to lay low, at least. His advice still counted for something, it seemed...

Ali studied her husband as he sighed and slowly returned his phone to its spot on the seat next to him, tipping his head back against the headrest and staring out the window as their vehicle slowly turned onto the tarmac in front of the red carpet entrance. She knew whom Dec was hoping for a text from, and she had seen the hurt in his eyes when the message wasn't from Ant. 

But now they'd arrived at the red carpet, and Dec was wearing a worryingly panicky expression as he smoothed down his tux and got ready to exit their vehicle.

"Dec, I'm right here, love, look at me," Ali's soothing voice broke through the protective barriers Dec was frantically building around himself, making him turn and truly look at his wife for the first time since they'd left their home 25 minutes earlier. Ali smiled sadly at him as his eyes found hers and a frightened croak left his mouth, "What if we actually win something? What do I do?"

"Sweetheart, we already talked about this, remember? You can't not go on stage with the team, but just mingle – you're not doing the acceptance speech today, okay?" Awkwardly sliding across the seat towards her husband, Ali gave him a hug and brushed a kiss over his temple, being careful not to mess up her lip gloss. 

"Go on, then, get out – I didn't glam myself up just to sit in the back of a car all evening!" Ali teased gently, giving Dec one last reassuring squeeze before nudging him towards the door.

Taking a deep breath, Dec tried his best to pull himself together and grasped the door handle. Just as he was about to tug the door open, a buzz from his back pocket stopped him. Pulling his phone out, conscious of Ali's impatient huff from behind him, Dec's heart jumped at the name on his screen.

**Good luck, kidda, go out there and smash it Xxxxx**

Peering over her husband's shoulder, Ali smiled at the message, gently squeezing Dec's arm and murmuring, "See? He didn't forget you – he was just waiting for the right moment. I swear you two are telepathic!"

Dec audibly gulped and let out a weak laugh, blinking rapidly against the sudden influx of tears flooding his eyes. He could hear Ant's voice in his head, he could feel Ant's gentle hug and his warm presence on his right side...But it was all in his imagination. Ali was sat beside him stroking his right arm, gentle fingers soothing up and down the pricey fabric of his tuxedo, but it was nowhere near the same.

With shivering fingers, he hurriedly typed back a reply:

***Thanks. Miss you Xxx***

Switching his mobile to silent and taking one last, lingering look at Ant's text, Dec pocketed his phone once again and reached for the door, tugging on the handle. A wave of nausea swept through him as the door slid open automatically, revealing the packed red carpet area buzzing with busy chatter and raucous laughter.

In his current state, his first instinct was to flee, but instead, Dec forced a smile onto his face as he clambered out of the van on rubbery legs before holding out a hand to Ali to help her exit safely with dignity fully intact. He wasn't quite sure why she'd insisted on wearing 5-inch stiletto heels today, especially while carrying the extra weight of the baby, but, well, who was he to question her choice?

Greeting Simon Jones with a tight smile, Dec swallowed hard, trying his best to ignore the bile rising in his throat as vicious cramps ripped across his belly, his nerves wreaking havoc with his poor body. Ali molded herself to Dec's right side, clutching his hand tightly as they sidled through the crowd together, following their escort, Penny, to the waiting area behind the entrance to the red carpet.

Ali could feel the tremble in Dec's palm pressed against hers, the tension increasing in his body with each step closer towards what must surely look like his worst nightmare. Despite his clear inner panic, Dec was turning on the charm offensive, nodding and smiling and exchanging brief pleasantries with people he knew, occasionally sharing a stiff hug with those he knew really well.

If you never looked beyond the charismatic façade Dec had built around himself, you wouldn't know that he was in a bad way. Well, unless you looked into his eyes, that is...Ali's heart clenched as Dec let go of her hand to nervously fuss with his cuff links, looking for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground beneath his feet.

Truth be told, he did.

Dec's heart was thumping out of his chest. The stress and anxiety he'd been struggling with all day over the prospect of facing this media circus were rapidly overtaking him. Ali's presence beside him was helping – just. The clicking of camera shutters and shouts of photographers were incessant. The excited chitter-chatter of happy voices and the sounds of joyous laughter were all around him, as if the whole world was mocking him and his inability to crack a genuine smile or feel an iota of happiness.

Resisting the urge to let out a heavy sigh, Dec slowly let out a shaky breath, eyes restlessly roaming his surroundings. It was nearing his turn. Only a couple more minutes to go, he reckoned. His mouth was drier than a desert and his palms were sweating. He couldn't take much more of this waiting. It was doing his head in.

Sensing a slight tap on his wrist, Dec pulled back the cuff of his shirt and gave his wrist a small shake. His iWatch lit up, a text notification scrolling across the screen.

**Miss you too, Deccy. Now straighten your bowtie you tramp, then go out there and shine. Do it for me. Xxxx**

A tiny, melancholic smile lifted the corners of Dec's lips as he read and re-read Ant's text. He hadn't thought he could miss Ant more than he already did, but apparently he was wrong. It was like a physical ache, the emptiness he felt beside him where Ant should be. 

They would normally be fussing over each other right about now – straightening each other's ties, smoothing down their suits, chattering excitedly about the event to come and cheekily people-watching, remarking on unusual style choices and anything that struck them as even remotely amusing.

And instead, here he was, sick with nerves and feeling as lost and alone as an abandoned little puppy.

Scribbling back a short reply on his iWatch, Dec swallowed hard past the pesky lump that had re-formed in his throat.

**Oh, thanks for that! Doing it now. It's weird being here without you xx**

Stepping forward slightly, Dec's tortured gaze ranged across the crowd as he tugged on his bowtie, getting it nice and straight. Ant had been right – it had been a bit wonky. He knew him far too well.

Dec bit his lip to stem the welling of tears. The loneliness was enveloping him, swallowing him whole. He could feel Ali's eyes on him, but he still felt utterly isolated. There was a draft down one side. Where there should have been a warm, comforting presence, there was nothing but a cold breeze of indifference. No one here – apart from Ali and Simon – had the slightest inkling of how much he was hurting, how much he craved a certain person's warm embrace and the reassuring sound of their gravelly voice.

It was like a massive part of himself was missing.

"Dec, you're up next!" a cheery female voice chirped from beside Dec, making him jump. "You're on in 30 seconds."

Dec nodded, turning and reaching back blindly for Ali's hand, feeling the sudden need to have an anchor to keep his feet on the ground and his brunch firmly within his stomach. The moment of truth had come.

"Do it for me."